Page 36 of Look, Don't Touch

I shrug and nod and keep my mouth closed.

“But you didn’t.”

“Obviously not.” I give a little, hoping it’ll be enough.

“Why a psychologist?”

My legs cross and recross, seeking relief. “Now who’s relentless?”

“Now who’s stalling?” The determination in his voice urges me with a two-handed shove.

“I wanted to help others who were as fucked up as me.”

We sit there in silence. Me completely naked, though fully clothed. Him hidden behind thousands of miles and a black screen. It makes me want to lash out. To push back. Instead, I sit and breathe and count. I count until my pulse smooths and my need to hang up on him eases.

“Thank you, Hailey. For everything.”

There’s so much more to speak about, but I need to go. My emotions claw at my insides, threatening to break free. My needs push and shout to be set free.

“Good night, Mr. Judge.”

“Good night, Hailey.” Only he doesn’t hang up.

My clients always hang up first. It’s a reprieve from the discomfort of baring their emotions, peeling back the layers of their souls. Tonight, I feel like the patient, with my finger itching to click the icon and end the call. I hate the turn of the table.

“Have you spoken to your woman?”

“She’s not mine,” he counters. I glare at him through the web. “Yes, I’ve spoken to her.”

She would be if she knew about your interest. There’s no question in my mind. There is something strange and ugly knotting the wavy loops of my brain, though. It’s completely unfamiliar.

“Does she know you want to touch her?”

“No.”

“Did you do your homework this week?”

“Straight A’s,” he rumbles.

“Perfect,” I say without smiling. Whether it’s the emotions he’s made me feel or the woman I’m idiotically and inexplicably jealous of, I need to push him to be as uncomfortable as me. “This week, in your fantasies, she touches you.”

“What if she doesn’t want to?”

“It’s your fantasy. She wants to. That’s how fantasies work. You set the stage. You control the players. You enjoy.”

“And in real life?”

My eyebrows shoot up because, for a second, I forget I’m on camera. I would have never thought that a lack of confidence could be his hang-up. He’s objectively beautiful. He’s hardworking. He’s kind. He’s fit.

Stamina for days.

“In real life, I can’t think of a woman, married or single, young or old, or many men for that matter, who wouldn’t want to touch you.”

Your stupid therapist included.

“Good night, Mr. Judge.” This time, I don’t wait for him to end the call. I press it as though it were the button to the only life raft on a sinking ship.

It’s not an option four kind of night. But it’s the only option. Option three collared a sub and has been removed from all lists. My favorite, option one, is nowhere to be found. Option two’s dot stays black too.

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