The Professional Lover II (18+) | [Complete]

12 : Denying It

The clock ticks loudly in Dr. Richard's office. I sit with my feet on the couch with my knees bent up and spread apart, my hands buried in the pockets of my hoodie as I wait for the time to run out. I'd rather be fucking, getting spanked, even studying if it meant I wouldn't have to be here, but this is what I do to keep Remy happy.

It kills me not to be able to talk to him about mom's condition, but he wouldn't understand. Whenever I bring her up, it reminds him of my sister, and he spirals into his dark, angry place. Having him think our parents are rotting away in a cage somewhere makes him feel better. So, I let him keep thinking that, and I talk to the stupid shrink.

Or, I don't talk to the stupid shrink. Same thing.

"Do you plan on staying silent for the whole hour?" she asks me.

I don't respond. That would mean I'd lose the quiet game.

"Well, if there is nothing you'd like to talk about today, I have a few things I'd be happy to discuss."

She shifts in her chair, and I attempt to maintain my focus on the even ticking of the clock. I lean my head onto the back of the couch, close my eyes, and listen to the sound.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Suck. Cock.

Tick. Tock.

"Have you been able to cry yet?" she asks. My eyes snap open. The answer is no, but she already knows that. "You said the last time you did was at you sister's funeral. Why do you think you haven't cried since then? Is it because the memory of your loss is the most painful? Or is it because you prefer using your body to cope with her loss?"

Bitch. I glare in her direction but say nothing.

"You cannot continue to blame yourself for her death," she tells me. I don't blame myself for shit. "You may have known about her abuse, about her demons, but there was nothing you could do to stop her that night. There was nothing anyone could do at that point. She had made up her mind."

I take a deep breath. Tick tock, tick tock.

"She is the only person you ever admit you love, the only one that elicits emotional descriptions when you talk about her; you feel angry she was stolen from you, sad that she's gone, fearful that you will never be as memorable as her," she explains. "The empathy you feel for her due to your closeness has tainted your ability to form relationships since." Keep yapping, bitch. "You have to let go of this guilt you have for surviving her, for not stopping her. You cannot keep blaming yourself for her death because you are not the reason she died."

"You think I don't fucking --" know that, I want to finish, but I've already lost my game. I look in her direction and see the pinned smile that graces her face. Goddamn bitch.

"You know the affect your father's actions had on your family. You were all his victims in some way," she says. "Yet, you still believe that hiding the fact you take care of your mother would ruin your relationship with Remy? As if he is not the person who would understand that decision the most?" She stares at me and assesses my angry expression. "That's because of your sister as well, isn't it?"

I glare at her, battling the confusing mix of emotions. "I really don't like you."

The bitch grins. "It seems misplaced that you try so hard to maintain control in your life through your success in school, your profession, and your goals of independence, yet you don't speak about your sister's death as your main influence."

She doesn't know shit. She's the worst therapist in the fucking world.

"Maggie," she starts as she uncrosses her legs to move into lecture position. "What I feel you are missing is that your goals cannot be accomplished without some sort of closure. Either you discuss with me the pain placed on you by your father and the loss of your sister, or this grandiose dream of independence in California will end up as nothing more than a dream."