Page 16 of Puck Me

I feel guilt crawling up inside my belly. How am I supposed to face Chester now? How will I look him in the eye after what I’ve done?

Over the past two weeks, I’ve been staying later and later during sessions. The first few times, it was accidental, but then I started to make time in my schedule to do longer sessions with him. We always start with the heavy stuff—medication, therapy, me trying to draw out more of his true thoughts.

Toward the end of the session, though we usually land up just talking. I’m wishing more and more that Chester wasn’t my patient, and not just because the urge to kiss him is getting stronger and stronger every day.

I really like him as a person and I’d truly love to be friends with him, if nothing else. I sigh as I get up to go to the bathroom and clean up this mess.

I know what the dream was. Dreams like that aren’t always about physical attraction. I mean, I am attracted to Chester and I’m sure that was part of it, but it’s more than that. It’s about feeling emotionally close to someone, which I certainly do with Chester.

Ugh, what a mess.

Despite the current complications, I can’t help but look forward to seeing Chester tomorrow.

“You look cheerful.”

“What? Oh, right. Yeah, I guess I am. Day’s almost over and all.”

Melody gives me a knowing look. “Nearly time to see Chester.”

“He is my last patient of the day,” I say as neutrally as possible.

“You two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“What do you mean?” I say sharply. “He’s my patient and he’s in crisis. Of course I’ve been seeing him every day.”

“I know. I just mean that you spent almost two hours with him yesterday. Your sessions are usually half an hour on average, forty-five minutes at most.”

Crap. I should have realized that this would happen. The nurses know everything that goes on around here. Of course, one of them was going to notice something is up between Chester and me.

The worst of it is that I know I’m in the wrong here. I could potentially make a case for a patient in desperate need requiring two-hour sessions, but I know that in Chester’s case, that wouldn’t be true. We get through all the necessary stuff in the first forty minutes of the session. All the rest is really no more than socializing.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not arguing! I’ve seen how much better Chester has been recently. I’m just worried for you. It’s not exactly conventional, is it? You could get into trouble if the wrong people found out.”

She’s right, of course. If word got around to the wrong people, it could open an investigation into my fitness to help my patients objectively. I think of all the vulnerable patients who are relying on me. I can’t let them down. Even if it means I have to pull back with Chester, something I don’t want to do, I’ll do it for the sake of all the people I help and will help in my career.

“You’re right, Melody. I’ll be out at five o’clock on the dot today.”

As much as I want Chester as a friend, it simply can’t happen, the sooner I accept that, the better off we’ll both be.

5

Chester

“We’re at time, Chester.”

I glance at the clock in surprise. “It’s only four!”

“Yes, and we started at three-fifteen. The standard appointment is only half an hour. We’re over time.”

I frown at Dr. Storm Harris, trying to figure him out. He said I could call him Storm and it seemed like the next step. Our rapport has felt more like friends than doctor/patient. And, well, I can’t help but find him attractive and feel like there is something m0re between us, even if he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings.

Why is he cutting our session short today? We’ve been having sessions much longer than forty-five minutes for over a week now. What has changed?

“Did I do something wrong?”

Storm sighs. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Chester. I just think that we should pull back to more… traditional sessions.”

“Why?”

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