Chapter 4
Lane
It’d been a few days since our session, and I couldn’t help but replay the hug over and over. I tried telling myself, “you are profound,” but it didn't give the same effect as it had when Dr. Cohen said it. I’d never once had a therapist hug me. I wasn’t sure if it was technically allowed or not. I knew he had pure intentions, so I decided not to think too much into it. Even if he happened to be gay, there was no way a therapist would encourage an unethical relationship.
I was also, well, me. Someone like him wouldn’t want a femme, college student of a twink with as much emotional baggage as I had. Even so, a boy could dream. Or fantasize… No, definitely not. That would be wrong on so many levels. Still, I felt heat settling low in my stomach. As my lounge pants began to tent, I reasoned with myself that maybe I could fantasize about someone like him, but who’s not him.
I made myself comfortable on my bed and grabbed the lube I kept in the top drawer of my nightstand. Clicking open the cap, I poured some into my palm and shimmied my lounge pants down just a bit so that my cock sprung free, glistening with my arousal.
When I wrapped my thin hand around the base, not even the swollen tip poked out from the top of my fist. I began thrusting in and out of my slicked-up fist, every once in a while using my pointer finger and thumb to rub the precum around the head of my penis. I bit down on my bottom lip in an attempt to keep my moans from coming out. As my thighs began to tremble and I sped up my thrusts, I imagined that a man like Dr. Cohen was the one pleasuring me. I bit down even harder on my lip - causing the skin to almost break - as I felt my balls drawing up. I really didn’t mean to, but I suddenly thought back to when Dr. Cohen called me “sweet boy.” Before I realized what was happening, my back arched off the mattress and my cum splattered across my bare chest.
Fuck.
???
The day before my second session with Dr. Cohen, I woke up feeling off. Sure, I had never been a morning person before, but this felt different than my typical morning grumpiness. I rolled over to grab my phone from the nightstand and froze.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What the actual fuck?
My entire body trembled in terror as I stared at the single red tulip sitting on top of the stack of books on my nightstand. Chloe was perched on the pillow next to me - alive, thank God - and lazily licking one of her front paws. The sight helped calm me down, albeit not all the way. I very quietly slid my legs off the side of my bed and was shocked to see that the book at the very top of the stack wasn’t mine. I carefully poked the tulip and suspiciously picked it up when nothing happened. It was pretty. It could have been left by a serial killer as a sign that I’m next, but I couldn’t deny it was a nice flower. I gently placed the tulip on the nightstand, next to the books. Picking up the intruder from my pile, I sat back down on the edge of my bed.
The Victorian Flower Language: A Guide.
I immediately knew what I was supposed to do, but I was fucking terrified to do it. What if I looked up tulips in the book and it said that it meant, “I’m going to murder you,” or something similar?
Fuck.
Okay, I could do this.
I could be brave.
“Please don’t be something bad, please don’t be something bad,” I shakily repeated, a bead of sweat forming on my brow, while opening the book and flipping through.
I found the tulip section, and because apparently different colored tulips have different meanings, I slid my finger down the page to find “tulip, red.” It took a second for me to work up the courage to read the meaning. And once I did, I was left confused, still frightened, but more dumbfounded than anything.
Tulip, Red: Perfect love, passion, declaration of love, rebirth, wealth.
Okay. At least it wasn’t a tansy. According to the book, that meant hostility and a declaration of war. I reminded myself that it could still be a serial killer. Maybe it was one of the ones that thought they truly loved their victims and by killing them, they’re showing their devotion? I shuddered and looked over at Chloe. She didn’t seem spooked at all. And thankfully it didn’t look like she’d been hurt. Was this serial killer a cat lover? I guess it was probably more likely that she happened to be sleeping under the bed - unnoticed - while whoever was in my apartment was here.
I let out a heavy sigh and held my head in my hands. I debated calling the police. But would that even help? I made the decision to search my apartment for any other gifts or clues before calling 911. After making a full circuit - which wasn’t very long since my place was pretty small - I found nothing. The door was locked, none of my windows had the ability to open, and besides the vents, there were no other points of entry. Clearly, someone had been in here though. My door lock was keyless, requiring a code to unlock. I racked my brain to think of anyone that could have known the code. Seeing how I hadn’t even told Oliver or my parents the code, I didn’t understand how anyone could have gotten in. My code was a string of random, meaningless numbers. Maybe the person had watched me enter the code? I felt like I would have noticed that.
