Oh, no.
Okay.
Shut. It. Down.
I wasn't loved. I wasn't worshiped. I was kissed. That was it. It wasn't anything other than that. Just kissing. Just more training. Coaching. Because I was a client, not a lover. Not a girlfriend. I was no one to him.
His lips moved across my shoulder then off.
Too soon.
And yet not soon enough.
When he settled back beside me again, I pushed myself up on all fours, then landed back on my heels.
His hand reached out for me, but I was out of reach.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“I promised Shay I would help her set up the room tonight.”
Lie. It was a bold-faced lie.
“Ava...”
I moved off the bed, reaching for my dress.
Sensing my determination to leave, he moved off the side of the bed and grabbed his pants.
“What are you doing?” I asked, pulling my dress over my head.
“I'm walking you to your car,” he said, standing, reaching for his shirt while simultaneously slipping into his shoes. “You're not walking around at night with no fucking panties on.”
I rolled my eyes. I had walked to his office just fine with no panties on. But, whatever. There was no use fighting him. I grabbed my wallet and keys, and walked out, leaving him to follow behind, still buttoning his shirt.
We walked in stony silence. And it was stony. Chase was stiff as marble beside me, but I pretended to ignore him, walking to my car and unlocking it, throwing my wallet on the passenger seat.
I was moving to turn back to him, when his hands grabbed my shoulders tight and slammed me back against my car, holding me there.
“Chase... what the hell...”
“What is wrong with you?”
Oh, boy.
“Nothing,” I said, scrunching my face up like he was crazy.
“Bullshit, you've been off since you woke up the other morning and kept giving me that fake ass smile. What is going on with you?”
I took a breath, willing my voice to sound convincing. “Nothing is wrong with me,” I said. “I'm good. I've been... learning a lot.”
Mostly about how to pretend not to be in love with someone even when they are inside of you.
“What the fuck...” he growled, then shook his head, taking a deep breath, calming himself. “You're not being you.”
“You've only seen me for a couple hours here and there, Chase. You have no idea who I really am.”
Which was master liar and a royal bitch when I am on the defensive.
“I know you,” he said, his words tight, his jaw ticking. “I fucking know you. This,” he said, savagely, “is not you.” And then he cursed, leaning forward and taking my lips in his.
I had been expecting angry. Bruising. Hard.
But his lips were soft and teasing. Nipping at my lower lip, sucking it. Sweet. It was so damn sweet I felt my head tilting back, my lips parting, a whimper escaping them. His tongue slipped inside to mate with mine. Light. Full of promises. Then he pulled quickly away, stroking my cheek.
My eyes opened slowly and his eyes softened. “There. That's my Ava.”
My.
My Ava.
Shit.
I needed to leave.
He didn't mean it. Not that way. It's just a phrase.
“And she's gone,” he said, looking impossibly sad.
“So sorry to disappoint you,” I said, my tone cold.
His eyes closed for a long moment. “Tomorrow. Seven.”
“Fine,” I said, wrenching away and dropping into my seat. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
He slammed my door, stepping back, and watching me intently until I was out of sight.
My Ava.
I sighed, shaking my head.
Shut it down.
Three more sessions.
It was almost over.
And then I could open up that locked chest deep inside and let the pain slide out raw and wet all over the floor.
Until then, I just had to endure.
After the Session
Shay's bed arrived the next afternoon. By the time I got home from work, Jake was already halfway done putting it together. My room was the bigger of the two, but it wasn't exactly meant to have two full sized beds in it either. Jake had moved my desk and computer to one side of my bed, leaving me with maybe a foot and a half to be able to walk between. But it was tolerable. He had the back of the murphy bed attached to the wall and was working on getting the actual bed together.
“Wow, Jake,” I said, leaning against the wall, “I didn't know you were so good with your hands.”
“My hands,” he said, sounding surly, “are meant to be good at other things.” I was about to roll my eyes when he added, “Like playing with pussy or stroking my own cock. Not this manual labor shit.”
I laughed, moving to sit on my bed. “You know... I've seen Shay naked.”
His hands stilled, looking over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “It's worth that hard work.”
“Fuck, I knew it,” he grumbled, going to grab a screwdriver, then stopping and turning to look at me.
“So, you still have that freshly fucked glow about you.”
“Yes. That tends to happen when you are working with a sex surrogate.”
“It's getting good, huh?”
“There was a basket of toys on the nightstand,” I confided, surprising myself.
Jake nodded. “Sounds pretty fucking good. What's the plan from now on?”
“Tonight I think it just more sex. The next session after that, I believe, is him taking me out and showing me how to flirt or something like that. And then the tenth one is the final one. We can do anything.”
“I think this has been good for you. You know... aside form the whole transference thing.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. It had been good for me. “Alright,” I said, jumping up, trying to make my mind think of anything but Dr. Chase Hudson. “Shay is going to be by with some of her stuff in like an hour. I am gonna go get us some food,” I said, grabbing a jacket and making my way out the door.
