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

by Ws Greer

  “Kimberly, I’m a firm believer in the power of self-love. You will never be any good in a relationship until you understand your self-worth.” Kim leans forward and listens with her entire body. “You have to love and appreciate yourself. Once you master that, you then have to force others to love and appreciate you on that level.”

  “I love myself,” Kim says, but her words have no power behind them.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Interesting. Is today’s outfit the one you would’ve chosen for yourself if you didn’t have to worry about what Trent would think?” I gesture towards Kim’s baggy sweats, and she looks down to remind herself of what she's actually wearing.

  “Well … I don't know. I mean … I don't know.”

  “What type of clothes do you prefer to wear? And when I ask that question, I want you to think about your answer without considering Trent. This is about you.”

  “Umm, I’m not sure.”

  “You should be. You’re a twenty-two-year-old woman who’s figuring out what you want in life, and what makes you happy. You should be comfortable wearing what you choose.”

  “I don't know, Dr. Colson,” Kim rebuts with apprehension in her face. “I don't want to give anybody the wrong impression. I’m a married woman. Shouldn’t that be obvious to people?”

  “More obvious than your wedding band? The clothes you wear don't have to tell a story to strangers, Kim. There are no sections in clothing stores designed to show people you're married. There’s nothing you can do to make your marital status obvious, contrary to some people’s beliefs. It’s not your job to look more married. You can't control what other people think, and regardless of what you wear, people usually think what they want about you anyway. Plus, a wedding band isn't exactly known to keep men from hitting on women, so I don't think you should expect clothes to do it either.”

  “Yeah, but Trent doesn't like it. Shouldn’t I respect that?”

  “Shouldn’t Trent be confident enough in your love for him to respect your choice of clothing?”

  Kim freezes for a moment before frowning. I can see the gears in her head starting to spin, and that’s all I wanted from this session. I just need to get her thinking, because once the floodgates open, there will be no stopping the rush of thoughts that come with it, and Kim will realize how she's being mistreated more and more each day.

  “Kim, your husband’s insecurity is his own. It has nothing to do with you. You can't change the fact that you're a beautiful woman, or that men look at you. It’s out of your control completely, therefore, it isn't your responsibility to stop it. You are not to blame for other people’s eyes or thoughts. Your only responsibility is to be the person you want to be.”

  Kim looks down at the floor and then back up at me.

  “So, I’m not supposed to think about my husband? I shouldn’t care what he wants?”

  “Of course you should, but respect is a two-way street. This isn't the two of you compromising on what type of couch to buy. Your husband’s respect for you shouldn’t be a compromise, where he’ll only respect you if you wear what makes him feel less insecure. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. When it comes to respect, you should draw hard lines and force people to act accordingly, even if that person is your husband. You pick the clothes you want to wear, and force your husband to be confident enough in himself to walk next to you with pride in his every step. Other men looking at you doesn't mean you're going to cheat with any of them. Trent really needs to understand that.”

  For the second time, Kim’s eyes drop to the floor, and a deep furrow works itself into her brow.

  “I don't want to overwhelm or confuse you, but the point of today’s session is respect. You have to respect yourself enough to do what makes you happy, and Trent has to respect you enough to allow you to be yourself without judging you or making you feel guilty about it. You should never have to bring yourself down, or cover yourself up from head to toe to make anyone feel better about themselves. You're a beautiful woman, Kim. Be beautiful. Everyone else will have to learn how to deal with it, but that’s their responsibility, not yours.”

  “I hear what you're saying,” Kim replies, her eyes raising to meet mine again. “As exciting as that sounds to me, I guess I just feel guilty about it. I want to be a good wife for Trent, not make him feel bad.”

  “Being a good wife has nothing to do with what you wear. People have cheated on their spouses while wearing turtlenecks. The only thing that would constitute wrongdoing is actual wrongdoing. Let me ask you something, Kim, because I think it’s important you realize this. While you're obsessing over what you should give up in order to make Trent happy, what is he giving up for you? Is he giving you his social media passwords? Are there clothes he’s supposed to wear to make himself a better husband?”

