Arms wrapped around my middle, tight and sure as Crew mumbled into my chest, right above my heart, “I think you need help with how to stop trying to escape yourself. You’re perfect inside and out, Prince Charming.”
Tears burned right at the edge of my eyelids. The sensation traveled to my nose, forcing me to sniffle as quietly as I could. Maybe he was right. Maybe after years of pushing everyone and everything away, desperately trying to convince myself that I had chosen to be alone, I needed help remembering that it was okay to be in my own skin. Instead of my soul fighting my body, maybe it wasmefighting everything else.
Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the ledge of the couch. Crew stayed exactly as he was, wrapped around me in a way I once worried I’d never get to feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right. We both need some therapy.”
The buzzing calmed. The world kept going. I had Crew in my arms, and I was finally able to call him mine. And suddenly, everything bad that had happened in my life felt worth it because it ended with me loving him, and him loving me.
A new listof names with their specialties rolled down the screen. I groaned at Price, already exhausted with the process.
“Come on, this is important,” he reminded me.
We were among the lucky group of Americans who had health insurance through our jobs. The hardest part was finding a therapist within our network who had availability. Price agreed to seeing someone, too, but we were focusing on me first.
Every therapist looked the same to me, professional with a fake smile on their faces. They all dressed in business casual, posing for their headshots in a tactful blouse or button-up shirt. I wasn’t wholly responsive to the idea of someone rummaging around in my brain, and so far, none of them looked inviting enough for me to want to give it a shot.
Coming up on page five, I had almost given up hope on finding someone I thought I could open up to. “Can we just take a break? It’s Christmas Eve.” I pouted. Truly pouted, like I was some scorned child.
Price countered my pout with a firm look. “The faster we get this over with, the faster we can go on about our lives until your first appointment.” He leaned back against the couch, crossing his legs under the old laptop. “You’re the one who wanted to do it this morning to get it out of the way.”
“Ugh, stop being right.”
“I can’t. Being wrong just isn’t in my DNA.”
I shot him a narrow glare, only getting a laugh in response. We kept scrolling, reading through all the specialties and introductions the therapists had. Our search had been narrowed down some, though it wasn’t by much.
I felt more comfortable with women than men. At least when itcame to my past. I also wanted flexibility in video and in-person appointments. The search continued for another ten minutes as I shook my head at every person we came across. Finally, one of them piqued my interest.
“She looks nice.” I pointed to the screen. Price clicked on her profile, showing her picture and introduction better. Her name was Emilia, though she insisted she be called Emily. She had light-blue hair, a lip ring, a nose ring, and a few tattoos that decorated her arms.
“She specializes in trauma therapy. Looks like she works with teens and up.” Price squinted as he read each line with me. “Wow. Ten years in her field. Looks like she also does EMDR and all sorts of other stuff. It says she’s LGBTQ+ friendly as she’s in the community as well. Oh, and she’s from the south. Just like you.” He smiled at that, nudging my arm encouragingly.
I pointed to the reviews section of the page. Once they loaded, almost every single one was full of blazingly positive things to say. The majority were sexual and domestic abuse survivors who sang Emily’s praises, claiming she’d helped them when no one else could.
Looking back up at Price, I nodded. Worst case scenario, we didn’t vibe and I could try someone else. I spent the next twenty minutes going through admission forms and setting up an initial appointment with Price’s unwavering support.
I left a lot of the details out, only vaguely explaining that I was seeking therapy due to past sexual trauma. Price helped me add that it was incredibly difficult for me to speak about, hoping it would give Emily enough warning to tread carefully during our first meeting.
The entire process took most of our morning, leaving me mentally exhausted. I still had some pain around my nose, but the rest of my body was on its way to healing.
Besides, I had my own Prince Charming to hold me close on the couch while an old Christmas movie played in the background. I snuggled against his chest, breathing him in. “Sorry I took up our whole Christmas Eve morning.”
“I’m not. Just spending it with you is good enough.” His lips brushed against the top of my head, sending little flutters down into my stomach. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any decorations up. Or a gift for you.”
I frowned and shifted so I could see him better. The poor guy looked dejected as all get out. “I don’t need one.”
“Sure,” he scoffed. “I wanted to get one, but I’m obviously already kinda failing at the whole boyfriend thing.”
Heat flared against my cheeks, a blush forming across them, and I was sure it was spreading down my neck too. The idea of us being boyfriends stole my breath away.
Shaking my head, I curled into him as closely as I could. “I have everything I want right here.” It was the truth. Willow and I rarely did gifts anymore, finding it too time-consuming and anxiety-inducing as we’d gotten older.
Warm, strong arms wrapped tight around my back, pushing me further into his chest. “Me too, baby.”
We stayed like that, enjoying our bodies mushed together like we couldn’t get enough of each other. It’d been so long since I’d genuinely enjoyed someone else’s embrace. It seemed like an eternity ago that Mom had cuddled up with me in bed, smoothing the hair over my forehead to kiss me there. I missed her still. Always have, probably always will.
My phone started ringing in my pocket, startling me at first. Willow’s contact showed on the screen. “What’s up?”
“Is Price with you?”
