Page 70 of The Unraveling

“I’m fine, just tired. What’s up?”

“I have an updated patient list for the week.” She offers the papers to me—three total, one for each day. I flip to Friday, but instead of the five appointments I previously had scheduled, I see only four. And a name is missing. His name is missing.

“I thought I was seeing Gabriel Wright on Friday?”

She shrugs. “He called and canceled this morning. Something about going out of town suddenly for work.”

“Okay, thanks.” Sarah takes her leave, but I’m still staring down at the list. What in the world would Gabriel be called out of town for suddenly? He’s a professor. Maybe a conference?

My immediate reaction is a deep emptiness that feels a lot like disappointment. Not the sort of emotion I should feel for a patient. Even Gabriel. And then something else—a flicker of panic.

He doesn’t want me.

The sex wasn’t good for him.

I fucked it up.

No. No, no, no. I’m his psychiatrist, and what we did was wrong. It would be normal for him to cancel on me. Hell, for him to report me.

If, a couple of years ago, I’d heard of a psychiatrist doing what I’ve done—and not just the sex but stalking him…

Oh Lord. I drop my face into my hands on my desk, but even that reminds me of him. Of me bent over, him holding me against the desk as he—

I should burn that skirt. Those panties. I’ll never wear them again without thinking of him. Of us. Heat flushes over me, and I grab the stack of papers Sarah dropped off, fan myself with them.

Maybe he’s avoiding me. Or maybe he’s actually busy. But either way, it’s better that I don’t see him. Better we never let that happen again.

When my appointments end just after five, I get on the train and head to my own appointment. When I scheduled it, it was routine—see the therapist every few weeks. Check in. Assure him I am still fit to be practicing.

But today I’m glad for it. Glad I scheduled it weeks in advance, glad I have someone to talk to. Because talk I must. And with seemingly no one in my life, I’ll gladly pay Dr. Alexander to listen.

“Dr. McCall, welcome.” He gives a general wave of his arm as he frowns down at the notebook in his lap. “Please, sit.”

I do, folding my hands in my lap. He’s still doing something—maybe scribbling a note from his last patient or preparing for our appointment. I glance around the office, and the thought comes to me, unbidden—has he ever had sex with a patient? In this very room?

Surely not. Surely he is a good therapist.

Unlike me.

“So, how are you doing today?” Dr. Alexander fixes me with his warm, kind smile. Just like he always does. He must have perfected it in front of a mirror. Practiced it day in and day out. Do I smile at my patients like that? Make them feel welcome just by looking at them?

“I’m… stressed. Tense.” I force a smile that I’m sure shows him exactly how I’m feeling.

“What’s going on?”

“Well.” I lick my lips, glance down at my hands. “I told you I’m seeing someone.”

“Yes.” He nods encouragingly.

I hesitate, trying to figure out how to tell him. Or if I should tell him. I mean, I can’t tell him about Gabriel, exactly. But I need to tell him, tell somebody.

“I had sex,” I say. Not a lie. I did have sex. I know he’ll assume it’s with the man I’m seeing, with Robert. And I’m okay with that. Relief floods me, realizing how I can talk about it.

“And how was that? How did it make you feel?”

The desk. Gabriel’s hands on my body. The sharp, wonderful pleasure and pain—

“It was good. At least, I think it was.”

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