Page 110 of Penalty to the Heart

“Would you prefer I lie?” I arch a teasing brow.

“I would prefer that you kept our relationship professional.”

“Professional?” I repeat the ugly word while wrapping one of her loose curls around my finger. “Professional is boring.”

“Professional is safe. It minimizes unwanted risks.”

“And you don’t like taking risks, do you, Roxie?”

“Not when it comes to my career, no,” she deadpans.

“Haven’t you ever heard that all work and no play make for a dull life?”

“I’m serious, Caleb.”

“So am I,” I retort just as gravely. “I don’t know why you encourage me to tell you every thought and feeling that runs through my head in our sessions, but when I insinuate that I find you to be the most remarkable woman I have ever met, you refuse to acknowledge it.”

“I don’t need your flattery. Nor do I want it,” she reprimands, struggling to release her wrists from my grip.

“It’s not fucking flattery if it’s true. Jesus Christ, Roxie, would you stop? You’re going to hurt yourself,” I condemn, worried that she’ll bruise her slender wrists with how fiercely she’s trying to break free.

I mean, I could just let her go.

However, I have the nagging suspicion that Roxie would disappear in a flash if I did.

When she finally realizes I’m not letting her escape the conversation that easily, she stops resisting

“Transference.” She lets out an exhausted exhale.

“Come again now?” I ask in confusion.

“That’s all this is. Just your run-of-the-mill transference. It’s the technical term for when a patient develops feelings, whether positive or negative, towards their therapist. Sometimes, it manifests as romantic or sexual feelings, known as erotic transference. I should have discussed or attempted to address this with you earlier on in our sessions, but I was hoping the phase would fade on its own.”

“You were hoping it would fade?” I blurt out, so shocked that I release my hold on her and take a step back. “Are you honestly going to stand there and attempt to tell me that what I’m feeling for you is a symptom ?”

“You don’t feel anything for me, Caleb. You’re just… confused.”

“Confused?”

“Yes. Don’t you see?” She steps closer to me, placing her soft palm against my cheek, urgency flowing in her gorgeous eyes. “You came to me when you were at your most vulnerable—a dark period of your life where you felt lost and couldn’t make sense of the complex emotions you were experiencing. As I successfully helped you navigate through your struggles, you mistook those normal feelings of gratitude for something more. That’s all this is, Caleb.”

I cover her hand with mine and wrap my arm around her waist, pinning her to me.

“Tell me, Dr. Seymour. Do you always find little ways to touch your other clients like you always seem to do with me?”

Her eyes widen at the accusation, but she doesn’t open her beautiful mouth to refute it either. Nor does she try to break free from my embrace or remove her hand from my cheek.

“That’s what I thought. You can try to rationalize my feelings as being a goddamned symptom, but you and I both know it’s not. I like you, Roxie. I fucking like you. And you’re scared to death because you like me too.”

I gently pull her hand away and kiss her inner wrist.

“I maybe be fucked up in the head, but I still know how to listen to my heart. And it’s whispering your name, Roxie. Yours and yours alone. If that’s too much for you, I understand. But don’t try to gaslight me into believing what I feel for you isn’t real. Because I never felt like this for anyone. And I doubt I ever will.”

She just blinks rapidly at me, my confession stunning her speechless.

“When you’re ready to talk, and admit to yourself that what I’m feeling isn’t one-sided, you know where to find me. Until then, goodnight, Dr. Seymour. It’s been real.”

And with that, I leave.

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