Friends

Chapter 16

Marc'Qwuan's POV:

"So, who is it?" my therapist asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh, don't do me like that," I grunt, my face twisting into a plea for empathy.

"Marc, how long have we known each other?" he asks, his tone shifting to genuine curiosity.

"Five years," I reply.

"And for the first two months of those five years, we tackled your issues with your mother. What have we spent the last four years and ten months talking about?" his eyebrow raising as he asks.

"My love life," I admit, a note of defeat in my voice.

"Exactly," he says, leaning back slightly. "I told you that you seemed in a good place mentally and could come back when you felt you needed to. But, being the hopeless romantic you are, women tend to be your kryptonite. So... who is she?"

"My roommate."

"The one who's still in love with her ex?" he asks, his voice filled with curiosity.

"That's the one," I reply, my tone tinged with guilt.

"Oh, God," he groans, visibly concerned.

"What?" I ask, already knowing what's coming.

"You have this pattern of chasing emotionally unavailable women, convinced that if you love them hard enough, they'll change. I thought your last relationship was supposed to be the final lesson for you."

"This time is different," I say firmly.

"You've said that the last six times. So, what about this time is different?"

"She likes me," I say, hoping it'll convince him.

"Oh, wow, I must've missed a lot," he says, his expression skeptical. "Last time we talked, you weren't going to pursue her because of how much she loved her ex. Now, all of a sudden, she likes you? What happened?"

"She's cut him out of her life for good," I explain.

He flips open his notebook, scanning a page. "Let's see... last session, you said—ah, right here—you told me she'd cut him out of her life for good. Sound familiar?"

"Yeah, but this time is different," I insist.

"How so?"

"Because those other times she 'cut him out' weren't real. She'd just lock herself in her room, depressed, and I'd barely see her. This time, though... Well, apparently, he's dating her best friend now. I guess that was the final straw because she's not holed up in her room anymore. She's actually been happy, active, and we've been getting super close. And then—she made a move on me."

"Made a move on you?" my therapist repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, made a move on me. We were sitting on the couch, and she did that thing—what women love to do—you know, scooting closer, getting touchy, making it obvious it was 'that kind of time.'"

"And how did you respond to that?"

"I didn't go for it. Not that I didn't want to," I add quickly, leaning forward. "If I'd gone for it, I'd have absolutely destroyed her. I'd have given her the best dick of her life. But—we're roommates. If I become her rebound, and she ends up going back to him, it's gonna make living together a nightmare. I'd rather avoid the drama."

"So why are you here, Marc? What exactly are we discussing?"

"I guess it's this," I admit, sighing. "I always play the superhero. I see a damsel in distress and think it's my job to swoop in and save the princess—whether she wants to be saved or not. I look at women with a ton of red flags, like Jasmine, and tell myself, 'I can fix this. I can save you.' But the truth? They don't want to be saved. Not really. Ten times out of ten, they just don't."

"Sounds like therapy is finally working," he says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Exactly," I say, nodding. "The old me would've seen her advances as a sign, as her asking me to save her. But I didn't take the bait. I'm trying to take it slow. The problem is, I don't know how to take things slow."

"Have you heard of the term 'friends?'" he asks, expressionless.

"That's what I'm doing. Or at least trying to do—be just friends. We've been talking a lot, and she opened up to me. She told me I'm her dream guy. I'm everything she wants in a man. And yeah, she likes me. But I told her, 'I'm not crossing any friendship boundaries until you sort things out with your ex and process all the trauma with a therapist.'"

"So, let me get this straight," he says, leaning forward. "You want to stay friends with Jasmine until she's over her ex—but you don't know how to actually be friends with her?"

"That is correct."

"Marc," he says, a proud smile breaking across his face, "you've come a very long way."

"Thank you, but I don't know how to be friends," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. "I know how to fuck. I know how to be the perfect boyfriend. But being just friends? Especially with this much sexual tension? That's uncharted territory for me."

"'Friends' is a broad term," my therapist says, leaning back in his chair. "Be specific. There are platonic relationships, romantic relationships, and intimate relationships."

"Would you mind breaking that down for me?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Of course. Platonic relationships are like the one you have with Jaylin—no romantic or sexual interaction. Romantic relationships are the boyfriend-girlfriend or husband-wife dynamic. Then, there are intimate relationships, where there's no serious commitment but you're still physically involved. And within those three, there are subcategories—polyamory, for example, is becoming increasingly popular."

"So, what you're saying is, I need to keep things platonic with her? Avoid anything sexual?"

"If you're saying you want to be friends with her in the way I think you mean, then yes."

"But there is so much sexual tension between us," I protest.

"There's nothing wrong with that, as long as you don't act on it. Remember, Marc, you've always operated in the intimate relationship role with women. But as soon as things start transitioning toward something more romantic, you self-sabotage. You like this girl. Let's not ruin it."

"You're starting to sound a lot like Jaylin," I tell him with a grin. "But you explain things better."

He chuckles. "Alright then. So, how's it been going? Keeping things platonic?"

"The farthest we've gone is cuddling while watching TV," I say, holding my hands up defensively.

"Mhm," he hums, smirking like he doesn't believe me.

"I'm serious!" I insist, smiling despite myself.

"Knowing you, Marc, cuddling tends to lead to... other things," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Seriously," I repeat, leaning forward. "We've been cuddling on the couch every night before bed for the past week, and nothing's happened. She wants something to happen, but I haven't done anything."

"Interesting," he says, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"Why is that interesting?" I ask, confused by the sudden shift.

"Well, that's our time," he says, closing his notebook with a satisfied smile. "This was good. A great session. It was nice seeing you again, Marc. Same time next week?"

"Yeah, same time next week," I reply, though a part of me wishes we had more time for him to explain further.