Dominated (Obsessed II)

13.

Richard Dawson (Junior)
Confession is good for the soul
•••

I slid further down on the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me, eyes darting between the clock on the wall and Isabelle, who was sitting on the edge of her seat. This was our fourth session here, in the same office, with the same soft-spoken therapist, Dr. Graham. I've been out of it for weeks, ever since I left Madrid actually but I said I'd do this so here I was.

I calculated how much time we had left, glancing at my watch. Isabelle was in the middle of another emotional confession, and I could tell this one was going to lead in even more tears than the last session.

"I just feel like you resent me. I don't know what I've done, but it's been there for a long time, even before I slept with... well, you know," she said, her voice trembling.

Her fingers twisted the fabric of her dress, her gaze flicking between me and Dr. Graham. "You don't love me. I know that now. I've tried to push it away, ignore it, but it's obvious. You've always prioritized literally everything over me. I can't even express how I feel without you shutting me down or dismissing it entirely. I mean, you cheat on me... regularly. Like it's nothing."

Her eyes glistened with tears, her lips trembling. I shifted, my mind racing through the usual list of excuses I'd mentally prepared. The ones I'd used before, the ones that were always ready to be pulled out. But something held me back.

Maybe it was the setting. Maybe it was Dr. Graham, who was watching me like he had me all figured out. I hated that feeling, like someone knew what was going on in my head, even when I wasn't saying a damn thing.

Isabelle let out a shaky breath, waiting for me to say something. Anything. But I stayed quiet, my eyes on the clock again. Fifteen minutes left.

Dr. Graham finally broke the silence. "Richard
," he said,

"Junior" I corrected, hearing Richard or Mr.Dawson just felt like my father.

"Junior" his voice calm but probing, "this is your fourth session, and you've barely spoken. I notice that you tend to stay quiet during these sessions. Why do you think that is?"

I turned my head toward him, meeting his gaze. He had that therapist look, the kind that said he wasn't judging but was trying to pull something out of me. I could feel Isabelle's eyes on me too, her breath catching in her chest as she waited for me to finally say something.

"Don't know what to say," I mumbled, my voice flat. I leaned back into the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Dr. Graham nodded, but I could tell that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Isabelle, however, was less forgiving.

"Don't know what to say?" she repeated, her voice rising, frustration breaking through her tears. "Junior, we've been together for three years, and you don't know what to say? I've been pouring my heart out in these sessions, and you just sit there. You've been emotionally unavailable for so long, and I've tried to make it work. I even thought... maybe if I slept with someone else, you'd finally care, that you'd finally fight for me. But you didn't."

I glanced at her, her face red with emotion. She was staring at me like she was begging for something...anything. Some kind of reaction. But I couldn't give her what she wanted, and honestly, I didn't even know if I had it in me anymore.

"I never asked you to stay," I said, my voice low, cold. It was automatic, like the words were on autopilot.

Her face fell, the tears finally spilling over as she wiped at them with the back of her hand. "I'm in love with you. I know I've made mistakes, but I'm in love with you. And you... you treat me like I'm just something in the background. Like I'm nothing. You've never prioritized me."