Once outside, I took a deep breath. Three more sessions.
I felt a simultaneous stab and wave of relief.
Almost there.
I had no idea what was on the table for later that night. And, frankly, I didn't want to know. It was easier to just... go with it. Which was, in and of itself, a completely new concept for me. I had never been a 'go with the flow' kind of person. I was a 'freak the fuck out and fight change tooth and nail' kind of person.
But I had to admit... even my generalized anxiety had been doing a lot better.
It was working.
I was getting better.
And if that meant I had to break my heart to keep going, well... that was just fine.
Sort of.
But not really.
The door chimed as I walked in, the black and white checkered floor worn and old. The walls were a bright red, the counter an old wood that matched the few small tables and chairs inside. I was hit immediately with the scent of freshly baked Italian bread, rich red pasta sauce, and cheese. I took a slow, deep breath, enjoying it.
“Eat?” the owner asked, coming out from the back room in a white apron. He was a middle aged man with a ruddy face and thick mustache, his belly spilling happily over his waistband.
“Yes,” I smiled, holding up three fingers so he knew he wasn't making food just for me.
“Hey there, stranger,” a very familiar voice said, making me jump and turn. It hadn't escaped my notice how much of an inflection there was in the word 'stranger'. Like he really meant it. Like I wasn't me anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart hammering hard in my chest.
Because, sure enough, there was Chase in a black suit and gray shirt, sitti
ng at one of the tables in my favorite rundown Italian restaurant.
“A girl I know,” he said, the inflection still there, “told me this is the best Italian. I came to see for myself.”
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat, recalling it for exactly what it was- anxiety. The second I acknowledged it, I felt it sweep over my body, making my palms sweat, making my chest constrict, making me feel like if I didn't escape... I was going to pass out. My hand went to my throat, holding, like I could force the lump away.
“Ava?” Chase asked, starting to stand. “Ava... hey... take a breath.”
But I couldn't. I just couldn't.
I needed to go. I needed to get out of there. Away from him.
I turned, storming out the door, and running.
I slowed in front of my apartment, looking up at it. Knowing Jake and Shay were inside. Not wanting them to see me having a panic attack. Not when they both thought I was doing so much better. I didn't want to be a disappointment. Again.
So I kept going.
But with nowhere to actually escape to, I sat down on a street bench, burying my face in my hands and breathing through it. It seemed to go on forever, my rapid heartbeat making me feel queasy and I was glad for my empty stomach.
“It's okay,” I murmured to myself, rocking back and forth.
But it wasn't okay.
It wasn't getting better.
I dug in my purse for my phone, scanning through my contact and finding the only number that could maybe help.
“Hello?”
“I need to talk to Dr. Bowler,” I said, my voice high and hysterical.
“Okay. Alright,” the secretary said in a soothing voice. Used to, no doubt, the occasional emergency call. “I will get her for you. Who is calling?”
“Ava Davis.”
“Okay, Ava. Hold tight.”
It was less than a minute later when the line switched and Dr. Bowler's voice reached out to me. “Ava. What's wrong?”
“I. Can't. Breathe.”
“Alright,” she said, calm. “You're having a panic attack?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what set it off?”
“I went to get food. My therapist was there.”
“Dr. Hudson?”
Even his name hurt to hear.
“Yes.”
“Ava, why would seeing Dr. Hudson trigger a panic attack? Has something happened with your... sessions...”
“I love him.”
The was a beat of silence. “Alright, Ava. I understand that you feel that way, that it feels real to you, but it isn't. I need you to remember that.” That was why I needed to call her. Because she would ground me. She would remind me. “How far are you in your sessions?”
“Tonight is eight.”
“Okay. That's good. That means in two more days, everything will be a lot clearer. Your feelings will lessen and then, very suddenly, they will be gone. And think of how much you will have gained from the experience.”
That was true. But it wouldn't be two days. Unfortunately. The next session would fall on a Friday. And then I couldn't have my final session until the following Monday. But still. I could live through it. It was the home stretch.
But I had just freaked out in front of him again.
And he was going to want to talk about it.
“Ava, what are you thinking right now?”
“I don't know what to say to him about this.”
“The panic attack?”
“Yeah, he won't let this go.”
“Well, because he's a good therapist. He wants to make sure you're in a good place before you two... progress. Honestly, honey,” she said, sounding very much like my mother did when she was going to give me advice she wasn't exactly proud to be telling me. Like how if I just hauled off and hit the girl who kept teasing me in school, she would never bother me again. Great advice that worked, but as a mother she knew she wasn't supposed to tell me to raise my hand to people. “You are just going to have to do what all women have to do on occasion.”
“What's that?” I asked, sitting back, my heart settling into a more normal rhythm.
“Fake it.”
It was so unexpected, I laughed. Loud. Loud enough for the people on line at the hot pretzel stand to look over.
