Chapter 29 Ore
Chapter 29
Ore
Their sessions were coming to an end. The university budget only stretched to six months of sessions maximum and Ore had exhausted her allocation. They were sat in his small office: her clutching the mug of tea he always offered, she always accepted and never drank; him leaning back and waiting for her to speak first.
This was their ritual. Kyle insisted that she set the tone of their discussion so she had to be the one to start talking. He would open the door, greet her and start boiling the kettle, silently handing her the mug and then simply waiting. Sometimes they would sit in silence for ten minutes whilst Ore tried to work out what she wanted to say, but it was never an uncomfortable silence; in fact it was often her favourite part of the week. It was a time when she didn’t have to explain herself, or indeed defend herself; she could just be, and he wouldn’t ask anything more of her.
On this particular Tuesday morning, Ore was preoccupied by the finite amount of time together they had left. She still felt like she had so much to say, like there were so many parts of herself that she wanted him to see and explain back to her. Eventually, she blurted out something that had been lurking in the perimeter of her mind for a while.
‘I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.’ The heat rose to her cheeks as she spoke, so horrified was she by what she was daring to say out loud.
Kyle looked momentarily taken aback, and then collected himself. He shifted in his seat, and took a deep breath.
‘What do you mean by that?’ It was a classic therapist question of course, but Ore realised that maybe she’d been expecting a different response. What’s more, she wasn’t really sure what she meant. Kyle wasn’t an unattractive man, but he was older, mid to late thirties by her estimation, and his hairline showed it. He was about as far from her usual type as you could get: skinny, sort of nerdy-looking with round tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, white, a big fan of plaid shirts. All that was to say that her own feelings were confusing to her.
‘I think …’ she began without knowing where the sentence was going. She cleared her mind, like he had taught her to do, and closed her eyes, imagining she was reading from the teleprompt of her rolling thoughts. Another one of his tips. ‘I think that I respect you, and I like spending time with you, and that you’ve saved me, and I don’t know how I am going to cope once I can’t see you anymore.’
She opened her eyes, one at a time, as though trying to mitigate the brightness of his face. But it was expressionless.
‘And I also think that I fancy you.’ This she added defiantly, finding that she was angry about his total lack of response.
Then he sighed, removing his glasses slowly and cleaning them with his shirt. ‘Ore …’ He sighed again. ‘You know that that’s not appropriate. I’m your counsellor, but I’m inclined to respond to that comment by asking you why you think that? That you …’ he stumbled, ‘you have a romantic attraction to me … Ore, are you OK?’ His face was etched with concern, but it was only when he stood up and sat on the sofa beside her, that she registered she was crying. Maybe sobbing would be a better description. Her shoulders heaved and her throat stung and the tears kept falling.
Through her jagged breathing she managed to stitch together a sentence: ‘I … just … think … you … make … me … feel … so … safe …’
He pulled her into a hug then, and the smell of him instantly soothed her, the feeling of his fingers splayed across her back, the brush of his stubble on her bare shoulder. Her breath slowed to a steady rhythm and as he pulled away, she looked up at him. His eyes were a light hazel, and quite beautiful, she found herself thinking. She heard her heart beating in her ears as she moved her face towards his and parted his lips with hers.
When he didn’t pull away, she circled her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. His hands found her waist, fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress. Ore’s mind went blank. She could only feel her own need for more of him. A soft moan escaped from her throat, and it seemed to shock him out of a trance.
Her hands were left empty; she panted at the empty space he left behind. When her brain caught up with her body, she dropped her eyes in shame, unable to look at the man standing over her.
‘I think we should leave it there,’ he said quietly. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about just the kiss, this particular session, or the whole therapy thing.
‘It’s a shame we never got onto talking about your relationship with your father, and some of the lingering attachment dynamics at play here. Textbook “daddy issues”, in layman’s terms.’ He said it so matter-of-factly that it took Ore a moment to register her own rage. When she looked up at him, he was cowed by the fury in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Ore, that was … uncalled for. I don’t know what came over me …’ He ran his hand through his hair, which Ore noted was definitely thinning. ‘I’m not really sure why I … This whole thing is …’
‘I’m going to leave now.’ Ore grabbed her bag and shoved past him, out of the door before he had the chance to say another word.
It had been agonising to try and comfort herself without his guidance. Just when she needed his calming presence the most, he was the very thing she had to avoid.
Every time she thought about cracking and giving him a call, she’d remember the daddy issues comment, and feel renewed anger.
Eventually, a couple of months later, he had reached out and they had met on a park bench on campus. As Ore sat down beside him, she wondered if he had chosen such a public spot in order to dissuade her from pouncing on him again. She felt embarrassed at the thought.
‘Hello, Kyle.’ They didn’t look at each other as they spoke, just stared right ahead.
‘Hello, Ore, how are you doing?’
‘I’m actually OK. I wasn’t for a little bit but I am now.’ Ore realised as she spoke that it was the truth, and she felt proud of herself.
‘I’m really glad to hear that.’ There was a beat of silence before he continued. ‘I wanted to see you to apologise. For everything. I don’t know what came over me and I shouldn’t have … reciprocated.’
Ore didn’t feel like assuaging his guilt so she changed the subject. ‘I’ve been thinking about that thing you said about my father.’
It was Kyle’s turn to look embarrassed. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see him looking around, checking no one was in earshot.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ he said softly.
‘Yes you did,’ Ore replied, equally softly. ‘And I guess you’re right. I think that the way I felt about you, safe and understood, I’ve never had that from a man in my life. It was confusing and …’ she looked over at him; his expression was kind, and she felt her residual rage melt away ‘… overwhelming.’
‘It’s OK to need that, just … not from me.’ Kyle shrugged apologetically.
‘But wouldn’t it be better to just rely on myself? Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching me, with all that “toolbox” chat? That I need to fix my own problems …?’
‘Well yes, it’s important to be able to rely on yourself, but there’s nothing wrong with needing a guiding hand or a bit of support.’ Kyle had slipped back into his ‘therapy voice’, quiet but authoritative.
‘Just … not from you.’ She hadn’t meant it as a dig, but he hung his head.
‘I’m sorry, Ore, I wish it could have been different.’ Once again, she wasn’t sure what he was referring to … Did he wish that they hadn’t kissed? Or that he hadn’t been her therapist when they did?
Ore left their meeting with new resolve. She was going to kit out her toolbox, and dedicate herself to becoming adept at using them. And she wasn’t going to let herself fall into the trap of thinking that she needed a man’s help to do that. Men were for exciting love affairs, and fleeting dalliances. The work of straightening out her tangled mind, and toughening up her resilience, was hers alone.
It was that resolve that she had to tap into now, as she sat on the floor of her cabin, thoughts racing, and alone in the middle of the ocean. She had only herself to rely on. This was the test. She opened her eyes, scrambled over to her suitcase and began relaying all the strange happenings of her day into her growing pile of notes.