Love Therapy (GxG)

17

I had never thought of myself as stupid.

I'll admit, most of my actions are not well thought-out in general, just because I'm act on my intuition and my heart.

But this time, I really fucked up.

***

The moment I come back home, Kyle's car is gone. I thank my lucky star, because Lord knows I couldn't have supported the many questions him and his boyfriend would have bombarded me with upon seeing my puffy eyes.

Because the first tear had been shed the moment I had turned on my engine, and then the rest had followed suit. I had to endure the Saturday morning traffic, complemented with the ridiculously upbeat music coming from my car radio. I had been suffocating in my car, and the moment painfully reminded me of a few months ago, when a black Mercedes had crashed into my car.

What I would give to turn back time, I think, now that I am in my bed, with nothing to do to distract my mind. The crying and driving had felt very movie-worthy, but now I just feel like a sack of potatoes with no purpose.

It would never be the same again. What the hell went through my mind when I decided to kiss my therapist is beyond me.

But thinking about her makes me think about the kiss, and a very small part of me rejoices in the memory of her soft lips against mine, those beautiful blue eyes so close to mine.

And the vicious circle takes place. Loads of questions run through my mind.

Why didn't she push me away before the damage was done? Maybe she didn't realize I would go through with it. I should've stopped myself. But an almost-kiss would be as devastating as a kiss, as in the awkwardness would install itself nevertheless, and I wouldn't even have tasted her.

Then, did I dream when the faint whisper of a moan had reached my ears? Or did Diana really enjoyed me kissing her, deep down? Had she thought of kissing me like I had? Or was it a moan of irritation?

Burrying my face in my pillow, I scream in frustration, at myself, at Kyle for urging me on to be honest, at Diana for being so hot and cold. "What did she fucking expect, inviting me to restaurants, to have coffees, and then telling me about transference?"

I must be going crazy. I even talk to myself!

"What is transference?"

My head jerks to hard I hear a snap in my neck, and I swear under my breath before looking my best friend straight in the eye.

Before I can open my mouth to insult his ancestors though, Kyle rushes past the threshold on which is was leaning, and sits at the end of my bed.

"What happened Ken?" His voice is so soft that I barely recognize him, but Kyle is indeed sat, not fidgeting, an empathetic look in his eyes as he is gazing down at me. "And what is transference?"

Exhaling deeply, I brace myself for any cackle that might escape him after I tell him my little adventure.

"I didn't hear you come in. Transference is," I mumble, utterly ashamed of myself, "is when a patient is developing feelings for his therapist. According to Google, that is."

Kyle's face stays oddly serious, as a whisper escapes him. "So you told her."

I can't even look him in the eyes anymore, and I burry my face into the pillow again. "Not exactly," comes my weak answer.

"What do you mean, not exactly? You either told her or you didn't Ken."

When I stay silent, I feel the bed dip where Kyle is now laying, his hand caressing the very curls I had perfected this morning for a particular someone.