Page 2 of Unethical

Maxim

Istand by the front door and allow my eyes to ride up the small office building. Dying bushes droop by the door, their curled brown leaves begging for water. It’s not very welcoming, even if Iwantedto go to this appointment. I’d rather do almost anything else than walk in there.

Therapy has never really been my thing. When I first started acting out when I was extremely young, the courts tried to intervene and force me into counseling. I didn’t need a therapist to tell me that getting bounced around from one shitty foster home to another had done a number on my psyche.

I was damaged before the foster parents even gave up on me, though. Something has been wrong with me since the day I drew breath. Something not wired quite right.

I pull the door open, and a little electronic alert chimes overhead. A dark-haired young girl sits at the reception desk, playing on her phone, and I’m tempted to leave before she notices me. The prison release papers glue my feet to the floor, though.

“Can I help you?” the girl asks once she looks up from her phone long enough to notice me.

“I’m here for an appointment with Dr. Reeves.”

The girl looks at the clock. “You’re ten minutes late.”

“Sue me,” I clip. God, I’m feeling more homicidal by the minute. This girl is lucky I only have eyes for the doctor.

The moment I saw Dr. Reeves’ picture, she became my sole focus. I can’t stop thinking about her. I dreamed of this visit, but my fantasy took a pretty unethical turn. In my mind, I walked into the office, and she gave me the fuck-me eyes instead of asking me questions. She spread her skirt-clad thighs, and I placed myself between them. Instead of allowing her to force me to confront my demons with her words, I made her confront hers with my dick.

“Have a seat and I’ll ask if she’s still available to see you,” the girl says.

It’s ten fucking minutes, not an hour. Did the doctor magically vanish once I didn’t appear at the stroke of fucking midnight?

I just nod and pace by the windows lining the wall as I wait.

A few moments later, the girl leads me to a room in the back of the building. The office is nothing like my vision, and neither is the doctor. She can’t even be bothered to look up from a manila folder as I enter the room.

“Hello, Mr. Jankowski. Nice of you to finally show up.” She closes the manila folder, types something on her laptop, and finally meets my eyes.

Yeah, lady, neither of us wants to be here.

She gestures toward a chair across from her. “Have a seat.”

I do, and my jeans rise up as I sit. I drop my head to my fist. There’s nothing approachable about my body language, and hers matches mine.

“I’m Dr. Sarah Reeves. I’ve been a therapist for ten years. Tell me about yourself,” she says. When I don’t respond, she sighs and starts scribbling something on a yellow legal pad. “It’s my understanding that you’re here because you’re court ordered, correct?”

“Yup.”

“Some of my colleagues believe that court-appointed therapy doesn’t work. It’s a waste of everyone’s time. Do you plan to participate?”

It probably is a waste of time, to be honest. “We’ll see about that, I guess, huh?”

“Do you have pets or anything, Maxim? Anything you care for?” She swallows as my dark eyes land on her.

“I had a cat, but they took him when I got arrested. I think I need to figure out my own life before I try to take care of something else.”

“Fair.” She nods. “Have you done therapy before?”

“Nah. Not really my thing.”

She leans forward, pushing her breasts higher. I can’t keep my eyes away from them, and I don’t try.

“But they brought it up to you before?” she asks. “Your parents?”

“My parents tried to bring me to therapy after the loss of my twin,” I say coldly.

“How old were you when you lost your brother?”

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