Friends

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

It's been a week since my last therapy session, and everything with Marc has been... perfect. Like, too perfect. It feels like I've stepped into one of my romance novels—only this time, my book boyfriend is real, and he's my roommate. I can't wait to tell my therapist!

But as soon as I sit down, her expression says it all—this isn't going to go the way I imagined.

"I'm going to recap what I just heard," she starts, her brows slightly furrowed, voice calm but edged with concern. "We had a conversation about how it's not the smartest idea for you to pursue a relationship with your roommate, Marc, because you're not over Kendrick. You agreed with me on that. And then, right after our session, you tried to perform oral sex on him?"

Hearing it laid out like that feels like a slap. My face heats up instantly. "Well... when you put it like that, it sounds awful," I mumble, shrinking into the couch, trying to disappear into the cushions. The shame creeps in like an unwelcome guest, heavy and suffocating.

She softens her tone, and her eyes are kind. "I'm just summarizing the events, Jasmine. That's all."

I sigh, realizing she's right. It's not like she twisted the facts—I just didn't expect them to sound so reckless when said out loud.

"I can't explain it," I blurt out, hands gesturing wildly as they can somehow catch the words before they hit the air. "He's just so attractive! The sexual tension is there, you know? And we're always in such close quarters. It's so easy to get caught up in it!" I lean forward, searching her face for some sign of understanding, hoping she'll say something like, 'Oh yeah, totally relatable.'

She nods slowly. "I understand what that's like."

Relief floods through me. Finally, someone gets it. But before I can bask in that validation, she continues:

"It sounds like there's a huge emotional contingency tied to this 'couch' or 'safe zone' you've created with Marc." She tilts her head slightly, studying me. "You do realize you don't have to do that, right?"

I blink at her, trying to process what she just said. Doesn't have to? She's out of her mind if she thinks I'm going to give up our nightly couch talks. That's like saying, 'Hey, why don't you stop breathing for a bit?'

"I want to," I declare, sitting up straighter. "I've never felt so seen, so heard."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, her posture shifts. She grabs her pen and notepad, scribbling something down with quick, deliberate strokes. My stomach knots. Great. Now I'm officially a case study.

She pauses, pen hovering mid-air. "What's going to happen when you two get closer and Kendrick comes back?"

Her words hit harder than I expected like she's peeled back a layer I didn't want exposed. She even sounds like Marc when she says it, which only makes it worse. I bite back the urge to roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck.

"You sound exactly like Marc," I snap, frustration bleeding into my voice.

She doesn't flinch. Instead, she sets her notepad aside, her expression calm—like she's been expecting this reaction all along.

"There's a lot to unpack here, and we'll circle back to it," she says evenly. "But for now, let's talk about your homework. Did you get a chance to do it?"

I exhale sharply, grateful for the subject change. "You mean researching trauma bonding and what love looks like to me?"

"That's correct."