18. Kai #2
The thought is so immediate it feels like instinct. I shut it down. Julia has not given that word to me. Ghost doesn’t care. Kai does. That distinction is rapidly becoming the only thing keeping me remotely functional.
“I like knowing the other person is in control,” she continues, choosing her words carefully.
“Restraint sometimes. Being held in place. Things like that. Nothing that feels unsafe to me when I’m actually doing it, but on paper...
” She gives a quiet laugh. “On paper it probably sounds spectacularly contradictory considering what happened.”
“It doesn’t necessarily.” I manage.
Her eyebrows rise slightly. “I knew I was paying you for something.”
I ignore the attempt to lighten it because she has asked a legitimate question and deserves a legitimate answer.
“Sexual preferences don’t always have a single origin, and even when trauma influences what someone finds comfortable or arousing, that doesn’t automatically make the preference unhealthy.
Human sexuality is considerably more complicated than identifying an experience in childhood or adolescence and drawing a straight line from that event to everything someone enjoys later. ”
Julia looks relieved enough that I wonder how much she expected me to pathologize her.
“What matters more,” I continue, “is how you experience those situations now. Whether you feel present, whether the choice is yours, whether the people you’re with respect your boundaries and whether you feel good about the experience afterward.”
She nods slowly. “That’s pretty much what I told Tessa.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That the rougher stuff doesn’t feel anything like what happened to me.”
I stay quiet, mainly because I don’t trust my fucking voice.
Julia settles farther into the chair, apparently deciding that if she has already opened the door she may as well walk through it.
“What happened that night was... passive, I guess. I know rape itself obviously wasn’t passive, but I was.
I couldn’t move properly. Everything was quiet.
He kept telling me to relax, and there was this horrible gentleness to the way he spoke while completely ignoring what I was saying. ” Her face changes slightly.
Not dissociation, just a memory. I keep an eye on her breathing anyway.
“Sometimes very gentle sex reminds me of that more than rough sex ever has,” she says. “I’ve actually cried before when someone was being really soft with me. Not because they did anything wrong. My body just decided it hated the situation before my brain understood why.”
“That makes sense in the context of what you experienced.”
She looks at me. “It does?”
“Yes.” I consider how much explanation is useful before continuing.
“Trauma memories aren’t organized according to what seems logical from the outside.
Your nervous system may associate stillness, a certain tone of voice or a particular kind of physical pacing with danger because those were elements present during the assault.
Something objectively more intense can feel entirely different if you choose it and remain engaged in what’s happening. ”
Julia’s shoulders loosen slightly. “That’s what I thought.”
“And the control you mentioned?”
She looks down briefly. “That’s the other thing. If I let someone take control during sex, I’m still the person who gave it to them.”
Every muscle in my body becomes aware of that sentence. Ghost practically grins.
She’s fucking perfect.
I tighten my fingers around the pen. “And can you take it back?”
Her eyes lift.
“Always.” There is no hesitation.
Good.
The word moves through me with almost violent relief.
“How do you know?”
“Because if I say stop, they stop.”
Something changes inside me. Not desire. Not entirely. Something harder, more fundamental.
“And if you say no?”
“They stop then too.” Her answer is immediate.
hold her gaze. “That distinction sounds important to you.”
“It is.” She draws one leg beneath the other now, settling more comfortably despite the subject. “I think that’s why the control works for me. It only feels good because it isn’t actually being taken away. I know I can end it whenever I want.”
Exactly. The doctor in me recognizes agency, consent and reclamation. So does Ghost, only he hears something else.
She wants to give someone control and know he won’t abuse it.
My pulse beats harder.
She wants to find out what happens when the man holding her listens.
I force the thought back where it belongs. Julia is my patient, she is telling me something vulnerable because she trusts the role I occupy in this room, not because she is inviting me into the fantasies she’s describing.
The differentiation is so obvious it should make the desire disappear. It fucking doesn’t and that is my problem, not hers.
“So maybe I’m not reenacting anything,” she says after a moment. “Maybe I’m doing the opposite.”
