Page 23 of The Therapist

A pulse of unease flickers through me. I shift in my chair, keeping my voice level. “That’s not uncommon. Many people aredrawn to relationships that mirror past experiences. Has this been a pattern in your life?”

She leans forward slightly. “I was hoping you’d understand. Given your history.”

Something in the air shifts. Subtle but suffocating.

I grip my pen a little too tightly. Anxiety coiling tight in my throat. “My history?”

Claire’s eyes gleam, and the mask slips just for a second. “With Cooper.”

My breath catches in my throat.

I force myself to stay still, to keep my face impassive. But inside, a cold, crawling sensation works its way up my spine.

“You’re not a patient,” I say, my voice sharper now.

She doesn’t deny it. Just offers a slow, knowing smile.

“I was just wondering,” she continues, as if we’re having a casual chat over coffee. “Was it true love? Or just a tragic mistake?”

I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. “This session is over.”

Claire—or whatever her real name is—doesn’t move right away. She watches me like a predator who’s just confirmed the scent of blood in the water. Then, finally, she rises.

“I just have a few questions for you, I swear,” she murmurs, smoothing her blouse as she takes a step.

I don’t respond.

I can’t.

My pulse is hammering, my thoughts racing.

“Out.” I point to the door.

She cocks her head at me, trying to suss something out before she finally leaves.

When the door clicks shut behind her, I bury my face in my hands for a moment, forcing the air slowly in and out of my chest until the hammering of my heart begins to subside. I sink backinto my chair, exhaling shakily. I stare numbly at the notepad. The scrawl of our brief conversation glares up at me. With a shaking hand, I rip off the sheet of paper and crumple it into a ball.

Pushing to my feet, I retreat to my desk, pull the thick stack of pages from my bag, and read.

The descent into… us—was maddening. But it was worth the wait. You canceled our next two appointments, fraught with guilt, I’m sure. But Iwouldn’tcouldn’t let you get away. I didn’t play fair.

I used my knowledge of you to win. I preyed on your desires, your wishes, your loneliness. But the biggest gift, the luckiest stroke of fate, was the day you arrived at my door.

That I could have never planned for. But I’m not there yet.

We’re not there yet.

There was the afternoon with the puppies. When NEL posted to their Facebook page that they were hosting a puppy adoption event, I knew that you would be there. The dog lover in you is too strong to resist such a cause. I contacted NEL under the guise of my career in journalism and volunteered to cover the event for them.

God, the memory of you when I walked in. I play it over and over in my mind on days that are…hard.

You were on the lawn, surrounded by volunteers unloading puppies. The corners of your eyes crinkled in joy. A gentle breeze. A cloudless day.

Little yelps and mewls coming from the animals circling your bare calves. You plopped to the ground, and they clawed and climbed all over you, burying their noses in your skin and hair.

I was jealous of the dogs. I wanted to know what your skin smelled like, tasted of.

Others can give joy without intending to. Simply observing the unadulterated happiness those puppies caused you made my own soul warm with joy.

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