The Terms of an Alpha ✔️

t w e n t y - n i n e

Ender thought Dr. Harding had a punchable-looking face. He had a round face, and to put it simply- he looked like a dork. Thick-rimmed glasses. Too much hair gel. And a suit that was far too loose. Okay, Ender was definitely unnecessarily hating on the man.

"How has your day been?" Dr. Harding asked, with a knee crossed over the other. That was another thing— his name. Ender couldn't talk to the man without thinking of all the different, definitely inappropriate to say to his therapist. Right? Ender wasn't really sure. He had never done this before. He had never wanted to do this, but after both his dads, Sophia, and Gabrielle asked him to go, he agreed to attend one session.

"You know," Ender began. "You're kind of like a prostitute with less steps." Ender had agreed to go, but that didn't mean he was about to be the best, cordial client Dr. Harding had ever seen.

"You think therapy is like prostitution?" While Ender knew he had judged Mr. Harding's outward appearance too much, he had to admit he had a smooth, deep voice.

"I mean, I am paying you. This is like the talking part right before, well... you know..."

"Ah. This is the seducing part! Nice to know I haven't lost my touch then," he winked. Ender grimaced.

Cringing he said, "Fine. You're right. This is the opposite of sexy. Besides, are you straight?"

Laughing, Dr. Harding told him, "Yes. I am."

"Well I'm not, so if that's going to be an issue..." Ender trailed off.

"Do you think it'll be an issue?" Goddess, Ender hated all the questions.

"Could be. What if I want to spend the entire time talking about fucking men? That won't gross you out?" He figured he might as well try to make Dr. Harding uncomfortable— for his own enjoyment.

"No, remember, I'm a professional who has been doing this for probably more years than you have been alive. Most of what you say, I guarantee I've heard it before."

"Are you saying I'm unoriginal?" Ender deadpanned.

"Yeah, I guess so," he smirked. Ender clenched his jaws to stop a surprised look on his face from showing.

"Well in that case, I don't see why I need therapy. Aren't I just like a bunch of other people out there?"

"Yeah, but therapy is for everyone." Ender scoffed.

"That's what my dad said." He rolled his eyes, thinking of Xavier tell him that therapy could be like talking to a friend, and everyone should talk to friends. Dr. Harding was not his friend. Nor would he ever be his friend. Plus, didn't that break some patient-doctor rules?

"Your dad's a smart man."

"And yet, only I'm in therapy, and he's at home, along with everyone else."

"You are in therapy. Very astute observation, Ender." He had to try to hold back his tongue from sticking it out at Dr. Harding. "So, what made you attend this session?"

"I already told you. My parents and some other people wanted me to come."

"But why are you here?" he reworded. Did he even have a license? Ender had already told him the reason. Maybe, he had short-term memory loss.

"My dad, Xavier, my other dad, Darius, my best friend, Sophia, and my grandmother, Gabrielle, forced me to come," he said very slowly for extra emphasis.

"I didn't see them drag you in here and sit you down on that seat. That you did on your own," Dr. Harding replied. "You don't strike me as the type to do something you don't want to do, and I didn't see you come in here kicking and screaming."