Page 6 of Under Your Care

Okay. At least it wasn’t a tansy. According to the book, that meant hostility and a declaration of war. I reminded myself that it could still be a serial killer. Maybe it was one of the ones that thought they truly loved their victims and by killing them, they’re showing their devotion? I shuddered and looked over at Chloe. She didn’t seem spooked at all. And thankfully it didn’t look like she’d been hurt. Was this serial killer a cat lover? I guess it was probably more likely that she happened to be sleeping under the bed - unnoticed - while whoever was in my apartment was here.

I let out a heavy sigh and held my head in my hands. I debated calling the police. But would that even help? I made the decision to search my apartment for any othergiftsor clues before calling 911. After making a fullcircuit - which wasn’t very long since my place was pretty small - I found nothing. The door was locked, none of my windows had the ability to open, and besides the vents, there were no other points of entry. Clearly, someone had been in here though. My door lock was keyless, requiring a code to unlock. I racked my brain to think of anyone that could have known the code. Seeing how I hadn’t even told Oliver or my parents the code, I didn’t understand how anyone could have gotten in. My code was a string of random, meaningless numbers. Maybe the person had watched me enter the code? I felt like I would have noticed that.

My stomach chose that moment to rumble, so I took a break from investigating my own break-in to pour out my favorite cereal. I sat down at my kitchen table, dissociating while I shoveled the fruity cereal into my mouth. After a few minutes, I ultimately decided not to call the police. I hated dealing with the police and just really didn’t want them involved, even if that meant a lack of protection from potential murderers. My plan was to change the code to my door lock, because there was no way the person had entered any other way.

However they got my code, I’d make sure they wouldn’t get the new one. I promised myself that I’d be extra, super cautious and be sure to use one of my hands to block anyone’s view of the lock when I entered.

???

The day afterthe tulip incident, I had my second session with Dr. Cohen. On the drive over, I debated whether or not to tell him about it. Would he have to report it to the police? Would he think it was a hallucination and that I suddenly was much sicker than I thought I was? I almost forgot about fantasizing about him the other night. It was definitely lower on my list of concerns than someone breaking into my apartment, doing who knows whatwhile I slept, and leaving a declaration of love for me.

When I entered the building, it surprised me to see that Dr. Cohen was already waiting for me. He wore a black turtleneck with expensive-looking dress pants. It would’ve dramatically helped me if he could stop being so damn attractive. All of his clients must have been drooling over him. His vibe literally screamedDaddy. I really needed to reel it in though - he would’ve had to have been attracted to guys, single, attracted to me, andnot my therapistfor anything to actually happen. I hadn’t seen a ring, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a famous French supermodel as his girlfriend.

“Hi, Lane,” he smiled. “Come on back.”

Once we reached his office, he took his place in the high-backed chair, gesturing me over to the couch. I sat down, and in an effort to get comfortable, I brought my feet up and curled them to my side. I wondered if he had any blankets, but I felt like that would probably have been a little too comfortable for my therapist’s office.

After settling in, I looked over to Dr. Cohen, who seemed to be staring at my folded legs. Maybe he didn’t like feet on the couch? My brows furrowed. I didn’t want to upset him. I supposed it was a little unhygienic since he saw so many clients. I went to move my legs off the couch, but he looked up at me and shook his head.

Smiling, he said, “It’s fine for you to sit like that. It’s best for you to be as comfortable as possible during our sessions. Actually, if you want, you can take your shoes off.”

There he went again, talking about beingcomfortablewhen he had forced me into spilling my deepest, darkest trauma during our last session.

Reeling in my inner brat, I politely smiled and said, “Oh right, shoes are probably dirtier! Thank you.”

I unlaced my boots and placed them off to the side of the rug. It was only when he smirked that I remembered I had on my pink socks with teddy bears on them. My face flushed as I quickly tucked my feet under my butt,away from his view.

“Cute,” he said softly.

I stuttered, words scrambled as I tried to think how to tell him that he needed to stop saying things like that. I did not need any additional fap material, please and thank you. I hadn’t even known I had a praise kink until I met him. If he gave me any more compliments, I was afraid I might start getting hard. When I stayed silent, he ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. My eyes locked into the movement, and I swallowed so hard that it must have been audible. His lips were so full and plush - I couldn’t help but stare until he chuckled and pulled me out of whatever haze I had just slipped into. At least since I was sitting in this position, he probably couldn’t see my bulge start to chub up. I shifted, trying to hide it. He caught the movement, grinning for just a second before schooling his features.

Fuck, he knew.

Blushing more than I thought possible, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked at the ground.

“Um… Maybe we could start the session?” I mumbled, still squirming a bit from his heavy gaze.

“Ah, yes, my apologies,” he smiled and graciously stopped looking at my body. Eye contact made me uncomfortable, but whatever he was doing was way worse. “How have you been since our session last week? Anything that you want to talk through?”

With him distracting me, I had almost forgotten about the break-in. I was still unsure whether I should tell him.

I asked, “Let’s say a friend of mine was the victim of a crime but wasn’t actually hurt and is just confused about what happened. Would you be mandated to report the crime? He’s safe, so…”

His brows rose. “Well, if yourfriendis safe, then I think it can stay between us.”

“Yes, yes, he’s okay! Well, um…Iam okay. I didn’t mean to haveit sound so obvious,” I nervously giggled. He smiled, gesturing for me to continue. “I think someone broke into my apartment. It’s either that or I lost a big chunk of my memory and left myself the flower.”

“The flower?” He questioned.

“Yes - and it was a very nice flower - I just don’t know where I would have gotten it if it was me and I suffered some sort of psychotic break. I mean, I know it couldn’t have been me. But it’s all so weird and confusing, and I’ve been trying to convince myself that I got black-out drunk, passed a flower vendor on the side of the road after leaving the club, and then completely forgot about it all,” I sighed.

“Do you mind walking me through what happened? I know this is only our second session, but based on what I know of you, I highly doubt you experienced such a major dissociative episode.”

“Okay, well, yesterday morning I woke up feeling weird. Like my body knew something was up? I thought it was just me and that maybe I woke up during a nightmare or something. But then when I went to get out of my bed, I saw it. I have this stack of four books on my nightstand that I’m cycling through. And I know 1000% that there were just the four when I went to sleep. But in the morning, there was a fifth book. It was about the language of flowers? And I’ve never bought or even borrowed a book on flower language - or knew flower language existed in the first place - so I knew it wasn’t that I had sleep-walked over to my bookshelf and brought it to this pile. And then, there was a red tulip sitting on top of this book. I put two and two together and looked up the meaning of a red tulip using the book, and it said it was a declaration of love. I mean, I’m glad it wasn’t a declaration of hatred or something, but… I don’t have anyone who likes me like that? I can’t figure it out. And what if this person wants to hurt me? Am I really safe in my apartment now? What if they come back and kill me?”

I took a deep breath as I attempted to dial down my anxiety about the situation.

I pushed my fingers through my hair as I continued, “And… I don’t know if this was stupid, but I didn’t call the police or anything. I changed the code to my door lock and there are no other ways they could’ve gotten in, so I feel like it’s okay, but there’s this voice at the back of my mind that keeps saying I’m going to end up the horror movie victim that gets killed because he makes a dumb mistake.”

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