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Therapist's Therapy Part II

Mind Games At Its Finest

By Ashley Alleyne Van-De-Cruize Published 4 years ago 6 min read
8

“Scooch your bottom up just a bit," she says.

I slide my ass to the end of the exam table.

"That's perfect," she confirms. "First I'm going to just measure your cervix, which will cause some cramping, so just breath through it, but try your best not to move."

"Oh God. The anticipation is killing me. Just do it."

She laughs, but not whole heartedly; just enough to appease me. "After I measure, I'm going to insert the IUD, okay?"

"Yup."

She starts the process, the cramping makes me grab the sides of the exam table, but I do what she said. I breathe in and out...in and out...in and out...in-

"Okay. We're done."

I open my eyes, "that's it?"

"Yes ma'am. On your way out, make an appointment for the 6-week check-up." She tells me everything I should expect and all the signs and symptoms that should be reported.

I take my little pamphlet, make my follow-up appointment, and head over to my therapy appointment.

It's Wednesday. And I believe that the last time we met-up, it was Friday. So it hasn't even been a week yet. But I'm sure he's looking forward to seeing me.

"Belle, honey. How are you?" Did I mention that Belle is bi-sexual?

Yes, I'm flirting.

Overtly so.

She smiles at me, "Nichelle, I know you're not on Nazio's schedule." She shakes her head, still smiling though.

I whisper, "I know, but can you just put me on there?"

She giggles, shaking her head again. "Let me see what I can do."

I slide over to the waiting area and begin flipping through a Cosmo magazine. I start reading about how to return the spark to an otherwise dull relationship. Glad I don't have that problem.

Time passes by, and my mind wanders. Belle clicks away at her keyboard, moving things around for me, I'm sure.

And then I hear it: expensive man-heels clicking down the marble hallway.

Here he comes.

He breaks the corner, glances at Belle, and then his eyes connect with mine. He exhales "Nichelle, what a pleasant surprise."

I emerge from my seat, "damn right, I'm a pleasant surprise."

“I thought I had another client at this time,” he says to Belle.

“You did. But she rescheduled. So, there is that.”

He shakes his head, turns on his heals and utters, “follow me, Nichelle.”

I wink at Belle, and she gushes.

We enter his room, “have a seat.”

I plop myself down on his love seat.

“Where did we leave off?” He asks.

I gaze around his room, wondering where the snow globe is. It finally catches my eye, on his desk, “Did you move it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The snow globe…It was over there,” I point to its previous place of residence.

“Ah, yes I’ve moved it to my desk. Seemed to have been a point of focus for you.”

I smirk, “hmph.”

“Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?”

I shrug, “I’m not sure I remember.”

“Of course you do,” he leans back in his chair, folding his fingers over his abdomen.

I tilt my head at him.

“Refresh me.”

“Refresh you,” he repeats.

“Please.”

“Well, for starters,” he picks up the snow globe, “you were very distracted. But we both know, that was intentional.”

“Intentional distraction.”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

“You remain pre-occupied, with your own intents and your own motives. They stray from the main topic, which is exactly what you wanted.”

“Hmph.”

He places the snow globe back on his desk, “so would you rather discuss your tendency to distract yourself from things that make you feel deeply, or are we actually going to discuss the pertinent issue?”

“Is this decision really mine or you’re just making me feel like it is?”

“My job as a therapist is to always give you a choice. No matter what. But I won’t neglect my duty to educate…or re-educate as the case may be.”

“Re-educate,” I repeat, giggling a bit, because I do often ignore when he’s trying to feed me information.

“Yes,” He fiddles with the snow globe once more.

“Okay, then I guess we should start with wherever we left off last week.” He wants me to know that he knows what I did last week. But I have a feeling, he wants to play too. That’s fine. We can play. We’ll see how good he is.

He licks his lips, “Perfect. When you left here, we were discussing the fact that you find not only my jawline attractive but my luminous smile. Is that right?”

Is he serious? He cannot be serious. “We were not discussing that, Naz. I was just stating my preferences.”

“Oh, but we were.” He stood up, “As a matter of fact, you felt that because I know you inside out, physical pleasure between the two of us would come rather easily. Does that sound familiar?”

He’s now casually walking around to the front of his desk, with his hands in his pockets, and his dress shirt is folded up just above his forearms, revealing a tattoo that I can’t quite make out.

Also, what the fuck?

“Perhaps,” I finally answer.

“Great, now let’s dive a little deeper into this, shall we?”

I squint my eyes at him, “okay.”

“Is there something driving the notion that mental pleasure is the stepping-stone to physical pleasure?”

I deflate, “Okay, where is this going?

He has the audacity to look shocked. “What do you mean? This is where we left off. This is what you preferred to discuss last week.”

Fine. This is how you’d like to play? Let the games begin. “You’re right. To answer your question, mental stimulation is, as you’d say, pertinent to all other stimulation.”

“And you felt that I was able to provide that mental stimulation.”

“Yes.”

“You still haven’t quite addressed how you feel that the two are connected. Mental and physical stimulation, that is.” He runs his finger through his hair.

I roll my eyes, “You already know that, though.”

“Yes, but I want you to tell me. I have my beliefs, just as much as the other person. But perspective, as you know, is individualized. I want to know what beliefs you have, or experiences you’ve had that lead to you coming to that conclusion.”

“That’s common knowledge!”

“Is it?”

“Yes, Nazio. It is.”

“What’s common about you believing that I can please you?”

“You know this. Why are we dancing around facts?”

“This is therapy. I need to help you come to terms with things you are hiding from.”

“I’m not hiding from anything.”

“Then tell me. Tell me exactly what you were thinking.” He’s still leaning up against the front of his desk, with his legs crossed at the ankles, and his arms crossed over his chest, causing his muscles to stretch his shirt.

Fuck. “We…I think we have a connection.”

“Mhmm.” This bitch is testing me. Provoking me. Playing with me.

It’s working.

“What does a connection have to do with anything?” He asks.

“If I feel connected to you, then I’m going to want to continue connecting.”

“What about me? Do you sense that I feel connected to you?”

“Yes.” Without a doubt.

“What makes you so sure?

I shrug, “I’m dope as fuck. We see one another weekly, we have deep conversations. You’ve gotten to know me, and I’ve gotten to know you. I know myself well enough to know when someone feels connected to me.”

“But you still felt like you needed to make me aware of that.”

I shrug, “I guess.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because I like that feeling. That satisfaction of knowing that I affect someone the same way they affect me.”

“Why is that important to you?”

“You know why.”

Tell me, Nichelle.”

“It doesn’t make me feel as empty.”

“Where does that empty feeling come from?”

I roll my eyes, “I don't know, an absentee father.” Because that's what the fuck you want me to say...and even though it may be true. I still don't want to talk about this.

“So perhaps we should address that issue.”

“Fuck this,” I grab my shit and make my way towards the door.

He, however, wasn’t ready for me to leave, so he grabs my arm, pulling me close to his chest. I lost my balance, so I brace myself with my hands on his chest. He tilts my chin up, “It seems we’ve ran out of time. We’ll pick up right here, next week.” His breath was warm, minty, and chocolaty. Fucking delicious.

He lets me go, walks to door, opening it for me, “Have a good day, Nichelle.”

I walk out, maintaining eye contact.

I waive to Belle, and sit in my Jeep for an extra minute or two before driving away.

fiction
8

About the Creator

Ashley Alleyne Van-De-Cruize

So for starters, I’m a nurse so I see some pretty... interesting things daily, BUT those interesting events are inspiring. They’ve managed to change my thinking, and my perspective. I’m grateful for what it’s added to my writing career.

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