Toxic (The Therapist #4): An Alpha Male, Relationship Coach, Erotic Romance

by Ws Greer

  “What?” I bark. “That’s just as ridiculous as asking for my social media passwords. Why would you intentionally try to get a rise out of me?”

  “It was just a joke, Kimberly. Geez, lighten up,” Trent says as he parks the car and kills the engine. “Don't be so sensitive. Learn how to take a joke.”

  I look over at him with shock and annoyance weaving in and out of the pores on my face. I don't know what just happened, but all of it was totally unnecessary. Why would he ask for my passwords? Why try to rile me up on purpose? None of it makes sense, and now I’m frustrated right before I step into the therapist’s office. Great.

  “So, are you ready to go?” Trent asks as he opens his door. He looks back at me with some expression I can't read, and I suddenly feel hot all over.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I open my door and take a deep breath in as the Delaware air hits me with a sweet breeze. I try to use it to calm myself down as I walk behind Trent toward Dr. Colson’s door.

  Chapter 15

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  “Are you okay, Kim?” Dr. Colson asks the second my ass touches the couch, as if my frustration from the crap Trent pulled in the truck has followed me in like a conspicuous stalker.

  Dr. Colson is in all-black today—black slacks, black button-up with black buttons, a black tie, and black shoes. Against the darkness of his outfit, his caramel skin and green eyes stand out even more, and it’s hard to keep my eyes off of him. I heard Trent release a frustrated exhale the second Dr. Colson opened the door to let us in. Even he knows Dr. Colson is a very attractive man, and for some reason I can't put my finger on, it eats Trent alive from the inside out.

  Trent sees Dr. Colson as a threat. He shouldn't, though, because Trent looks fine in his jeans and long sleeve white shirt. He looks like a man who works hard for a living, and I like that. Not that Dr. Colson doesn't work hard, but his status seems elevated above ours. We’re blue collar. Dr. Colson is white collar. Maybe that’s why Trent hates him. As a kid, his family didn't have a collar at all, so he grew resentful toward people with money. Now that we’re giving so much of ours to a therapist just so we can survive the war that has become our marriage, Trent is even more disgruntled toward people who have more than he has earned up to this point.

  “I’m fine,” I reply to the therapist with a shrug that gives away the fact that I’m not fine. “Okay, maybe I’m not. I’m frustrated, actually.”

  “Okay. May I ask why?” Dr. Colson inquires politely.

  “You know,” I start. “I guess it’s just because when we got in the truck to drive over here just now, I was thinking about how we didn't have much to complain about. I was excited because we had a little incident at work a few days back, but that had been the last incident. We were doing fine, but then on our way here, Trent decided to lose his shit over the fact that I replied to a girlfriend’s comment on Facebook. Fucking Facebook.”

  “Okay, first of all, I didn't lose my shit,” Trent butts in. “I simply asked who you were talking to. That’s all. I would hardly say I lost—”

  “Excuse me, Trent, but Kim was trying to express her feelings just now, and you cut her off. If you could, let’s allow Kim to express her thoughts completely before you express yours.” Dr. Colson interrupts, and when I look over at my husband, I can see redness creeping up his neck from underneath his shirt. He’s livid, but bites his tongue as he glares at the therapist with a look that surely would send him to his grave if it could.

  Trent doesn't reply with words, so Dr. Colson turns to me. “Please, Kim, continue.”

  “Umm,” I stutter, looking at Trent for the okay to actually keep going. When he doesn't even look at me, I just go on. “Yeah, Facebook. He was all over me about my friend on Facebook. A girlfriend he hasn't even met. So, in the midst of it all, he asks me to give him the passwords to all of my social media accounts. I couldn't believe it. It’s like he doesn't trust me, so the only way to get over that is to have access to everything I own. That happened right before we came in here, so that’s why I’m frustrated. I’m just still processing it all.”

  “I see,” Dr. Colson replies, nodding his head as he jots down notes on his notepad. “Okay, Trent, would you care to counter?”

