The Sex Surrogate(22)

“Ava, no,” she said, very firmly, very finally. There was no question in her mind whatsoever. Chase was the doctor. Chase understood the lines. Chase did it for a living. There was nothing in it more than that. Ever. “I know, I sound harsh...”

“Harsh is good,” I mumbled. I needed harsh. I needed that smiting slap of reality across the face.

“But the fact of the matter is, transference is almost always one sided. And it usually fades as soon as the patient stops seeing the doctor, usually by force when they find out. I know this is a very confusing time for you, especially given your past. But you have to understand that while what you are dealing with is fairly common, it is still an unhealthy reaction. It is good that you are realizing it for what it is. That will help you get over it. And in... five more sessions, the feelings will likely dissipate and you will still be blessed with having the chance to have opened you up to a wonderful human experience.”

“Right. Okay. Thank you so much, Dr. Bowler.”

“Ava,” she called as I got up and made my way to the door. I turned back. “If you need to talk, please come see me. I would really like to see this therapy work for you. So if you need another ear, I am always here for you. Even if all you need to do is tell someone about your feelings for him, to help you sort them out. It's good that you are getting to the point where you want to share. And I want to make sure you don't backtrack because of something as impermanent as transference.”

“I'll keep that in mind, thank you again,” I said and left.

Outside, I ran my hands over my face. Frustrated. But I had no right to be frustrated. She had just confirmed what I knew was going on.

I sighed, walking back to my car.

I needed more gelato.

Enough to fill up the hole that felt like it was growing larger by the second.

I was just given an opinion from an actual professional in the field that transference was just a phenomenon. Common. Normal. That it meant nothing. But the fact was, it didn't feel like nothing. That was the problem. Transference felt real. I felt like I was falling for him. I melted under his praise, so much so that felt the need to do things to seek it out. I turned into his hands when, in the past, all hands made me want to do was shrink away. I felt a shiver at the way he said my name or when he called me “baby”, “babe”, or “sweetheart”. I was sad to leave him. I anticipated seeing him again. I fretted about my outfits, wondering what might please him. I dreamed about going with him places: the Italian place he took me again, the Italian place I had suggested. I dreamed of him returning my feelings.

His chest was the safest place in the world.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck me,” I grumbled, letting myself back into my apartment, ignoring Jake as I went to my room to change back into my fake-sick day wardrobe. I didn't even bother to stop changing when I heard him open my door and wait for me to face him.

“Why aren't you screaming at me to get out? I've never so much as seen you in a bathing suit before.”

“What the hell does it even matter?” I said, pulling pants up my bare legs, then reaching to pull my sweatshirt over my head.

I turned back to him, his eyes curious for a long moment. “You know,” he said, a trademark smirk toying at his lips, “you have some good raw materials.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, shaking my head and moving past him.

“You're gonna ruin them with all that ice cream,” he said, watching me take my half-finished gallon out of the freezer.

“Good.”

“So I'm guessing the visit didn't go so well.”

“I have transference. And I just have to grin and bear it until my therapy is over.”

“What does transference feel like?”

“Like falling in love with someone, but it's not real.”

“That sucks.”

“You're telling me.”

“You're seeing Dr. Sex tomorrow.”

“Yep.”

“That sucks,” he repeated.

“Yep,” I agreed again.

He had no idea. And it was only bound to get worse before it got better.





Fifth Session





To say I was less than thrilled for my session was probably the biggest understatement of the year. Not because I didn't want to see him, but because I did. I like, really really really wanted to see him.

But my stupid brain was just confused.

And I couldn't talk myself out of it either.

I tried.

For hours.

There was no use.

I dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a heavy black sweater and headed out. Black suited my mood. Black was like a way to hide from the world.

But there was no way to hide from Chase.

Because soon he would have me out of my clothes again.