  “Well, that’s different,” she replies. “I don't think about it the same way he does.”

  “Do you know why that is? Because you're confident, both in yourself and in Trent’s commitment to you. You don't question what he wears because it doesn’t matter to you. He obsesses over what you wear because he’s insecure and afraid you’ll react to other people’s attention. That’s the difference between the two of you. Have you ever cheated on Trent?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “I thought not. Since you haven't cheated, what reason does Trent have to question your commitment to him?” She doesn't answer. “Is it fair that you're the only one who has to have rules about what you can and can't wear? Is it fair that you have to give up your privacy because Trent is insecure and jealous about things that have not happened?”

  “No,” Kim answers. Her voice is a combination of sadness and frustration, but behind her eyes I see something else, and it looks a lot like fire. “No, Dr. Colson, it’s not fair.”

  I put my pen to my notepad and mark this as the moment the floodgates opened, and Kim realizes she has been being mistreated.

  DRAIN

  Chapter 23

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  Anybody who says therapy is pointless or doesn't help anything is out of their minds. After spending an hour with Dr. Colson today, I feel like my life has been completely changed. My eyes are open for the first time, and I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing.

  After my session with the therapist, I arrive back at home and plant myself on the couch, where I sink into the cushion and don't even bother turning on the TV. My mind is all the dramatic entertainment I need right now. In my head, memories of my entire life with Trent play like silent movies. I see us meeting and working together, flashing flirtatious smiles at each other from across the job site, before everything is placed on fast forward and we’re dating. I see the way Trent comments on my clothing before our marriage, and I realize he was never this bad before our wedding day. He used to like what I wore. He may have been a little overprotective the closer we got to our wedding, but it wasn’t anything crazy. Everything changed right after our honeymoon.

  The first time Trent commented on my clothes was the day after we returned home from our honeymoon in Vegas. It was December, so it was a little cold, but nothing too crazy, and we wanted to go out to dinner. I decided to put on a purple sweater with strings across the chest. You could see the top of my tits behind the strings, but it wasn’t anything I considered to be overly revealing. The minute Trent saw me coming around the corner, he stopped in his tracks. I remember the shocked look he had on his face as he looked me up and down, before finally saying, “Oh. Umm, isn't it too cold to wear something like that? You need to … I mean, you might want to change.” It was subtle—so subtle I didn’t think anything of it at the time, and I even changed my top. I realize now that moment was the beginning of my new husband questioning what I wear and trying to manipulate me into changing it. If I choose to wear a tank top out in the snow, that’s my decision, not Trent’s. I couldn’t see it before, but it’s glaring now.

  The day goes by fast
when you're fuming, but the closer it gets to the time I expect Trent to return home from work, the more I realize I have to put on a bit of an acting job. Trent thought I was at home sick, and he has no idea I went to see Dr. Colson. So, just as I hear his truck pull into the driveway, I jump from the couch and bolt down the hallway and into the bed. As I toss the covers over myself, the front door opens and my husband steps in.

  Trent walks with heavy feet down the hallway before opening the door and standing in the entrance to the room. He has concrete splashed across the bottom of his jeans and he looks like he has had a bit of a rough day. His jaw is tight and he looks exhausted.

  “Hi, sweetie,” I say as I flutter my eyes as if I’m just waking up. “How was work?”

  “It was fine,” he answers, his voice tight. I can tell he’s annoyed. Working construction can definitely be both mentally and physically taxing.

  “Bad day?” I inquire.

  “I said it was fine. I’m just tired,” Trent snips as he walks in and sits down on the edge of the bed. I can smell the sweat, concrete, and frustration wafting from him. “What have you been doing all day?”

  “Umm, just trying to rest. I’m feeling a little better after getting some sleep,” I lie.

