He looked away from me, reaching for his scotch and finishing it in one gulp. “I'll walk you to your car.”
“No,” I said, too quickly. “No, I'm fine. Stay here. Relax. You look... tired.” Which wasn't quite right. It wasn't tired, but I needed to stop looking at him.
“Ava...”
“Thank you, Chase,” I said, walking stiffly toward the door and closing it behind me.
I leaned against it for a long moment, looking for the strength to move forward, not go back. I turned, putting my hand against the wood as if I could feel him through it, taking a deep breath... then walking out of his office.
After the Session
Ten Minutes
I managed to keep it together until I got home, opening the door, and falling into Shay's waiting arms. Crying. No... sobbing. Big, ugly, snot-filled hysterics. And she just stood there and let it run through me. Then walked me to my bed, opening the blankets, and letting me bury inside.
“I'm right here,” she said, crawling into the foot of the bed and lying there, “if you need anything, okay?”
Seven Hours
“Seriously, go back to bed,” Jake said, looking at my face with a mix of sympathy and disgust. I knew it was bad. I was tear-stained and blotchy. My eyes felt like planets.
“I'm going to work,” I said, grabbing an ice pack out of the freezer, wrapping it in a paper towel, and pressing it against my eyes.
“Ava, I'll tell them you're sick,” Shay reasoned.
“I've been out twice already. And I need the distraction.”
“Still sick with that fake love shit, huh?” Jake asked in typical unfeeling male fashion.
I half-snorted, half-laughed. “I'm not sure it just goes away right away.”
“Unless it ain't no transference,” Shay supplied.
“What else could it be?” Jake asked.
“She's fucking in love with him, you idiot,” Shay said, tapping her heel on the floor.
“It's fak...”
“It ain't fake. The only person who believes that is you.”
“And Dr. Bowler,” I said, pulling the ice off my eyes.
“Dr. Bowler doesn't know shit then. Because this is love. Straight up, can't eat without them, can't sleep without them love. And it isn't going away. Especially if you keep acting like it ain't what it is.”
I shook my head, putting the ice pack away. “We are going to be late,” I insisted, making my way to the door.
“You're not even going to think about it?”
“No,” I said, finally. She just didn't understand.
It was transference.
And it was going to pass.
Three Days
“Come on, look at all this food,” Jake said, in the tone like he was trying to trick a dog into eating a piece of lunch meat with a pill wrapped in it.
“I'm not hungry,” I grumbled, burying deeper into my robe, turning the volume on the TV up.
“You've said that for like every meal for days.”
“And it's been true for every meal for days,” I said, the thought of food making my mouth dry up and my stomach turn.
It wasn't getting better.
I was trying to ignore Shay's constant nagging at me to stop being in denial. To admit that I had real, genuine, normal, woman-for-man feelings for Chase.
When that failed, she insisted I set up an appointment for Dr. Bowler because she 'wasn't going to sit around and watch me be a little bitch' about my feelings forever.
So I called.
And I had an appointment for the next afternoon on my lunch break. An appointment I was looking forward to because I needed the reassurance. Especially after three days and absolutely no lessening of the dark pit inside.
Four Days
“Ava, how have...” she trailed off, stepping aside and waiting for me to join her in her office. “What happened?”
My head jerked slightly. “I, um... I ended therapy, remember?”
“When?”
“Monday.”
“Why didn't you call me sooner?”
“I was just... dealing with all these... residual feelings and I wasn't really feeling up to talking yet.”
“How did your last few sessions go?”
Horribly.
Then great.
Then over.
“Not great. Things were cold. Some... distance I guess. On both our parts. I was trying to, you know, keep myself together. I knew it was ending and I was struggling with that.”
“May I ask, and you do not need to answer, what you did on your last visit?”
I nodded, looking down at my hands. “I guess it started with a little talk therapy, but it felt weird. Kind of forced and awkward. And then he...”
“He did what?”