My stomach chose that moment to rumble, so I took a break from investigating my own break-in to pour out my favorite cereal. I sat down at my kitchen table, dissociating while I shoveled the fruity cereal into my mouth. After a few minutes, I ultimately decided not to call the police. I hated dealing with the police and just really didn’t want them involved, even if that meant a lack of protection from potential murderers. My plan was to change the code to my door lock, because there was no way the person had entered any other way.
However they got my code, I’d make sure they wouldn’t get the new one. I promised myself that I’d be extra, super cautious and be sure to use one of my hands to block anyone’s view of the lock when I entered.
???
The day after the tulip incident , I had my second session with Dr. Cohen. On the drive over, I debated whether or not to tell him about it. Would he have to report it to the police? Would he think it was a hallucination and that I suddenly was much sicker than I thought I was? I almost forgot about fantasizing about him the other night. It was definitely lower on my list of concerns than someone breaking into my apartment, doing who knows what while I slept, and leaving a declaration of love for me.
When I entered the building, it surprised me to see that Dr. Cohen was already waiting for me. He wore a black turtleneck with expensive-looking dress pants. It would’ve dramatically helped me if he could stop being so damn attractive. All of his clients must have been drooling over him. His vibe literally screamed Daddy . I really needed to reel it in though - he would’ve had to have been attracted to guys, single, attracted to me, and not my therapist for anything to actually happen. I hadn’t seen a ring, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a famous French supermodel as his girlfriend.
“Hi, Lane,” he smiled. “Come on back.”
Once we reached his office, he took his place in the high-backed chair, gesturing me over to the couch. I sat down, and in an effort to get comfortable, I brought my feet up and curled them to my side. I wondered if he had any blankets, but I felt like that would probably have been a little too comfortable for my therapist’s office.
After settling in, I looked over to Dr. Cohen, who seemed to be staring at my folded legs. Maybe he didn’t like feet on the couch? My brows furrowed. I didn’t want to upset him. I supposed it was a little unhygienic since he saw so many clients. I went to move my legs off the couch, but he looked up at me and shook his head.
Smiling, he said, “It’s fine for you to sit like that. It’s best for you to be as comfortable as possible during our sessions. Actually, if you want, you can take your shoes off.”
There he went again, talking about being comfortable when he had forced me into spilling my deepest, darkest trauma during our last session.
Reeling in my inner brat, I politely smiled and said, “Oh right, shoes are probably dirtier! Thank you.”
I unlaced my boots and placed them off to the side of the rug. It was only when he smirked that I remembered I had on my pink socks with teddy bears on them. My face flushed as I quickly tucked my feet under my butt, away from his view.
“Cute,” he said softly.
I stuttered, words scrambled as I tried to think how to tell him that he needed to stop saying things like that. I did not need any additional fap material, please and thank you. I hadn’t even known I had a praise kink until I met him. If he gave me any more compliments, I was afraid I might start getting hard. When I stayed silent, he ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. My eyes locked into the movement, and I swallowed so hard that it must have been audible. His lips were so full and plush - I couldn’t help but stare until he chuckled and pulled me out of whatever haze I had just slipped into. At least since I was sitting in this position, he probably couldn’t see my bulge start to chub up. I shifted, trying to hide it. He caught the movement, grinning for just a second before schooling his features.
Fuck, he knew.
Blushing more than I thought possible, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked at the ground.
“Um… Maybe we could start the session?” I mumbled, still squirming a bit from his heavy gaze.
“Ah, yes, my apologies,” he smiled and graciously stopped looking at my body. Eye contact made me uncomfortable, but whatever he was doing was way worse. “How have you been since our session last week? Anything that you want to talk through?”
With him distracting me, I had almost forgotten about the break-in. I was still unsure whether I should tell him.
I asked, “Let’s say a friend of mine was the victim of a crime but wasn’t actually hurt and is just confused about what happened. Would you be mandated to report the crime? He’s safe, so…”
His brows rose. “Well, if your friend is safe, then I think it can stay between us.”
“Yes, yes, he’s okay! Well, um… I am okay. I didn’t mean to have it sound so obvious,” I nervously giggled. He smiled, gesturing for me to continue. “I think someone broke into my apartment. It’s either that or I lost a big chunk of my memory and left myself the flower.”
“The flower?” He questioned.
