beautifully broken:if i break 3(20)

“You have never been shy about sharing your liaisons with women before, which makes this all the more interesting,” she says.

I roll my eyes. When I first met Helen I wasn’t sure what to think of her so I did to her what I did to most beautiful woman. I tried to seduce her. In one of my ploys, I gave her every detail of my nights with whomever I took home. When that didn’t work, I thought it’d scared her off. In my defense, that was before I decided I liked Helen. She’s one of the only women I haven’t been able to screw.

“I haven’t done that in a long time,” I say, laughing, remembering how young and dumb I was.

“You made me sit through that for hours at a time. Not that Dexter didn’t thank you for it,” she teases and I make a vomiting expression. Now I can’t see Helen as anything but a sister and thinking of her and Dex having sex is disgusting, especially if I had any part in helping them get going.

“All jokes aside, Cal, a new person entering your life is significant and can impact things. Let’s chat.”

I stare at her blankly and look at my watch. We can do this for the next thirty minutes.

“Okay. I’ll start,” she says cheerfully and pulls out a file from her desk.

“Lauren Brooks, age 21, an English major at Chicago University, works as a waitress at The Vault,” she rattles off and I can’t help but laugh.

“Dex had her checked out?” I scoff.

“This surprises you?” she asks sarcastically.

“Well then, you guys know she’s harmless,” I say, getting up to leave.

“I think you like her from the way you’re avoiding speaking about her. If you do like her, I bet you’re trying to think of another date and if you are, I’d say an art student would love to attend the AIC opening Saturday.”

That could a better date than bungee-jumping. But I don’t even know if I should go on another date or call or her again. It’d be doing her more of a favor not to. Ugh. I glance back at Helen who gestures to the chair across from her.

Helen’s a woman and she’s my doctor. I guess I might well make use of what have been useless sessions so far. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says excitedly.

I take a seat and plop my feet on her desk which erases the smug grin off her face.

“You said make yourself comfortable,” I retort as she pushes my feet off her desk.

“So tell me about her,” she says.

“I think you know all there is to know,” I say sarcastically.

“I mean, what makes her different than the others? I recall you telling me”—she shuffles through her notebook—“The only thing that interests you in a woman is her bra size and how good she is with her mouth,” she says, her expression completely serious. I think I did say something like that. Who knew she really was taking notes.

“That was only partly true,” I say in my defense.

“So what makes Lauren different?”

“I don’t know if she’s different.”

“Well there is something about her that is causing you to respond to her differently than you have others.”

“I was just trying to make something right that I messed up for her,” I say honestly. She looks at me quizzically. I sit up and explain how everything happened the night I first saw Lauren and how I basically blew up her life as she knew it and only wanted to attempt to make up for it. After I’m done, she folds her hands on her desk.

“Maybe she reminds you of another part of yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “Trust me it’s not that.”

“Well, let me ask you something, Cal. I’m assuming you want to see her again or you wouldn’t have cared about me offering you the AIC tickets. What happens next?”

That’s the million-dollar question. I know what I want to happen next, what usually already happens. I smile at her suggestively.

“So what’s the problem? You have no problems with your sexual prowess so to speak. Or has the medication been affecting you that way?”

“No! No problems there, trust me.”

“Well then, what is the issue?” she asks.

“I don’t think it’ll end there with her. I don’t think that’s all it could be. If that makes sense,” I say, my eyes landing on my lap.

“My, Cal Scott. Have you grown a conscience?” she asks whimsically.

I don’t say anything because I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

“Has Lauren expressed to you wanting something more than something casual?”

“No, but I can tell she’s not the casual type.”

“You’re inferring, and I’ve learned that when people infer it could be a reflection of something within themselves that they’re projecting onto their situation.”