  “Am I allowed to speak now, officer?” Trent growls, still fuming from being cut off a second ago.

  “Officer?” Dr. Colson replies, and although he keeps it together, I can tell he’s offended by being called an officer.

  “Yeah, officer,” Trent shoots again, not backing down. “You're telling me when I can and can't talk, so you must be the police or something.”

  Dr. Colson clears his throat. “Trent, I take from your lashing out that you don't like being cut off.”

  “Gee, how’d you ever guess that one, doctor? I guess college really does teach you something.”

  “I can understand and appreciate that, Trent. However, if you don't like me cutting you off when you're trying to explain yourself, how do you think your wife feels when you cut her off as she’s trying to explain herself?”

  Trent sighs and clears his throat, but he doesn't answer. He just glares at the therapist.

  “Also, Trent, is it common for you to try to use intimidation when you can't articulate your issues constructively?” Dr. Colson goes on, completely unfazed by Trent’s death stare. Honestly, I’m impressed. For a rich guy who’s an intellectual, Dr. Colson doesn't look like he's willing to take absolutely any shit from anybody. It’s kind of hot, but I’ll just keep that to myself.

  “You know what? I don't like this,” Trent utters as he leans back against the cushions of the couch and pouts.

  “You don't like what?” Dr. Colson asks.

  “You're fucking attacking me.”

  “I certainly am not. I’m simply asking questions you don't like. You have to understand, Mr. Redden, it’s not my job to coddle you or be your best friend during these sessions. You don't pay me to be your friend. You pay me to tell you the truth so you can use that truth to fix the issues in your marriage. During our sessions, I’ll play whichever role is required of me. If you needed a friend who would listen while you talked, I’d be that friend. However, in your particular situation, you need to be confronted about your issues head on, and I need to be thorough in how I explain to you why I do what I do, so you don't shut the therapy down before it has a chance to take hold. You, Trent, don't need a friend. You need someone to tell you the truth without fear of your gaze. I’m impossible to intimidate, which is why I believe I can help you. So, I’d like to continue to try, if that’s okay with you.”

  Trent looks like he’s ready to explode, but he sucks it all down and literally bites his lip so hard I expect a trickle of blood any second. It doesn't come, and Trent nods to the therapist.

  “I was only joking about her giving me her passwords,” Trent mumbles through pinched lips and a clenched jaw.

  “Is that a fact?” Dr. Colson fires back.

  “Fine, I was half joking. But the fact is, if she doesn't have anything to hide, she shouldn't have a problem giving me her passwords. What does she have to hide? That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Ugh, that’s bullshit,” I snip.

  “Excuse me? I said I was only half serious. Fuck, why can't you take a joke anymore?” Trent snaps at me, and the two of us glare at each other. The room suddenly feels hot and muggy.

  “Okay, let’s take this one step at a time so we can address each issue,” Dr. Colson speaks up, quickly playing referee. “Trent, can you focus on me, please?”

  Trent squints his eyes at me, obviously furious with this entire situation, before looking back at Dr. Colson with the same anger in his eyes.

  “Let’s try to calm down so we can think rationally, okay?” Dr. Colson says, but it doesn't affect Trent in the slightest. “Trent, there's a couple of issues I think we need to get you to understand. Are you aware you're engaging in manipulation by asking your wife for her passwords?”

  Trent exhales loud en
ough to shatter glass. “What are you talking about? How am I manipulating her? Manipulating her into what, exactly?”

  “You're a smart guy. You know asking your wife—or anybody for that matter—for her private passwords is going to rub her the wrong way. It’s an invasion of privacy, and no one likes to have their privacy invaded, even by their spouse.”

  “Privacy is for cheaters,” Trent states, and I nearly fall off the couch.

  “What?” I bark, but Dr. Colson raises a hand and leans forward.