“He asked me to come over and sit on his lap. So I did. And we just... sat there like that for... I don't know... hours.”
“Ava,” she said, in a tone I knew not to trust. Something was coming. Something I probably didn't want to hear. “I'm not... entirely convinced this is a case of transference.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes shooting up to her face.
No.
That wasn't possible.
It had to be.
She held up a hand. “Transference is usually a pretty cut-and-dry thing for doctors to recognize. Because it is so one-sided. One person is bared to the other and one is completely closed off. With sexual surrogacy, that isn't exactly the case. You are both vulnerable. You are both exposed in a very literal, but also figurative, way. Maybe what you feel is genuine, Ava. Maybe you have feelings for Chase Hudson.”
I closed my eyes, exhaling hard.
I think a part of me knew.
I think that was why I had been clinging to the idea of transference so hard. As an excuse. As an explanation. So I didn't have to take responsibility.
“Ava...”
“I know,” I said, my voice quiet. “I think I've always known.”
“What are you thinking?”
I rolled my eyes. “That there is nothing as pathetic as unrequited love,” I said, smiling a little.
Of course I would fall in love with my therapist. It was completely inappropriate and needy and co-dependent.
How like me.
“Ava, maybe you should talk to Dr. Hudson about...”
“No,” I said, firmly. “No,” I added again. “That chapter is over. I'm not dragging him back into my mess. This is my problem. I need to learn to fix it myself. I can't keep leaning on him. It isn't right.”
“Did you ever stop to consider...”
“Consider what?”
“That maybe the feelings...”
“No,” I said, loudly enough for Dr. Bowler to start. “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. I just... I couldn't let that false hope into my bruised little heart. It wouldn't help. It had been days. Chase could have called. He could have shown up. But he didn't. Because I was just a client. That was all. One of many. Nothing special.
“Okay,” she shrugged. “I know right now, this seems impossible and like I am just feeding you platitudes,” she said, smiling a little, “but this will fade. I know it doesn't seem like it. And that this is such a unique situation because Chase gave you things that no man has ever been able to before. That feels like a insurmountable thing to get through. But now that you know you are capable of having those kinds of connections with men, you can eventually have that again.”
No. Not really.
Nothing would ever be like that.
But something could come in second place.
Something could be almost the same.
And I would just have to learn to feel like that was enough.
“Why don't we consider going back to twice weekly, or at the very least, weekly appointments for a while? Just until you are feeling better?”
“Sure,” I said, giving her a very small, very false smile. But it was the best I could muster. “That is probably a good idea.”
If nothing else, it would appease Jake and Shay.
Seven Days
I would like to say something upbeat about moving on. About how it aches and eases as everything heals. How it sounds quietly sad, yet hopeful... like hymns sung by a solemn choir. But it sounds more like worlds falling apart. It feels like walls being built stronger around your heart.
It is all grit and determination. It was the small voice that screams through the urge to curl up in bed all day and cry and tells you to get up, get dressed, eat, go to work, get shit done. To not let it swallow you up. To not let it become all there is to you.
So, after a few days, I listened to it. I went through the motions. I did what needed to get done. I had dinners with Jake or Shay or both of them.
Then I would get into bed, setting the alarm on my phone, and let it all out for twenty minutes. Twenty. Not a second more. Then I got up and wiped all the evidence of it away.
I tried.
And that was all that could be expected of me.
“Hmm,” I said, sitting at my computer, looking at my bank account online.
“What?” Shay asked, leaning over her leg to paint her toenails.
“My money is still here.”
“What money?”
“My three thousand dollars for... my therapy.”
Shay looked up, her brows drawn together. “That's weird. Call the office. See if they messed up or something.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath and picking up the phone, hoping I would catch the receptionist before she left for the day. Because if it was Chase...
“Dr. Hudson's office,” the voice said, sounding a little frazzled.
“Hi, this is Ava Davis. I have a question regarding a payment I made last week.”