  “So, you’ve just been in here? You didn’t get up or do anything while I was at work all day?”

  “Well, of course I got up to eat and use the bathroom, but other than that, I just tried to relax so I could feel better. Is that okay with you?” I fire back, feeling much more defensive than I’m used to. Damn that therapy.

  “I guess so. You didn’t cook anything?”

  Oh, the fucking nerve.

  “Umm, no,” I say, dragging the words out. “I called in sick from work because I wasn’t feeling well, you know that. You expected me to cook even when I felt sick?”

  “Well, it’s the least you could’ve done since you didn’t go to work today, that’s all I’m saying. Fuck it, I’ll go find something for myself.”

  Trent gets up from the bed, lets out a frustrated sigh, and walks out of the room. I don't know if it was the therapy or not, but I feel as though I’m seeing Trent in a completely different light right now. He seems short with me, and there's this tinge of misogyny peeking from behind his every word.

  Am I being too sensitive? There’s no way this could’ve been there before without my noticing it, right? How could I have been so blind?

  While Trent is in the kitchen struggling through the torturous task of fixing himself something to eat, I decide to run a little test. Everything in me hopes Trent passes this test and I can take a step back to calm down after an intense therapy session. I’d much rather realize I’m being overzealous or overly anxious about something that isn't actually there, rather than have Trent prove Dr. Colson right. So, I lean over and grab my phone from the nightstand so I can log into Facebook. I’m not looking for anything in particular. I simply scroll and wait for Trent to return to the room. When he does, I let him sit down on his side of the bed and get comfortable with his turkey, ham, and cheese sandwich before I say anything. After a few minutes, I lay the trap.

  “So, sweetie, I've been thinking,” I begin, keeping my eyes on my phone. “Remember how I gave you my social media passwords? I was thinking maybe you should give me yours. You know, so we can be even.”

  Trent stops chewing. “What?”

  “My passwords. Remember?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Right. You should give me yours.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Trent sets his oversized sandwich down on the paper plate. “Kim, you don't need my passwords. Is this what you’ve been laying in here thinking about all day?”

  “No, that’s not what I've been thinking about all day, but I did think about it. I don't understand why you can have my passwords, but I can't have yours.”

  “Because I'm not the one being hit on in my DMs.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? No one has hit on me,” I answer. My brow is furrowed and I feel like my blood pressure is skyrocketing just from talking to him. Trent has already failed this test, and I can’t blame the therapy for that.

  “Well, out of the two of us, you're the one who probably will be hit on, so I just want to be on guard to make sure nothing is happening,” Trent says, picking his food back up.

  “Okay, why am I more likely to be hit on?”

  “Because you're a woman.”

  “You think men don't get hit on?” I bark, my voice raising all on its own.

  “I don't know, Kim, but we’re not worried about me. We’re worried about you.”

  “Who the fuck is we? I’m not worried about anything. You're the only one who’s worried. This is isn't fucking fair, Trent. If you want my passwords, then give me yours.”

  “I’m not giving you my passwords, and I’m not talking about this anymore. I’m trying to eat the food I had to make for myself after trudging through concrete all day, Kim. Just give me some fucking peace. Geez. I’m going to the living room. Maybe you’ll feel better after you take another nap or something.” With that, Trent gets up and walks out without another word.

  I can't believe it, but Dr. Colson was right. Trent is totally being unfair and a complete hypocrite. He wants to invade my privacy but won't allow me to invade his. What does he have to hide? Why does he think I have something to hide? It’s all bullshit, and now I’m feeling defiant.

  If that’s how Trent wants to play it, that’s fine. Two can play this game, so before I head to the bathroom to take a shower, I go to each social media account I have, and change every single password.

  Chapter 24

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  “Hey, are we good?”

