Page 13 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

I stood up, a little less stable than I’d like to admit, and pulled off my boxers, using them to clean off my hand and a bit of the floor. Of course, it wasn’t a foolproof system, and I had to grab a washcloth from the drawer to clean up the rest.

After cleaning myself as best as I could, I hopped into the shower, hoping to rinse away the remnants—along with the growing shame I felt over jerking off to my damn shrink.

She’s not your shrink. You’re not going back.

The water helped to clear my head, but only slightly. When I was finished soaping it up and drying outside the shower, I put on a new pair of boxers for the evening.

Reminder to self. Do the laundry yourself.

All I had left was to get into bed, and for some reason, I already knew that sleep wasn’t going to come easily tonight. Sure, I’d gotten off, but the nightmares were brimming right there at the edges of my conscious brain. Whenever something made me think about the past—even for a moment—it wasenough to have me up all night remembering things that should stay buried.

Sweet fucking dreams, Vlad. Hope you enjoyed the release. That’s the last fun you’ll be having today.

Chapter 7 - Emory

“Thank you so much for coming in, Kevin. I really hope this will help you start to feel more prepared for the unexpected. You’re doing great, okay?”

My patient nodded, his expression still tight with anxiety, and I patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Sure thing, doc. I’ll see you then.”

I smiled, shaking my head at him. “You know I’m not a doctor, Kevin. But thank you. I’m hoping to get my doctorate next year.”

“I know you’ll do great. That’s why I’m already saying ‘doc.’”

I grinned. “Thank you.”

We gave each other a soft smile, and I watched Kevin walk down the hallway back to the reception desk. He’d schedule his next appointment while he was still here because he always did. It made him feel more prepared since the guy had a heaping dose of anxiety disorder.

And likely some undiagnosed ADHD. Hell, I wonder that about myself sometimes.

With a sigh, I turned back into my office and shut the door. I needed to type up the notes about Mr. Kirby’s session, and I was happy that he felt like they were helping. He’d been so concerned about staying on top of tasks, and his anxiety was making him basically lock up and freeze.

Executive dysfunction can be a real bitch.

I sat down at my desk and began typing up what I’d scribbled down in my notepad. Things were looking up for the guy, and I felt we were making real progress. It was nice to know that my work was actually benefitting someone, and as I typed up the things I’d jotted down, there was less to add from my internal thoughts this time.

Kevin was a genuinely nice guy, and it was just that damn anxiety that was getting him down. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed help; he was just that sort of person.

I saw a lot of myself in the guy, really. We were both textbook people pleasers. At least I’d found a way to keep myself from bending over backward for anyone who asked. Kevin still needed to work on that. He’d have much less on his plate if he weren’t overextending himself.

Ring, ring, ring.

Looking over to the left, I noted that my desk phone was ringing and cocked my head. There weren’t a lot of people who’d call me during the day, and I was a bit curious about who it might be.

As I picked up the receiver, the caller ID finally went through, and I had to stifle a groan.

Fuck. Dad is calling.

My entire body went rigid, and my years of training—along with a heaping dose of common sense—were enough to tell me just how excited I was about talking to the man.

I knew the discomfort I felt about speaking to them was partly my fault. But it seemed that as much as I knew what I should do to improve my relationship with my parents on paper, I was finding it exceedingly difficult to actually do it.

“Hi, Dad. You’re calling early.”

Being a surgeon, my father’s hours were sporadic and rarely stayed the same from week to week. My mother’s were worse since she worked in the ER, but I could usually count on them to call at night.

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