“Yes - and it was a very nice flower - I just don’t know where I would have gotten it if it was me and I suffered some sort of psychotic break. I mean, I know it couldn’t have been me. But it’s all so weird and confusing, and I’ve been trying to convince myself that I got black-out drunk, passed a flower vendor on the side of the road after leaving the club, and then completely forgot about it all,” I sighed.
“Do you mind walking me through what happened? I know this is only our second session, but based on what I know of you, I highly doubt you experienced such a major dissociative episode.”
“Okay, well, yesterday morning I woke up feeling weird. Like my body knew something was up? I thought it was just me and that maybe I woke up during a nightmare or something. But then when I went to get out of my bed, I saw it. I have this stack of four books on my nightstand that I’m cycling through. And I know 1000% that there were just the four when I went to sleep. But in the morning, there was a fifth book. It was about the language of flowers? And I’ve never bought or even borrowed a book on flower language - or knew flower language existed in the first place - so I knew it wasn’t that I had sleep-walked over to my bookshelf and brought it to this pile. And then, there was a red tulip sitting on top of this book. I put two and two together and looked up the meaning of a red tulip using the book, and it said it was a declaration of love. I mean, I’m glad it wasn’t a declaration of hatred or something, but… I don’t have anyone who likes me like that? I can’t figure it out. And what if this person wants to hurt me? Am I really safe in my apartment now? What if they come back and kill me?”
I took a deep breath as I attempted to dial down my anxiety about the situation .
I pushed my fingers through my hair as I continued, “And… I don’t know if this was stupid, but I didn’t call the police or anything. I changed the code to my door lock and there are no other ways they could’ve gotten in, so I feel like it’s okay, but there’s this voice at the back of my mind that keeps saying I’m going to end up the horror movie victim that gets killed because he makes a dumb mistake.”
Dr. Cohen took a minute to process my words, tapping his fingers on his crossed leg. He looked troubled.
“Okay, let’s talk it through. No one knows the entry code besides you?” He inquired.
“Mhm, not even my parents or friend - Oliver,” I confirmed.
Upon hearing Oliver’s name, he seemed to tense up ever so slightly. “Your friend - Oliver - He’s just a friend?”
“Oh, um, yes, just a friend. We don’t see each other like that. I guess you can just tell I’m gay though?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean - honestly - you’d have to be blind to think I’m straight.
Dr. Cohen blushed - actually blushed - at that. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed your sexuality.”
“It’s okay, it would have come up anyways since you’re my therapist and all,” I made sure to softly smile so he knew I wasn’t offended. “But, yeah, just platonic feelings between us. He’s in no way my type. He’s like me, but even smaller and mousier and a hater of cute clothes.” I jokingly rolled my eyes. “By the way, I’m fine talking about this, but what does Oliver being my friend have to do with my tulip guy? Or tulip girl - I guess it could be either. Tulip person?” I brought my finger up to my chin in thought. “Yeah, tulip person.”
Back to being fully composed, Dr. Cohen said, “It sounds like an ex-lover who wants you back, or maybe someone who wants you but isn’t sure how to express that,” he gently smiled. “It doesn’t sound malicious, but unfortunately if it is a stalker, they tend to escalate things when they don’t get what they want.”
“What do you think the tulip person wants? I’d rather just give them it so it doesn’t get any worse. Although, I don’t think you’re supposed to give in? “Don’t negotiate with terrorists,” and all that?”
“Hm, well, from what it sounds like, I’d say the–,” he chuckled before continuing, “the tulip person wants a romantic relationship with you.”
I frowned, “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to give them that. I mean, I wasn’t even awake when they broke in. Why wouldn’t they just ask me out without scaring the shit out of me? You don’t think they’ll hurt me, right?”
I squirmed in my seat, suddenly thinking I should’ve called the police about it.
“Obviously, I can’t know this person’s true intentions, but I don’t think they want to kill you.”
I decided to ignore the fact that I hadn’t asked about being murdered and that he just skipped past the “hurting me” part of the question. I let out a big breath.
After the hour allotted for our appointment had passed, he walked me out to the lobby and handed me over to the receptionist. Dr. Cohen asked that I see him again in just four days, rather than seven, to make sure I was doing okay after the possible stalker thing. I scheduled with Amelia, waved goodbye to Dr. Cohen, and went to my car to start driving back home. I hoped he was right about me not being murdered.