“I know that is probably not good advice for a therapist to give- to lie to your other therapist, but this is an unusual situation and sometimes unorthodox approaches must be tried.”
“I've... tried. I mean, sort of. I kinda just attempted to shut everything down. Just be receptive to like... the actual... sex.”
“And he saw right through that.”
“Yeah.”
“It's because it's not you. Yes, you can be very shy and reserved, but there is always a warmth about you. So if you were shutting down, and all he felt was the cool, of course he was going to tell the difference.”
“So I just need to fake it better.”
“Pretty much.”
Okay.
Alright.
I could try that.
“Ava,” Dr. Bowler said, her voice serious again. “I want to see you the day after your last session with Dr. Hudson. No excuses. I think this experience has had a lot more effect on you than either of us had anticipated. I want us to sit down and hash things out so you don't fall back into old patterns out of habit.”
“I think that's a good idea,” I agreed, thankful I had her in my life. I could use all the support system I could get. “I will let you know when that is.”
“How's the anxiety?” she asked.
“Better.”
“Okay. Ava, I know this process has been extremely difficult for you. If you are having issues, before or after sessions... no matter the time, you can call my service. I will tell them that calls from you should be considered emergent and sent through.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Anytime, Ava.”
Okay. Game face on.
I got up off the bench and made my way back to the apartment. I only had maybe forty-five minutes left until I needed to be at Chase's office. I needed to shower and slip into another easy access dress. Then I needed to be me, but not me.
Which was going to take a lot more work than it sounded like.
“Well, finally,” Jake said, his mouth full. “Just leaving us here to fucking starve. Luckily, Chase here cared enough about our...”
I stopped listening after “Chase”.
My head snapped up to find him leaning against the kitchen counter next to Shay and Jake who were eating out of take-away containers from the Italian place. Chase had gotten the food I ordered and brought it over.
“Are you okay?”
Of course he had to be worried about me.
That was totally helping the confused feelings inside and I couldn't just... shut them down anymore.
“Better,” I agreed, putting my purse down.
“Yo where did ya go?” Shay asked, gesturing with her garlic bread.
“I had a phone session with Dr. Bowler,” I said, feeling tense.
I didn't like him in my space. Talking to my people.
Well, actually. I did like him in my space. I did like him talking to my people. That was the problem.
“Ava...” Chase said, his voice almost sad. “Why didn't you talk to me?”
I shook my head. “I don't know. I just... panicked. I needed to get out of that place. Once I got somewhere, I picked up my phone and...”
“You could have called me,” Chase said, crossing the room toward me.
“I just... wasn't thinking,” I said, looking up at him from under my lashes, letting the vulnerability show. But not from the aftermath of the anxiety, from loving someone who didn't love me back.
His face fell a little, his eyes sad. “It's okay,” he murmured, reaching for my cheek, stroking over it gently. “As long as you're alright.”
> I wasn't sure I would ever be alright again.
“I am. That was just a bad one.”
“Okay,” he nodded, moving his hand to my shoulder. I glanced past him, seeing Shay and Jake watching us intently. As if sensing what I was seeing, he dropped his hand. “I'll see you in forty minutes, okay? Or I can wait here if you're still not feeling well.”
“I'm okay,” I said, forcing myself to look in his eyes. “I'm just going to shower and change and I'll be over.”
“Okay, baby,” he said, his voice dropping so only I could here. “I'll be waiting for you.”
He walked out and I closed the door behind him, turning and leaning against it like my legs wouldn't hold me anymore.
“Come eat something,” Shay suggested.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I didn't think anything would stay down if I tried. “I'm just gonna go shower and get dressed. Can I borrow another of your dresses tonight?” I asked.
“Girl, I'll lay some on your bed while you're getting your scrub on.”
“You're the best,” I said absentmindedly as I walked to the bathroom.
I primped as much as my time would allow. I did my hair. I put on makeup. I made it look like I wanted to look nice for him. Which, a part of me still did. A part of me still wanted him to call me beautiful and perfect, to look at me with wonder. So I let that part of me take the lead when it came to getting prepared. The other part of me was inwardly calling it “war paint” because fighting my feelings for him was feeling like a never ending battle.
“Aight,” Shay said as I walked in wearing my robe. “I didn't know what color. So I picked out a few. But I'm thinking that the eighth session means red.”
“Red sounds great,” I nodded, going to my dresser to grab underwear.
“Thong or g-string, this material ain't too forgiving of panty lines.”
I nodded, grabbing a black thong and slipping into it under my robe. “Bra?”
“Really?” Shay asked, sounding cynical. “A bra? At this point? Let the nips show, girl.”
I snorted, shaking my head and turned to see what she had planned for me. “Oh,” I breathed out, looking at it.
It was red. Bright red. And the material was cut in the shape of an hourglass, covering the breasts, the center of the belly, and hips and thighs. The sides were covered in a red semi-sheer mesh. The same mesh went up as straps and then covered the whole back right down to the very lower back where it met the red material again.
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