Lust(3)

She nodded while continuing to stare at our hands in silence.

"Can I ask you a personal question? Were you ever taken advantage of in any way as a child?"

Her hand jerked away from mine quickly when I asked that. It answered my  question. What really surprised me was what she said next. I wasn't  expecting to hear the answer she gave. Most people hint around at it,  but they never really say it aloud, so I wasn't anticipating her to  speak.

"No. I wasn't," she said firmly.

"Not at all? It's okay to tell me. I can't help you if I don't know what has happened."

"I'm telling you the truth. I was never molested," she answered in a raised voice.

I decided to concede, even though I didn't believe her answer. "It's  okay. Listen, we can work through this. Would you like to set up a  session with me? We can start with one and go from there. We can discuss  a plan that you feel comfortable with, or we can take it day by day.  It's completely up to you. But I honestly feel that we can work through  this. I have done this for a long time and have helped thousands of  people overcome their fears and concerns."         

     



 

"I still don't know what it is you do. I mean … " she stammered. "I mean, I  know what you do, that's why I came. I just don't know what I should  expect to get out of this. Will you be touching me? Will we have sex?  What should I prepare for?" In her nervousness, she began wringing her  hands in her lap without taking one glance up at me.

"Every client is different, Ivy. Everyone comes to me for different  reasons. I have practiced psychology before, and that allows me to serve  you better. But the difference between the therapist you're currently  seeing and me is I don't have to follow all of their rules. I am allowed  to have relations with my patients …  if it pertains to their recovery.  Yes, I have touched and had sex with previous clients, but I've also  treated people without ever having to go there. I work with your current  therapist to make sure you're getting the best treatment customized for  you. She doesn't divulge the things you two discuss during your  therapy, and I only inform her of your progress and things I pick up  during our sessions. Does that make sense to you? Does that help you  have a better understanding of what it is you'll be doing with me?"

She nodded but didn't respond verbally. She seemed to be a woman of few words.

"How about tomorrow? Does that work for you?"

Again, she nodded but didn't speak. It was starting to irritate me.

I guess I would have to do everything. My patience was wearing thin with  her lack of response or acknowledgement. I felt like I was having a  one-sided conversation and wondered if all of our sessions would be this  way. I understood that it was her first visit with me, and that could  be scary and intimidating, especially when it came to someone with  severe emotional problems. But I needed something from her to go on. So  far, she hadn't given me much. Who was I kidding? She hadn't given me  anything. I could take the miniscule things she had given me and form my  own conclusions, which I sometimes did, but I didn't prefer to do  things that way. Things needed to be give and take. I couldn't give her  what she needed, nor could she take anything away from our sessions  without her giving me something in return. She needed to participate or  we would continue this ridiculous face-off.

I went to my desk and opened my calendar. I found an empty time slot at  seven. It was either that or wait another day. I weighed my options and  knew if I waited any longer, she would back out. I could tell that she  was skittish about procuring help. She probably needed more than just my  help, but I knew she needed something. I wouldn't fail her. "Tomorrow  night at seven, meet me here," I told her, not asking her.

Her eyes moved from mine to the wall and then back to mine, over and  over again. We sat in silence for nearly a minute while she did that. I  was waiting for her to respond and, as usual, I was getting nothing.

"Is that a problem, Ivy?"

"No. I think I can move some stuff around. It should be fine," she  responded in an even tone. Her tone didn't offer me a glimpse into her  mind one bit. I wondered what she was thinking about when her gaze was  constantly darting from me to the inanimate objects that filled my  office.

"Okay then, I'll see you tomorrow night."

I watched as she stood up and made her way to the door. Not a word  escaped her mouth, nor did her eyes ever meet mine again. Even if they  had, I doubted that they would hold anything conclusive. There was  something about her that I couldn't figure out. She seemed depressed  maybe, definitely stuck within her own head. I was sure once I figured  it out, I would be able to help her. I hoped so at least.

Once the door was closed behind her, I turned back to my desk. I busied  myself with putting files away and shutting down my computer. Leaving  too soon after a patient had proven to be a bad idea. It can sometimes  be difficult for women to separate my work from emotions. I'd have to  say that was the hardest part of my job, when they'd become convinced  they were in love with me. If only they knew I was incapable of love,  they'd never even try to pursue me in that arena to begin with.

But for some reason, if you tell a woman that, they feel the need to fix  you. I guess I could somewhat understand their logic. After all, they  come to me with intimacy issues and the first thing I want to do is fix  them. But I can't be helped. It's what makes me so good at what I do. I  can teach intimate behavior, I can correct their longstanding fears of  sex, and can make them overcome anxiety issues all while staying  completely devoid of romantic emotions.

I finished packing up my work, setting myself up for the next day, and  headed out of the office. All I wanted to do was go home and grab a  beer. No. Not a beer. I needed something stronger after the day I had  survived. I simply needed to clear my head. It didn't happen often, but  there were times when clients would open up about their pasts and it  somehow brought up my own. I reserved the hard liquor for those days.  And Ivy had done that to me, made it one of those days.         

     



 

It was strange because she hadn't shared much, yet she had managed to  accomplish setting my thoughts in motion. Thoughts that were buried deep  within my cavernous mind, the dangerous thoughts that held the power to  haunt me.

As I made it to the front door of the office building, I could see the  sheet of rain through the glass. Well, that's just fucking great, I  thought to myself. I must have been so in my own head that I hadn't  heard it from my office. I don't know how I didn't notice it with it  coming down as hard as it was, pelting the glass like tiny bullets. I  guess that only shows how deep within my own thoughts I had been. It was  definitely a hard liquor kind of night. Maybe I'd call Alyssa, too.  Yeah, liquor and a blowjob would make it go away.

I opened the door, preparing myself to run to my parked car, when I  noticed a woman sitting on the curb. It only took a moment to see it was  Ivy. Shit. She was waiting for me. I didn't have the patience for that,  but something inside of me made me go to her. Humanity. I may have been  a bastard when it came to women, but I did have some compassion when it  came to my patients.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, yelling over the pouring rain around us.

She looked up at me, letting the water fall into her eyes. She didn't  even try to shield her sight from the torrential downpour. I noticed her  golden hair was now much darker as it soaked in the rain and clung to  her body. It was long and thin. When it was dry, it hung limply against  her tiny frame, not bouncy like some of the women I had seen. It looked  shiny and well taken care of. It also looked as if it were strong enough  and meant to be pulled. I silently cursed myself. I had to stop  thinking about that with her. My client-my new and clearly disturbed  client-was sitting alone in the pouring rain. I needed to focus on that,  not her hair.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were leaving," she answered, but I barely  heard her over the water assailing the pavement. She immediately stood  and began walking away without another glance in my direction. What the  fuck was that all about?

I had two choices-go after her, or get in my car to head home. It should  have been an easy choice. She clearly needed help; sitting alone and  getting drenched in the pouring rain was enough proof of that. But I had  been down this road before. I knew when women walked away from you like  that it only meant one thing. They wanted you to follow. They wanted to  be chased. I'd had my fair share of women come to me, seeking help, yet  the help they were after could have been fulfilled by calling a male  escort service. Ivy had already mentioned prostitution and had asked me  if I would be having sex with her. Decision made …  I walked back to my  car.