  “Hold on, Kim, please. I don't want Trent to feel ganged up on,” he says, and I pull my annoyance back down to let the therapist try to resolve this. He turns back to my husband. “Everyone needs privacy, Mr. Redden, even you. But what's more important is that you realize giving your wife her privacy means you trust her, which is something you absolutely have to learn to do. However, let’s go back to the manipulation, because I don't want to leave that stone unturned.

  “When you ask a question that you know is offensive to Kim, and then get upset with her for being offended by your offensive question, that’s manipulation. You're manipulating her emotionally, telling her that her emotions aren’t valid, which can be very frustrating for anyone. Asking Kim for her passwords so you can have unfettered and unmonitored access to her private accounts is wrong. At a minimum, it’s emotional manipulation. At its worst, it’s emotional abuse.”

  “Oh, now I’m fucking abusive?” Trent barks as his brow furrows into a scowl.

  “I didn't say you were abusive, Trent.”

  “Like hell you didn't. You said I emotionally abuse my wife, so that makes me abusive. Emotional abuse isn't even a fucking thing.”

  “I assure you it is, but let’s just calm down. Allow me to clarify—”

  “No, fuck you!” Trent snaps as he stands up like he wants to attack the therapist. In a flash, Dr. Colson drops his notepad and pen, and gets to his feet so he can be ready to protect himself.

  “Shit! No, wait, wait!” I yell as I jump up and get between the two men. Trent snarls at the therapist, while Dr. Colson holds his ground without coming off like he’s angry. He’s concerned, but not mad or aggressive. It’s amazing he can have that much restraint after Trent stood up like that.

  Trent stares at Dr. Colson for a full thirty seconds before finally saying, “We’re done.”

  “What?” I groan back.

  “I said, we’re done. We’ve leaving. Let’s go.” After another second of glaring, Trent turns on his heel and walks toward the door.

  “Mr. Redden, I think it’s best you stay,” Dr. Colson pleads. “There's a lot we need to address.”

  “Fuck you,” Trent says without even turning back to face the man. “Kim, let’s go! Right now!”

  I jump at the last part, before turning to Dr. Colson. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don't you dare fucking apologize to him!” Trent snaps. “Let’s go, Kim!”

  Without another word, I apologize to Dr. Colson with my eyes only, and follow my husband out.

  Chapter 16

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  “So, you think I’m abusive now, is that it, Kim?”

  After a silent ride home, Trent slams the front door to our apartment and glares at me with pure rage in his eyes. I don't even know what to feel. He looks so upset, and for the millionth time, he has all of his frustrations aimed at me, as if I’m the one who hurt him. It has only been two months, but I’m tired. I’m bogged down by all of this, yet here I am having to defend myself once again.

  “Trent, I never said you were abusive.” I take a breath and set myself up next to the entertainment center in the middle of the living room. I rest my hand on it and prepare to fight this battle from here. Trent stays next to the door and rests his hands on his hips, fuming.

  “You didn't say it, but that asshole in there said it, and I know you agree with everything he says. Probably because you want to fuck him.”

  “What?” I explode. “Probably because I want to fuck him? What the hell is the matter with you? I do not want to fuck our therapist, but I’m also not looking to fight and argue with the man every chance I get, either. Trent, this is getting out of hand.”

  “Oh, is it? So you want to leave now, is that it?”

  “Trent—”

  “You want to just up and leave when things get a little tough, is that it, Kim? You think I’m going to stand for this?”

  “Trent, I’m not trying to leave you, but you make me feel so confused,” I say, trying my best to get my husband to understand my feelings, although the words usually escape me. I've never been good at articulating my emotions, but I have to try today. “You're just so mad at me all the time, and I never know why. I never really know what I did to make you angry with me, but you always are. I can't wear the right clothes or say the right thing. In your eyes, I can't do anything right. Why?”

  “Because, Kim, you're always trying to stand out,” Trent argues. “Your tits are always out, your hair is always done up, you're always dressed nice, you're always polite to every single guy you come across, people are always staring at you, and I'm sick of it. I’m sick of how it makes me feel for you to always be the center of attention. It’s never me, and I think you love it and that you're going to leave me for some asshole. There, I said it. I think you're going to leave me because you love attention.”

