Page 12 of Bared Betrayal
Her office is spacious, simplistic with light, powder-blue walls and minimal furniture. I like it. Comfort isn’t something I find among clutter and cramped spaces.
“You seem distracted,” she says, slanting her head. I’ve seen countless therapists, and she’s the only one who doesn’t make me feel like she’s dissecting my soul whenever she looks at me.
I twirl the engagement ring around my finger. Of course, she notices.
“You got engaged?”
I pull the sleeve of my jersey over my hand. “Yeah.”
“It’s exciting news.” She pauses. “Isn’t it?”
“I guess.” The blue grass guppies in the fishbowl on her desk seem more interesting than discussing my engagement.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Have you started planning the wedding?”
“Me? No. Sebastian’s grandmother, yes. I’m pretty sure she’ll walk down the aisle for me if I give her a chance.”
She snickers and crosses her legs. “Mothers tend to get carried away with weddings. In your case, grandmothers.”
I glance at the painting again, studying the colors, mesmerized by how the blue and pinks bleed together. Isn’t that what love is supposed to be? Two different colors fusing and creating something perfectly beautiful?
“I’m not sure I did the right thing,” I say absentmindedly, admiring the delicate technique of every brush stroke on the canvas.
“Are you referring to—”
“Getting engaged to Sebastian, yes.”
“Then why did you?”
I shrug, not entirely sure why I did what I did. Maybe I can blame the romantic ambiance. Or the champagne. Or the flash mob outside the window that night. Perhaps it was the pressure of having all those eyes on us, watching us, waiting for me to say yes. So, I said yes.
“You don’t want to marry Sebastian?” she asks, placing her elbow on the armrest.
“I don’t know.”
“You have doubts?”
“Yes.”
“Have you spoken to Sebastian about your doubts over the engagement?”
“Oh…um.” I pull my feet underneath me on the sage-colored couch, settling back. “No. I haven’t had the chance to. He’s been…busy.” I say the word like it’s a curse. Maybe it is.
“Do you love him, Kallie?”
“That depends.” I stare at the fishbowl again.
“On what?”
“What is love?” I finally look at her. “Is it the warmth you get in your heart when you’re with that person? The longing you feel when you’re apart, and you can’t get him out of your mind?”
“I suppose.” She shrugs one shoulder.
“Is it the feeling of not being able to eat because you feel like you can live off love alone? To not be able to sleep because no dream can compare or come close to being as amazing as the reality you’re living right now?”