“That’s possible.”
She watches me.
I add, “But I’d be careful about requiring one explanation. Sometimes people try to turn every preference into evidence of something. If what you enjoy is consensual, chosen, doesn’t cause you distress and isn’t interfering with your life, it doesn’t necessarily require fixing.”
Julia smiles faintly. “So I’m allowed to just be kinky.”
The word detonates somewhere inappropriate. I somehow keep my face neutral.
“You’re allowed to have preferences.”
“That sounded aggressively clinical.”
“I’m a psychiatrist.” I remind her in equal measure as I’m reminding myself.
“I’ve noticed.” Her smile remains for another second before fading into something more thoughtful. “There is one thing I’ve wondered about, though.”
I brace myself privately. “What?”
“Whether I like the fact that someone else is deciding because I spend the rest of my life making decisions for everyone.”
That is a much safer direction. Barely.
“That could certainly be part of the appeal.”
She nods. “At work, at home, with Mom... I’m always thinking ahead. What needs doing, what happens next, whether somebody forgot something. Maybe there’s something nice about being somewhere I don’t have to do that.”
“Temporarily handing over decision-making can be relaxing for people who carry a great deal of responsibility elsewhere.” I add my two cents like the professional that I am. Fucking laughable at this point.
Julia gives me a suspicious look. “You know a lot for someone who isn’t a sex therapist.”
Every instinct inside me trips over itself. I choose my answer carefully.
“Psychiatrists do occasionally learn about human sexuality.”
“Right.” Her expression turns amused. “Medical school. Obviously.”
Obviously. Not years of discovering exactly how much responsibility comes with a woman voluntarily placing herself in your hands.
Not the way I know that control feels entirely different when it is offered rather than stolen.
Not the way every dominant instinct I possess has been pacing beneath my skin since she said she likes surrender she can revoke.
I glance toward my notes before the silence becomes noticeable. “I'd be more interested in having you pay attention to whether those experiences make you feel more present or less present.”
Julia’s brows draw together slightly. “What do you mean?”
“You described dissociating during the assault. If consensual intensity makes you feel anchored in your body, aware of your choices and connected to the person you’re with, that tells us something very different than if you’re using intensity to disappear.”
She absorbs that.
“More present.” The answer comes after only a few seconds. “Definitely more present.”
I nod. “Then I wouldn’t begin from the assumption that there’s something wrong with the preference.”
She sits quietly with that for a moment.
“Okay.”The word is simple, but the relief in it isn’t. Then she smiles slightly. “Good. Because I really didn’t want another thing to unpack.”
“You’re allowed to leave some boxes closed.”
“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I let the humor settle instead of feeding it. The remainder of the session moves elsewhere, though I absorb considerably less of it than I should.
We talk about work, about the assignment I gave her and the fact that she caught herself apologizing to Mrs. Pritchard for being busy before realizing the older woman had never accused her of neglecting anything.
Julia laughs when she tells me Mrs. Pritchard responded to her saying she wanted coffee by telling her that was better.
I make the appropriate observation about how quickly language changes when obligation becomes choice.
Privately, I remain trapped several conversations behind.
I like knowing the other person is in control. If I say no, they stop. It only feels good because it isn’t actually being taken away.
Ghost has memorized every fucking word.
When the session ends, I do what I always do.
I make sure Julia is grounded, ask whether anything we discussed feels unfinished or likely to follow her home in a way she doesn’t want, and watch her gather her bag.
She looks lighter than when she arrived.
That should be enough. It should be the only thing that matters.
At the door, she turns toward me.
“For the record, I deeply appreciate that you managed to discuss my sex life without making it weird.”
There are few moments in my career when maintaining a straight face has required more effort. “I’m glad.”
“Very professional.”
“I try.”
Julia smiles. Then she walks out. I remain beside the door until I hear Mara greet her at reception and Julia’s voice answers before the outer door eventually closes.
Only then do I exhale.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” The words disappear into the empty office.