  I let out a huff as my husband and I drive down the road toward our home after a long day at work. I’m not surprised he’s asking the question after the past few days we’ve had. Our time together has been beaten into submission by silence. We get dressed in the morning without a word, work together without a glance, and spend our evenings in separate rooms only to go to bed next to each other without as much as a goodnight or an I love you. My secret therapy session with Dr. Colson has changed the way I see things, and that has altered our marriage.

  Although I feel like we’ve undergone a shift, I’m not a fan of it. I can appreciate everything Dr. Colson told me, and I know that once your eyes are opened to something, it’s impossible to close them again, but I don't like the heavy feeling Trent and I have between us now. I don't like that we’re not talking and not touching each other. I miss our friendship. I miss our happy times. I miss my husband. So, when he asks if we’re good, I don't shut him down. I jump at the opportunity to fix us.

  “I want us to be,” I reply. “Things have been tense between us lately for some reason. I don't like it. I miss the way we used to be, and I want to get back to that.”

  Trent sighs. “I don't even really know what the problem has been, to be honest. Maybe I’ve been a little too serious, too uptight. I don't mean to be a dick, babe. I just love you so much, that’s all. You're so fucking beautiful, and I guess I’m a little hotheaded when it comes to you. I can't help it. I love you, Kim.”

  Aww. My heart does a little flutter as we pull into the driveway.

  “I love you, too, sweetie. I’m sorry,” I reply, although I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. It just feels like the right thing to do.

  “I’m sorry, too. Hey, what do you say we put the drama behind us and go out to eat tonight? We had a long day at work, and I’d like a night out with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  There’s the man I married.

  “Yeah, I would love that. I want to get dressed up.”

  “Great. Let’s do it.”

  We lean in for a quick kiss before opening our doors and heading inside. In my closet, I look over all of the clothes I have, and I develop this funny feeling in my stomach, because I'm not s
ure what I should wear. My attire has been such a point of contention for us lately, and I don't want to mess up the make up we just crafted in the driveway.

  As Trent gets dressed behind me, I stand in the closet feeling torn. On one hand, I don't want to do anything that will cause an argument between Trent and me. I want us back to the way we were before so I can go in and tell Dr. Colson that we’ve worked our way through the bullshit like the strong couple we are.

  On the other hand, I’m so very sick and tired of trying to find little tricks to cover up my boobs. I can't help the fact that my mother had big tits and she passed those big tits on to me. It’s just who I am, and we shouldn’t have to cover up who we are or the way we were born. It’s exhausting trying to pick out clothes that show absolutely no cleavage, and making sure I don't even have an ounce of sex appeal. I’m a woman, and I like to look and feel sexy. Hell, it’s what attracted Trent to me in the first place. I don't want to have to keep wracking my brain over something as simple as clothes, and if Trent and me are going to move past it, I think it should start right here. Tonight.

  Without forcing myself to think about it a second longer, I grab a dark purple dress and carry it with me to the bathroom. I close the door behind me and spend the next twenty minutes putting on makeup and fixing my hair. I get it all just right and slip into the purple dress. When I turn to look in the mirror, I have that feeling of being torn again.

  My very first thought is that Trent is not going to like this. The dress is fairly form-fitting, but the part Trent is going to lose his shit over is the fact that the neck on the dress is plunging, and putting my breasts on full display. They are definitely out there, and it’s going to be the first thing anybody sees when they look at me.

  As I continue looking in the mirror, I have another feeling that’s growing in my stomach the longer I look at myself. This feeling far outweighs anything else because it’s positive. It's confidence. It’s sexiness. It’s pride. It’s a combination of feelings of empowerment that put a smile on my face. I feel like I haven’t looked this way in far too long, and suddenly realize I've been covering myself up for Trent for a long time, and didn’t know how affected by it I was. It feels tremendous to see something in the mirror that I like. I love the dress, and I love my body in it. I love my hair. I love my makeup. I love it all, and what could possibly be wrong with that? I twist my body to look at my butt and the back of my hair, before smiling and opening the door.