And it also hadn't escaped my obsessive over thinking that our goodbye last time had been weird. Cold. Detached. Unlike anything that had ever been between us before. Which was the thought I had swirling around my head as I drove there, as I walked up to the building, as I opened the door. How things might be different. Chase might be different. And I wasn't sure I could handle that.

“Ava,” Chase said, nodding at me as I walked in and locked the door.

“Hey,” I managed, taking in his tense shoulders, the muscle ticking in his jaw.

It looked like my fears had been founded.

My Chase was gone.

Oh

my

god.

He was never mine to begin with.

“You look like you're ready to bolt.”

“Yep,” I agreed, beyond lying. It never got me far anyway. He always knew.

“Care to tell me why?”

Oh, because I'm in fake love with you. No biggie. Totally normal.

“I don't know. Care to tell me why you're so tense?”

A look of surprise crossed his face, quickly covered by a smirk. “That was... snippy.”

“Yes, I have feelings other than anxiety, you know.”

“I'm getting a picture,” he said, smiling wider. His shoulders eased slightly, the muscle stopped ticking. “Jake on your nerves again?”

“Jake's been great actually,” I countered. It was true enough. He was still leaving clothes all over and being obnoxious. Now he just balanced it out with being a decent human being every once in a while.

“Work getting to you?”

“I took off yesterday. And it was my manager's birthday today so all we did was eat cake and gab.”

“You took off yesterday? Were you sick?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “No. I just wanted a day off.”

“What did you do?”

It hadn't escaped my notice that I was still pressed against the door and he hadn't walked out from behind the desk.

“I ate enough gelato to feed a small village and watched TV with Jake.” And saw my other shrink who told me I am projecting inappropriate, misplaced feelings on you.

“Sounds like a good day.”

“It was much needed.”

“Are you going to stand in the doorway all night?”

“Are you going to stand behind the desk all night?” I shot back.

“Alright, smartass,” he smiled, moving toward his office door instead of toward me, “lets go get a drink.”

I followed stiffly behind him, taking my station at the stereo. He wanted a play list that matched my mood? Well, he could have it. Then, coming out loud through the speakers, was a heavy dose of female fronted metal music.

Chase's brow raised as he mixed my drink, but said nothing. He handed me my glass which I didn't even go through the pretense of sipping. I gulped it down. He watched me, throwing back his drink in one shot as well.

“I get it,” he said, taking my drink, “you're in a mood.” He brushed past me, going to the stereo and fiddling with it, “but let's listen to something a little more appropriate for the session,” he said, and some sensual r&b music started playing. “You haven't asked what tonight's session is yet.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to know?” he asked, his brows scrunching together like I wasn't making sense. I knew I wasn't.

But I was too busy freaking out about my fake feelings for him to freak out about what new sex act we were going to engage in. “Sure.”

“I am going to go down on you. And you're going to go down on me.”

Oh.

Well.

I should have seen that coming.

And that was a dirty thought when I thought about it.

Oh, my god. Seriously, what was wrong with me?

“Do you know what that means?” he asked, looking at me like I was daft.

“Yes.”

“Oral sex.”

“I'm aware.”

“Okay, enough,” he said, shaking his head. “What's the matter?”

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

Oh, shit.

That was the wrong thing to say.

He looked almost murderous for a moment before he pushed it away.

“Are you having problems with this situation?” he said, gesturing between us.

Just big, fat, ugly, can't eat or sleep without you popping into my brain, problems.

“I think things are going pretty well.”

“That's not what I asked, Ava. I want...” he trailed off, looking at me. “Oh, fuck talking,” he said, grabbing me and slamming his lips into mine. Hard. Full of all the frustration I had, no doubt, been bringing about. His teeth bit into my lower lip hard, making me open on a gasp and his tongue took the opportunity to slip inside.

His hands went up and under my sweater, running up my back, then swiveling around to the front, up my belly, grabbing my breasts hard, then slipping his hands into the cups and grabbing my nipples, pinching and twisting until they were hardened points. Until all my reservations fell away and there was only him. His touch. His lips.