Wanted For Pleasure: vol 2

Chapter 23: the breakthrough

"Life on its own, without art to shape it, leaves you in confusion and chaos, but aesthetic emotion harmonizes what you know with what you feel to give you a heightened awareness and a sureness of your place in reality."

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𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏

My palms are sweaty and I'm trying hard not to keep them balled as that may look aggressive. She'll read me for that, she's too smart, and I'm not good at hiding what I'm feeling.

I keep fiddling around and repositioning myself on the couch. It's not particularly comfortable already, though.

It's been a while, I'm just nervous to open up again. I'm dreading she ask why I've disappeared for quite some time. What would my answer be, anyway? That I don't think I need her anymore? While that's the goal of therapy, go stop needing it, I feel guilty because I know I should've continued regular sessions. I've just— things seem on the up and up with my relationship and I don't want to sit here and tell her things that she'll dissect and then tell me they're actually not on the up and up. Frankly, I can't deal with facing the reality that what I think is perfect in my life, isn't.

Dr.Hassan stares back at me. She's smiling, that's a good thing, or at least for now.

She taps her pen against the clipboard on her lap. I know she's getting testy, just waiting for me to dump all of my trauma onto her.

"I feel good." I blurt, hands on my knees.

To further convince her, I smile wide from ear to ear like a guilty child.

She doesn't even say anything and I go, "Yeah. I think I want to go down to twice a month now. You know, since I don't really have anymore problems."

"A-huh." She sounds. Damn it.

Her eyes laser on me, I can read her hyper focus.

"How's Chris-"

"Please don't." I cut her off to say.

She's taken aback. "You wouldn't like to talk about him now?"

"No." I make clear, rubbing my palms over the cushions. "I feel like he's all we talk about. I'm getting along without him, can we focus on that?"

"How can I when that's all you've ever presented to me?"

"What is?" I look up at her through my eyelashes.

She puts her notes aside, legs spread, and clasps her fingers in between them. "That all you are depends on him. Your mood, your everything. You have given me more insight on him than you have told me about who you actually are, and what Morgan Ann Bennett actually wants from this world."

"Okay," I snarl, throwing my offended hands up. "I don't need to hear this."

I stand from the seat and storm to the door.

But, something stops me.

I drop my hand from the knob and am mentally brought back to a year ago. Four years ago. Eighteen years ago.

"Morgan?" Rita's mature voice brings me back.

A tear falls and I swallow hard. My throat is dry.

I clutch the strap to my canvas bag and remain planted in the same spot.

"My parents got rid of me when I was eight. Callie would abandon me to go hook up with guys. Some of those men hurt me, introduced me to things I shouldn't have known about so young. I had to works my ass off since I was fourteen. I settled for some asshole who didn't treat me good, just to say I had a boyfriend because, to me, that consistency was a lot better than whatever the fuck Callie had, and he didn't leave me like my parents. And I stayed with him for years solely because I thought that was as good as it was gonna get for me..."