"That's semantics. Besides, I'm an old soul. Definitely not a child." She brushes her hair behind her ear with a soft stroke, then lowers her voice. "Well, I have the positives of a younger woman with the wisdom of an older one." She drags her eyes over me.
Heat floods my balls. It's the first time it's ever happened with a patient.
What the fuck.
She's playing you.
She flips the hourglass but it falls out of her hands. It crashes to the floor. Sand and glass fly everywhere. "Oh no!" she cries out, genuinely upset. She crouches on the floor and slides her hands across it.
I lunge toward her, grabbing her hand. "Stop. You're going to cut yourself."
"I broke your hourglass," she frets.
"It's fine."
"I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she says, tearing up.
"It's okay. Please. Go sit. I'll take care of this later."
She blinks harder.
I firmly state, "Blue, please go sit."
She nods and finally obeys.
I ignore the mess and sit across from her. I add, "I'd like to understand who you are."
Her eyes lock onto mine. She widens them. "You do?"
"That's the goal of therapy."
"Not what I asked."
If I were only in a bar and not my office.
I sidestep the bait. "We're here to explore your experiences. Help you decipher what you really want in life versus what you think you might."
"You want to know the truth, Dr. Mercer?" She draws out my name slowly, and my pulse ticks up. Then she adds, "Or can I call you Red?"
"Dr. Mercer is best."
"Okay, Dr. