Therapist's Therapy Part III

Belle flashes her smile at me for the third time this minute. I bless her with my movie-award-winning smile, but for Christ's sake, this shit is getting old.

It hasn't even been a week. And I hate to admit this, but I fell victim to his manipulative measures. So now, here I am, anxious, waiting to address...God only knows what in our pending planned session. As in I came to my actual appointment.

And he's not even ready.

Bitch.

I suppose moving forward, I could just turn up the heat, & be more seductive or alluring...but I've already done that. Right?

I slump back in my chair.

I need a plan; I need someth-

"Here's what I think," Belle plops down beside me, "I think you should just play the game the way he wants you to."

"What game?"

"Honey," she politely admonishes me, "the two of you have engaged in emotional warfare. You're clever, he's highly intellectual. However, both of you are emotionally illiterate."

I stare at her.

"You have to tap into his emotions but you cannot do that with him thinking that you're unwilling to participate.You have to do things his way for a bit."

"Nichelle," I look up to Naz standing before me.

Belle whispers a, "good luck," and dismisses herself.

I follow Naz, with a rather strange feeling, might I add.

We enter his office, "have a seat," he says.

"I did not give Belle enough credit," I betray myself. I keep going because the dam is already broken, "She, uh, she's a lot more observant than I realized."

"People pay attention to what and who they want."

I look at him, questioning what his motive was behind that statement.

Belle is attracted to both men and women, but I wouldn't have thought that her attraction to me ran that deep. I'd classify it as a crush...innocent.

"So you're saying she pays attention to me, because she wants me?"

He shrugs, not interested in taking the bait to my usual banter. "I'm just saying, people pay attention to what and who they want."

"Fine. Be vague. I don't care."

"So where did we leave off last week?" He asks, over-looking my mild temper-tantrum.

"Has it even been a week?"

He blesses me with a short laugh, "No I don't believe it has."

I shrug, "well anyways, we left off..." with his face inches from mine, and with me on the verge of kicking shame and pride to the wind and begging him to kiss me.

I clear my throat, remembering what Belle said about doing this his way for a bit, "we left off talking about my father."

He squints his eyes, already suspicious, "yes. What were we saying about your father?"

He's expecting attitude, rebellion, and, of course, flirting.

I meet his eyes, "the fact that, I have this void. I am trying to fill that void, but I may be failing because I never addressed the fact that it was associated with my lack of having a father around."

"Hmph." He's staring at me.

"Do you need me to elaborate or what?" Because this shit is hard, so I need him to do more talking.

He leans back in his chair, "do you feel that you need to elaborate?"

I shrug, "I don't know, you usually tell me that."

"Because you never want to. But since you've started on such a productive foot today, perhaps you should steer this session."

I laugh, "don't tell me that."

He leans forward, folding his hands across his desk, "why is that?"

Shit. This would be the perfect opportunity for me to slide some charm, wit, or sarcasm in here, but that's what he wants. Or at least that's what he's expecting.

"My father was not always an ass. At one point, he seemed to have had...a personality, if you will."

"What does that mean? He had a personality."

"You know what that means."

"What does it mean to you?"

I almost roll my eyes, "It means that," I pause, trying to find words, "that, at one point, I remember him being present mentally and emotionally. He wasn't just there."

"Okay."

I look away, because his eyes hold too many promises.

"My father left in every other way, before he left physically. He gave up on us and it was almost like he wanted us to know, without actually telling us, that he was done."

"Hmph."

"He...he just," I stopped. "I don't know, something happened. And he changed and I...I felt rejected."

"What does that mean for you now?"

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. "It means that I am addicted to feeling accepted."

"Accepted how?"

"Emotionally."

He stands, "Is that it?"

I look up at him, "And sexually."

He walks around to the front of his desk, "From who?"

"What do you mean from who? From men!"

"Which man?"

Oh, I see.

"Say it, Nichelle."

I shake my head, then I look down. Eye contact with this man gets more and more intense with every session. Jesus.

He puts his finger under my chin, and tilts my head up, "Say it," he repeats.

"I want you."

He removes his finger and leans back against his desk, "Why?"

"Why do you ask me these questions?"

He laughs, and fuck me, no one should be this attractive.

He shrugs a shoulder, "It's my job."

"Well, I'm attracted to you."

"Physically yes, I'm aware. But in what other ways?"

I would like to sink into the floor. I close my eyes and start to answer, but I'm startled by the warm breath on my lips. He whispers, "don't do that. Don't close your eyes. Look at me, and tell me why you are attracted to me."

I open my eyes, and he's back to his relaxed position against his desk.

Welp, here goes nothing, "You are incredibly intellectual. You have a warm smile, and an interesting sense of humor. You have eyes that fucking glow, Naz. You also have a way with words...when you speak, it always feels like you're reciting poetry to me."

For fuck's sake. Who am I?

"I love it. And you listen. You listen to me, to what I'm actually saying, without clinical diagnoses in mind; and that produces a feeling that I cannot describe right now, so don't ask."

He clears his throat, adjusts his glasses on his face, and finally asks, "why are those qualities important to you? "

I finally see what Belle was saying. I know what it means to be emotionally illiterate.

"Qualities only hold quality when they're attached to a person," I answer.

"You're correct, but-"

"Why is it so important to you, for me to be able to explain my feelings?"

"I just need you to dig deeper, Nichelle."

I nod, "have you ever gone as deep as you're asking me to go?"

"This isn't about me-"

"Answer the question, Naz."

He looks away, so I stand up, and grab his chin, whispering, "don't do that. Don't look away from me."

His breathing pattern changes; his eyes seem slightly darker, but I'm so focused on said eyes, that I don't realize when his hands reach for my waist.

I swear it feels like my soul is about to emerge. What do I do? Should I kiss him? I should kiss him, right?

He kisses me.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention as his tongue dances with mine. With each second that passes, the kiss grows hungrier, like we've been starving and we are finally served. Except, that we are each other's meal.

His hand trails from my hip, up my spine to the back of my neck, where he tilts my head back to deepen the kiss.

A moan slips out of my mouth, I reach for his-

Knock knock, "Dr. Salvatore? Your next patient is here," Belle calls from the other side of the door.

He withdraws himself from my arms, and clears his throat, "Thank you, Belle. I'll be right out."

I stare at him, then a smirk emerges from the corner of his wicked mouth, "I'll see you next week, Nichelle."

Bastard.