  “Trent, I’m honestly tired of having to tell you how much I don't want other people’s attention. Honestly, I’m sick of that. I’ve said it over and over again—I only want your attention. I married you. I only want you. I keep saying it, but you never hear it.”

  “Well maybe you're not saying it right. Maybe you're not saying it enough, or maybe I don't believe you when you say it. Have you ever thought of that?” Trent lets out a huff and slams himself down to the armchair by the door.

  The room goes silent while both of us think. Mentally, I’m exhausted, and although I'm young and have never been married before Trent, something tells me this isn't the way I’m supposed to feel sixty-something days into marriage. Aren't we still supposed to be in the honeymoon phase? What phase is this?

  “God, Trent aren't you tired of arguing?” I ask as I walk across the living room and sit down on the couch opposite Trent. “I’m so tired of fighting with you all the time. I don't want it to be like this, but if you're going to be angry with me, can't you at least be mad over something I have control over? I can't control if people stare at me or how it makes you feel.”

  “You have control over your social media, don't you?” he snips. “Sure, maybe people stare at you because you're a beautiful woman with a gorgeous body, and maybe I’m an asshole for being upset all the time, but you know how this stuff makes me feel. You know all of this upsets me, yet you don't do anything to try to help the situation. You know you're gorgeous and that guys like you, and you also know all I want is reassurance. I need it, Kim.”

  “You need to be reassured of what? We’re already married, and I literally work with you. We spend all of our time together. We’re never apart, so what do you need to be reassured of?”

  “That you're not talking to anybody else. We might be together all the time at home and at work, but what about your social media?”

  “Oh, my god. Seriously, we’re going to do this all over again. You told Dr. Colson you were joking,” I say, as a cloud of heat settles itself behind my eyes.

  “I said I was half joking, but now I’m serious,” Trent says as if it’s no big deal. “The one area of your life where I can't see what’s going on is your social media, and I know how guys are, they'll send you dick pics in a heartbeat, and I won't stand for that, Kim. So, we need to do something about your social media. In fact, I think you should just delete your social media altogether. That’s the only way I’ll really know for sure that there isn't anything going on with you or some asshole you went to high school with.”

  “Is this even real life anymore?” I bark with raised hands and eyebrows. “You want me
to delete my social media? Delete it? What about my family? I talk to more than just friends online, Trent. What about my little sister?”

  “They can text you.”

  “What if they want to see pics of me? Of us?”

  “We can email. It’s 2020, Kim, sending pictures is really easy.”

  I want to explode. I want to lunge at him and slap some sense into him, but I don't. In my twenty-two years of life, I don't think I’ve ever been this frustrated, and it’s sad because I always wanted to get married. I remember thinking about it in my room as a little girl. I’d hear my parents arguing over something ridiculous, and I'd think about how my marriage would be different. My marriage would be better. Mine would be successful and full of love.

  Mine would be better.

  “Trent, I love you so much,” I say. I know I’m not about to say what I really want to say, but it’s better this way. It’s better to make it work. It’s better to stop the fighting. Mine will be better. “I love you more than anything, and I don't want to keep doing this. So, I'm going to compromise with you. I will not delete my social media—”

  “How the fuck is that compromise?” Trent barks, throwing his arms up in anger.

  “Because I’m going to give you my passwords,” I say, although the words have a little bit of bite to them because I’m annoyed by his outburst. “I know you're struggling with something right now, so I’m going to do what I can to help you. To help us. Here …” On my phone, I type out every single one of my usernames and passwords and text it to him. His phone chimes in his pocket, and Trent pulls it out to confirm. Once he sees it, he smiles.

  “Okay. Cool. Thanks,” he says, just before getting up and walking toward the hallway. At the entrance to the hall, he stops and turns around. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  I look up at him as my emotions swirl around in my head so fast I feel a headache being born behind my eye. “Yes?”

  He glares at me and nods his head as if deciding something right here in this moment.