Inside Voice

45. Pervert

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Parker's POV
One Week Later...

"So, how were your dreams last night, Parker," my therapist asked upon my answering his FaceTime call on my laptop.

"Uhhh," I trailed off as I'd walked to my dresser and grabbed a shirt, putting it on while stepping over to my desk. "They were fine."

Vaughn and Damien had given me a choice between three psychologists. A petite blonde woman with deep blue eyes. A short, chubby man with brown eyes and black hair. And a tall blonde man with green eyes, who'd reminded me an awful lot of Kenneth; they were practically identical, the only distinction between the two being their eye color and lip shape.

In the end, I chose the short, darker-haired man because he'd looked like an older version of myself with a bit of weight gain and glasses. His name was Charles Bentley. He told me  that I could call him Chuck if I wanted to, but I'd chosen to call him by his first and last name after seeing that he'd blushed darker and darker each time I did so during our first meeting two days ago. I found his blushing and nervousness around me to be quite appealing since he had carried himself and spoke with a great deal of confidence when he'd first introduced himself to me. He had completely disregarded my taller height and muscular build, but it was as though hearing my deeper voice had completely humiliated him. And I really enjoyed how easily the man blushed.

It reminded me of Gyorgy.

"Just fine? Would you like to tell me what all happened in your dreams?" Charles asked.

I shook my head and shrugged. "Not much to tell," I lied. For the seventh night in a row, I'd had the same nightmare where John Gray had killed Gyorgy in front of me and taken Daughn away. Last night, the dream was so vivid and intense that I had forced myself awake from crying too hard, and I stayed up the rest of the night. Even when Daughn slept with me three nights ago, I couldn't relax. I accidentally squeezed him hard enough to leave a bruise over his chest, and he didn't tell me until morning that he struggled to breathe throughout the night because of how tight I'd been holding him. I felt terrible when he told me that, and every time he cuddled with me after that night, the guilt that came with my unconscious violence increased.

"You have dark circles," my therapist pointed out.

"That's probably just my camera making my face look funny. I'm fine," I yawned, rubbing my eyes.

"Parker, if you're not being honest with me, how can I help you?"

"Why don't you think I'm being honest with you," I chuckled.

"Because you're obviously tired, stressed out, and sad, but you're constantly telling me that you're fine, or you make some kind of crude joke or remark to get me to stop asking questions," Charles explained.

"Crude? I thought you liked it whenever I teased you. You always blush, so—"

"Just because someone turns red doesn't mean that they like what's happening at the moment. Blushing can mean that someone is nervous, embarrassed, upset, or angry!"

Well, it can also mean that they're aroused...

"I am not red because I enjoy your teasing. I am merely embarrassed that I have to deal with it," Charles said bitterly.