Page 33 of Britain

I walk into my therapist’s office and check in at the front desk. Margaret has been my therapist since I was six. She’s sweet, but also tells it like it is. I see her once a month now and luckily I was due to see her—especially since I need to tell her about my reaction the other night.

After I check in, I sit in the corner and pull out my phone, putting it on silent. I also see that I have a text from Silas.

Silas: Call me when you’re done?

I quickly type out my response.

Britain: Yep.

I’m nervous, so my answer’s short.

“Britain.” I shove my phone in my pocket and stand up. Margaret smiles as I walk toward her. “Come on back.”

I sit down on the same chair I sit in every time I’m here. Margaret sits in the chair across from me. She opens her notebook and picks up her pen. “Tell me what’s new?”

I bite at my thumbnail. “I’m seeing someone. It’s new.”

“Have you had a relationship before?” I shake my head. “How’s it going?”

“Umm…good. I told him about what happened to me.” She writes something down in her notebook, then sets it down and folds her hands in her lap. “You’ve shied away from relationships up until now. What makes him so different?”

“I don’t know, he just is. When I’m with him, I feel safe.” I laugh. “I thought he was such a dick when I first met him, then he wasn’t. He was persistent in a non-creepy way, and I don’t know…he grew on me. We’ve done stuff, but then I freaked out a little.”

As I explain what happened when he put my hand on him, Margaret listens intently. I have no problem talking about what happened with her. I’ve told that fucking story so many times I could probably tell it while unconscious.

I finish talking and she takes a moment to write things down. She sets the notebook back down and looks at me. “It’s not unusual for something like that to happen, especially when it’s similar to the instance that happened. All I can say is, take your time and do what feels right. Since he knows what happened to you, it shouldn’t be lost on him that he needs to be gentle. I can write you a prescription for a higher dose of Xanax for you to have on hand.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to take that. I would like to try to do it without medicine.”

“Okay, but I want you to know that if you need it, call me. I don’t think I need to see you for a couple of weeks. If you need to come sooner than that, just call—I’ll see you at the end of the day.”

When my session is over, she walks me to the door. “You’ve made amazing progress. Just keep taking your time and do things at a pace that works for you.”

I stop at the front desk to schedule my next visit. When I reach the parking lot, I freeze. “What are you doing here?”

Silas is leaning against my car. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Without a second thought I move toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Thank you for being so awesome about this, and not making me feel bad.”

He tips my face up. “I could never do that to you. The only thing that freaks me out is I don’t want to hurt you.” He bends down and kisses me chastely. “Now, let’s go to my place.” He opens my door for me and closes it when I get inside.

I follow him into the parking garage, and as soon as I pull into the visitor parking spot, he’s opening the door and helping me out. He’s such a gentleman, but I do love it because I’ve grown up watching my dad do that for Mom. Silas grabs my bag out of the back seat. He takes my hand and silently we move to the elevator and then travel up to his loft.

Once inside he takes my bag upstairs to his room. I walk across his spacious living room, and stare out the window. Silas has got an incredible view of the Mississippi river. I smell him before I feel his front against my back. His arms wind around my waist, and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“I love this view,” I whisper. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to break the moment.

“Do you want to help me make dinner, then we’ll talk?” His breath is minty as it puffs against my neck.

“Okay. That sounds good.” Silas kisses me before leading me into the kitchen.

We end up making pork chops, working together like a well-oiled machine. I keep waiting for him to ask me about therapy, but he doesn’t. Is it because he doesn’t want to know?

Once we’re done cooking we sit at the kitchen island and eat. I decide I need to know why he hasn’t asked. “You haven’t asked me about my appointment.” I set my fork down and look at him.

Earlier he changed into a faded pair of blue jeans, an old Pearl Jam t-shirt, and his feet are bare. It’s not fair how perfect he is.

“I know.” Silas grabs my hand. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to tell me, especially if you aren’t ready. Do you want to talk about it?”

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