Therapist's Therapy (Part I)

I'm supposed to be seeing him every Wednesday at 4pm. "Consistency is vital," he'd say. Yet here I am, in his office waiting room, at noon on a Friday. Friday was better for me this week; I had things and appointments or whatever.

"Nichelle," his lovely assistant, Belle, calls me, gesturing for me to follow her.

I grab my Marvel themed purse, my fruit punch and follow in her wake.

"Have a seat," she points to his empty office, "he'll be right in."

I toss a random starburst in my mouth; I just found it in my pocket "great," I say through the juicy tongue smacking.

I wander around his office, picking up a snow globe from...what looks like Italy, and shake it, watching the glitter sprinkle around the tiny sphere bringing me a small amount of delight.

It's the simple things.

The door closes behind me, "Nichelle," oop, his tone is rather clipped. He seems annoyed.

I turn around and bless him with a sweet smile. Sweet and a tad bit flirtatious. My therapist is very attractive, but he's also kind of old. I think he's like 40 or something.

"How are you?" I ask.

"We've talked about this." He ignores my pleasantry, "I cannot keep accommodating your inconsistency."

"Well its nice to see you too."

He deflates, already defeated, "have a seat please."

I fumble with the Italian snow globe.

"Jesus Christ," he hisses. His name is Nazio Salvatore. Even his name is attractive. I call him Naz; he doesn't like that. I don't particularly care.

These therapy sessions began when I got into a fight with a police officer at 17, shortly after my mother was hospitalized for the harm that my loving father inflicted on her during one of his drunken sprees."

"So," I start, finally having a seat; with the snow globe in hand. I shook it again, because the glitters were beginning to fade. "There's this guy."

He rolls his eyes

"Therapists aren't supposed to do that," I deadpan.

"We haven't finished discussing our last topic."

"What was that again?" I take a sip of my fruit punch.

"Tell me more about your father.”

“He’s a piece of shit. Not much to it.”

“Yes, Nichelle. We’ve covered that much. But you’re walking around with an exceptional amount of disdain for your father. That can weigh you down. Without your knowledge. You need to address your feelings towards him." I don't want to talk about this. He's not easily distracted though. He knows me inside and out...which brings us to the fact that getting to know me physically won't be too much of a task.

"Naz. Buddy. It was never that serious."

"I'm not sure you understand grief. And it would be nice if you called me Dr. Salvatore."

I flop back in the plush love seat, "Grief? No one is dead. He's just dead to me."

"Exactly. The loss of someone comes in many forms. You have still lost him even in the absence of his demise."

Maybe I can seduce him. Not completely, just enough to distract him. I'm pretty attractive my damn self. I have a great ass, straight white teeth, high cheek bones and honey brown eyes. My hair has a mind of its own but it still works for my look. It's big, curly and jet black. Not very much tames it, but again, it works out in my favor. I'm a little on the thicker side, but my curves fall in all the right places. In short, I'm familiar with what I can do to a man's sense of focus.

"Fine. How, then, can I grieve the loss of an absentee father, Naz?"

He ignores my sarcasm, "Tell me why you have such strong negative feelings towards him."

"You know this, though. He was never there for us. And when he was there, it was...unpleasant." He knows the story.

"I need more than that."

I pause, studying his sharp jawline, full lips and dark eyes that have a slight slant on the sides. Almost as if he's always just a little tired. "More than that," I repeat. He has crooked teeth, but an amazing smile. His entire face lights up when he laughs.

I shrug, sipping on the red drink again, "fine." I make eye contact, "There's this...overwhelming sense of loneliness. It makes me crave affection."

He nods, "Do you reach out to your mother?"

"My mother is broken. She can't give me anything right now. Much less affection."

"Do you want to talk about what 'broken' means in reference to your mother or your...overwhelming sense of loneliness?"

"Me. I want to talk about me."

"I'm listening."

"My mother can't give me the kind of affection I'm looking for, Naz."

"What kind of affection are you looking for?"

I shake the snow globe, one more time, for good measure. I place it on my lap, and lean back into the love seat. "Intimacy. I want someone to be smitten with me."

"That's not an unnatural desire-"

"Listen," I hold up my left hand, "there's more."

"Carry on."

"I want someone to be obsessed with my lips, or the dimples that sit just above the swell of my ass. I want someone to find pleasure in my pleasure." I stood up to return the snow globe to its original post, and then I wander around the office a bit gazing at his pictures. "I want someone to be turned on just by seeing me." I remove my jacket, and hang it on the back of the love seat, finishing up my fruit punch.

I'm wearing a fitted V-neck T-shirt and ripped skinny jeans. My figure is pretty pronounced. "I don't know that I see that happening anytime soon."

"What makes you feel that way?"

"I'm attracted to intellect. Someone who speaks with a purpose. Similar to how you speak. I enjoy it when you explain certain things to me."

"Okay."

"It's just hard when I'm looking for someone in everyone."

"Who are you looking for?"

I make eye contact with him again, "Someone with a sharp jawline, full lips and dark eyes that have a slight slant on the sides. Almost as if they're always just a little tired."

"Hmph."

"Someone who's laugh not only lights up their face, but lights up a room. I want someone who already knows me. Inside and out. That way, getting to know me physically, won't necessarily be too much of a task."

"Are you afraid you won't find that at all, or is it that you're not interested in waiting for it to come to you? Naturally."

"Naturally," I repeat it, slowly, and I don't like the taste of it. Doesn't feel natural on my tongue. "I want to make it happen, Nazio."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet. What do you think? Do you think I can make something like this happen? Just based on what you see and what you know about me."

"I think anything is possible within reason."

"That's a rather generic response."

"Tell me what you think, Nichelle. What I think, doesn't matter, if you don't believe it."

"Hmph. I think that your sharp jawline, full lips and dark eyes that have a slight slant on the sides, are incredibly attractive. In fact, it's almost as if you're always just a little tired. And I love it when you laugh; it not only lights up your face, it lights up a room."

He clears his throat.

"I think...that you know me very well. As a matter of fact, you know me inside out, so getting to know me physically, wouldn't be an issue at all."

"Well-"

"Look at that," I gaze at my watch, "Our time seems to be up. I guess I'll be here sometime next week, and we'll just pick up where we left off."

I grab my jacket, my marvel themed purse, and his snow globe, and see myself out of his office, waving at his super sweet secretary, Belle, on my way out.

See, the thing is, if I disappear without giving him the opportunity to respond, he'll be forced to think about a response. Obviously. As a result, he'll be forced to think about me. In a different light. Things clearly won't go in the direction I want it to right away, but if I am going to get what I want, I have to plant the seed. And he's going to water it, without even knowing it.