I insist, "It's not. And what you're doing—showing up here—taking photos of me—it's not romantic. It's not cute. It's a symptom."
The word lands, and she flinches like she hates that it might be true.
I press on before she can recover. "If you keep escalating, you'll force me to take action. Professionally. I'll have to refer you out. I'll have to document this and what we did. My career will be toast, and you'll have to find another person to help you."
Her lashes lower. When she looks back up, the softness is gone. "You wouldn't risk your career or me."
My voice shakes. "I would. I'd have to."
She stares at me for a long beat, then steps back. The distance shouldn't feel like relief, but it does. Yet it also feels like a loss.
"You want to get rid of me," she says quietly.
"No." The word comes too fast. I correct myself. "I want you stable."
Her lips press together. "You kissed me."
"I know," I say, and the guilt is a weight in my throat.
She continues, eyes narrowing. "And you wrote me a note. You signed it, Red."
I close my eyes for half a second. "That was so you wouldn't think I abandoned you. And it was careless of me not to sign it, Dr. Mercer."
Her laugh is soft but sharp. "Careless. That's what you call it?"
I open my eyes. "Blue, I'm telling you this because it's the only ethical thing left for me to do. You need to go home, sleep, and stop coming here. You have to stop watching me. If you feel like you want to stalk me, you can call a crisis line, a friend, or go to your parents. You do not come to my building."
She stares at me like she's trying to decide whether to obey or punish me. She finally asks, "Do you want me to stop because it's wrong or because you don't want me?"
My chest tightens, and cock presses against my zipper. I answer the only way I can. "Because it's wrong."
Her eyes flare with pain. She nods once, rigid. "Okay." She reaches for her coat and slips it on. She gets to the door, pauses, and looks over her shoulder. The look in her eyes is pure promise. She softly says, "I'll leave for tonight. But we aren't over, Red. We both know it."
"We are," I say, voice hard.
She smiles like she doesn't believe me at all. "Good night, Dr. Mercer. I look forward to our next session, where you can explain more to me about how to be the woman you want me to be." A smile plays on her lips, and she opens the door and exits before I can reply to her comment.
Silence crashes into the condo so fast, it's dizzying. I stare at the door, my pulse still racing, my body still keyed up like it expected something else. My hands flex at my sides as if they're remembering her warmth. My mind replays every moment I almost failed.
I should be relieved, but I'm not.
I walk to the window again, hating myself and needing to see she's actually gone. I watch her cross the sidewalk toward the streetlight, glance up one last time, then blow me a kiss before she disappears into the night.
Guilt lands hard in my chest.
I did the right thing by sending her away.
I drew the line.
I repeat those sentences to myself like a prayer.
But when I turn away from the window, my condo still smells faintly like her perfume, and my phone is heavy in my pocket. The truth I don't want to admit curls low and hot in my gut.
This isn't over.
Not for her.
And not for me.
