Lust(20)

Alyssa let her arms drop to her sides and then she slowly approached me.  She straddled my lap, cupping my face in her hands as she made me look  her directly in the eyes. This wasn't the kind of affection I was used  to. It had never happened to me before and I didn't know how to handle  it. She didn't say anything to me, just sat on my thighs and stared at  me, waiting for me to speak.

"I just don't get it," I finally said. I continued before I lost the  nerve to get it all out. I knew that if I allowed even a moment of  hesitation, I would end up burying those emotions deep down, hiding them  inside until they burned me from the inside out, along with every other  emotion I had ever kept hidden. "I have always liked to be alone. It  has never bothered me before. It's what I've wanted for myself. But her …   she doesn't want to be alone."

I knew I wasn't making any sense, and I could tell Alyssa agreed by the  confusion written all over her face. She didn't need to verbally ask me  for clarification, her eyes asked for her. And for whatever unknown  reason, I felt the need to explain it to her.

"She's spent her whole life blocking everyone out. She lives in her head  and through the books she reads. She's so out of touch with reality  it's ridiculous. But for some reason, when I look at her, I understand  her. I see myself in her. The difference is, she doesn't want that. She  wants to live in the real world, she just doesn't know how. Whereas, I  know how, I just don't want to. She's lonely-I want to be alone. So why  is she changing me? Why is she making me question everything I've ever  felt before?"

I finally stopped once I heard everything I had said. I never expected  to say all of that. I'm sure Alyssa never expected to hear all of it,  either. But now I had thrown it out there and I couldn't take it back.  Deeply concealed feelings and thoughts had resurfaced and I didn't know  how to handle it. I tried to look away from her sympathetic eyes, but  she wouldn't let me.

"So why are you alone?" she questioned.

"Because I want to be."

"Obviously you don't."

"Obviously you didn't hear me. I do …  I just don't want to end up like her."

My harsh tone made her flinch, but she didn't back down. Her hands never  left my face and her penetrating gaze never left my eyes. "Like her  how? Alone and in need of human interaction? So desperate that you'd pay  someone to listen to you? Are you saying you don't want to reach the  point when you find yourself so alone you'd call the only person that  will talk to you for free just come over and give you some attention?"

My anger was increasing with every word she spoke. I could feel my grip  on her thighs tightening, and I knew it was about to go very badly if  she didn't stop her rant.

"Because the way I see it, Cade, is that you're already there. You pay a  psychologist to listen to your problems. You play basketball with a  group of guys that don't even know your last name, let alone what you do  for a living. They know nothing about you. You sit and listen to other  people's problems all day but not once do anything real to address your  own. And then there's me. You get so lonely that you call me up so that I  can come over and fuck you. That's desperation, Cade."

"You know nothing about me," I argued as I fought back the urge to remove her from my lap and my house.

Her expression softened and she suddenly looked sad. I didn't understand  the change. "I do, though, Cade. I do know you. You're the one that  doesn't."

She left a long, emotional kiss on my forehead and pulled herself from  my lap. I was left alone, and that's when it hit me. The darkness grew  omnipresent, and the need to fill the deep hole with something  worthwhile grew larger. Why was Ivy the way she was, and why did she  want to change? I didn't know the answer to that, but I was going to  find out.

*****

It was Friday and my work was done. I always scheduled my Fridays to end  early. That gave me time to clean up my notes for the week and send  them out. In order for me to work with someone, they had to be currently  seeing another therapist, a traditional therapist as I liked to call  them. Not only that, but I had to be referred by such a professional. We  had to keep in contact regarding the progress of their time with me. So  I needed to send weekly evaluations on any progress or setbacks that  occurred during their time with me. It was the part I hated the most. I  also took care of my own billing, so I usually sent out weekly invoices  at the same time.         

     



 

Once I was done with that, I headed to the grocery store. My kitchen was  bare since I had spent so much of the week either entertaining Alyssa  or spending time with Ivy. I was in the produce section and staring at  the fresh zucchini. I don't know why I was there or why I was staring at  it. But I was. That was when a thought entered my mind, completely  taking over all other thoughts and leaving me paralyzed to do anything  to stop it.

I gathered everything I needed and then rushed out of the store, hurrying to my destination without even thinking about it.

It wasn't until I was sitting in her parking lot, staring at the bags of  food on the other seat, when I realized what I had done. Why was I  there? What purpose did I have to be there? There was no way what I was  doing could have been viewed as productive. In fact, it was  counterproductive. Not only to me, but to Ivy as well. I was crossing  all sorts of boundaries and borderline stalking her.

Practical thoughts of backing out of the parking lot and driving home  entered my mind. I allowed myself to give it a quick thought, and then  turned the car off. I grabbed all of the bags and headed up to her door.  Again, I stood there and scolded myself for what I was doing. The words  unethical and unproductive were being screamed at me by my conscience. I  was a man that typically listened to those voices of reason, but not  that night. That night, I ignored them and pushed them back as I knocked  on Ivy's door.

She opened it up a few seconds later wearing short cotton shorts, a long  and loose tee shirt, and an unbuttoned sweater that hung barely below  the hem of her shorts. Her hair was in a thin ponytail that hung down  her back and her eyes were wide in shock. There was nothing more  beautiful on the face of the earth.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, standing in the doorway and blocking my entrance.

I held the plastic bags up enthusiastically. "I brought dinner."

"Why?"

"To eat?" I said as if the answer was obvious. After she still didn't  move, I shifted the bags in my hand and said, "These are kind of heavy,  Ivy. If you don't mind letting me in … "

She shook her head as if she were shaking herself from a daze and backed  away, leaving enough room in the small space between her and the door  for me to pass through. I set the bags on the tiny counter space in the  kitchen and turned to look at her.

She was breathtaking. Completely and utterly beautiful and sexy without  even trying. How was that even possible? How could someone that had gone  through all that she had have the ability to hold herself in that way?  She was insecure and thought very low of herself, I knew that from the  moment I met her, but seeing her in her own element, dressed for staying  in, and holding a tablet that I was sure she had been reading from …  she  looked like something I could come home to every day. And that fucked  with my head more than anything else did because I never wanted to come  home to anyone, especially every day.

I needed to shake that thought from my head. But no matter how hard I  shook my head, I knew that thought wouldn't be erased. It felt too good  to think of the possibilities of it. I knew firsthand the worst way  relationships could end, and that's why I had never felt the desire to  be in one. Never. And I didn't need to start now. There was no point in  it. I wasn't capable of trusting someone to that extent. Not to mention,  she was legally in my care. I couldn't entertain the idea of a  relationship with her. That was unethical in every sense of the word.  All I needed from her were answers, reasons as to why she was the way  she was. I needed to fix her and then walk away. That's why I was there.

"I don't understand why you're here," she said without moving.

I was silent while I thought of an answer. "I don't know, either. But I'm here."

She shifted on her feet but didn't move. I could tell she was  uncomfortable with me standing in her kitchen after inviting myself into  her home. Hell, I was uncomfortable standing there. But if was anything  at all, I was committed. And because of that, I had no plans to leave,  no matter how awkward it was.

I quickly turned to the counter where I had placed my bags. I didn't  want to show any vulnerability. I wasn't used to feeling it, and I  certainly didn't want anyone to see it, especially Ivy. I was her  therapist. I had to be strong, confident; I couldn't show weakness or  confusion in my actions. She was trusting me and I needed to show her  that she wasn't wrong by doing so. But why then did I feel as if I were  doing something wrong?