Chapter One #3
“It might not be your choice, mate,” the voice rumbles in my brain, and I close my eyes briefly, ignoring it.
Go away. Not now.
“Is everything alright?” Alice asks, and I blink at her, swallowing.
“Mhm.” I force a grin. “Perfect now.”
She smiles as I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss on her butterfly tattoo.
“Tell me about your day, angel.”
It’s Monday at three, and I’m back at the office of Dr. Lemuel Love, PhD.
I arrived early and wound up pacing outside his building for twenty minutes. I wish I could say this was the first time it’s happened, but it’s not. I look forward to my sessions with Dr. Love, so much so that sometimes it’s all I can think about leading up to my appointment.
I hate to say it, but I rely on him. For comfort, solace, support, and insight. Ever since Riverwoods, when he would show up twice a week and sit in the therapy office with me, in the common area, or even in my room—if it was one of those times I was going nuts and requiring constant supervision.
The staff would advise him against coming in with me, but he’d do it anyway. He isn’t afraid of killers, that’s for sure. No one’s going to tell Lemuel Love who he can and can’t sit near.
Over the years, he’s become my constant. And cards on the table, I do happen to find him unbearably beautiful.
I mean, how could you not?? He’s stunning, masculine perfection with just the right amount of detachment; that bored, slightly cold and grumbly persona calling to anyone with Daddy issues like a bloody siren song.
But more than anything, I love that he knows everything about me and is still here .
It almost seems as if he cherishes me. Strictly as a patient, but still.
I think he does. I think working with me gives him some satisfaction, and that causes me bunches of complicated feelings I refuse to ever disclose to him.
Knee bouncing rapidly while I wait impatiently, I check the clock on the wall.
Hm… It’s five minutes past three. That’s odd. Dr. Love is never late. For anything.
Squirming in my seat, I think back to the other night, with Alice…
After dinner, she insisted on driving me home, even though the restaurant was less than a ten-minute walk. I was nervous that it was just an excuse for her to come up, and naturally, it was.
When the goodnight kiss started fogging up her car windows, I reluctantly invited her upstairs. My nerves were at the forefront of my mind, but I also hadn’t gotten laid in, like, a month, so I was trying not to overthink it.
Calm down, I kept telling myself. This is what you both want.
“Are we still taking things slow?” Alice asked, pushing me backward on my bed.
No , my dick said, loudly. Fast fast fast.
“Um…” was all I could get out before her mouth was mauling mine.
Clothes started coming off, and my worried thoughts were fading away. It was fine . We were going to have sex, and I was sure it would be amazing. Surely, if I could manage it without hurting the random Tinder hookups, then I could pull it off with Alice.
She’s perfect .
With my dick in her mouth, I was in an instant daze. This was happening. I was going to fuck her, and then… we would be a couple. We’d be in a real relationship…
The first one I’ve ever had.
“But you’re incapable of giving love, Trevel,” the voice told me. “You only know how to be used.”
My chest constricted as I turned my face, slowly to the left, locking our eyes. My teeth ground together. “You’d love to watch that again, wouldn’t you?”
Alice pulled her warm, wet mouth off of my cock. “Huh?”
Glancing down at her, I swallowed. “Nothing. That f-feels… good.”
She grinned, climbing back up my body. “Fuck me, stranger.”
“Trevel, Dr. Love will see you now!”
I startle at the sound of Dr. Love’s secretary, jumping up from my seat while trying to seem normal.
For someone who had it off with their girlfriend, you’re awfully twitchy.
Making my way to Dr. Love’s office, I’m still reeling.
Alice and I finally had sex, and it was great.
No one hurt anyone. We both survived. And much to my own surprise and delight, she opted not to stay the night without me even having to bring it up, sparing me that awkward I hope I don’t scream and punch you in the face at night conversation.
I’m excited to tell Dr. Love all of this. Not that it should matter how my shrink feels about me sleeping with someone. But to me, it does. I want to see if he’s chuffed for me. If he’s proud, or satisfied… Or jealous.
Right. That would never happen in a zillion years. It’s tapped to even think about it.
But I can’t help it. My interest in Dr. Love have blurred over the years, from my doctor, to my confidante, to my friend and protector… To a chap I have confusing sexual feelings for, apparently.
I’m not trying to have them. They’re just there.
I’m well aware that he’s straighter than a straight line, and far too professional to ever even entertain an attraction to a patient. But that doesn’t stop my deranged mind from hanging on every interaction, as if it’s desperate for one to blossom into something more .
But what’s even more disturbing is that I just took things to the next level with my girlfriend, and yet I can’t stop obsessively thinking about my doctor.
Let’s just chalk it up to the constant flailing confusion of being bi/pan.
“Happy Monday,” I chatter to my hot doctor on my way inside his office, cringing because I sound like a twit.
Sidling over to the small couch, I take a seat.
“Hello, Trevel,” he says in his usual brogue. And for once, he’s not fiddling with his notebook. In fact, there’s no notebook at all. “How have you been?”
“Fine.” I shake my head. “I mean, good. Well .”
Take a breath, you knob, and tell him your news.
I’m actually jittering with eagerness, anticipation brimming for any way he could react to what I’m about to say.
Just as my lips are parting, he speaks, “That’s good to hear. Because I have some news.”
My lashes flutter, everything inside me going still, as if someone pressed pause.
He has news? He’s never shared anything with me before…
“Oh…?” My brows lift, and I find myself shivering in wait.
“I’ve accepted a job offer,” Dr. Love says, far too casually when I’m not even breathing. “In New York.”
He folds his hands in his lap, just looking at me while my insides crumble.
Blasé. Unaffected. Careless .
“This will be our last session, Trevel.”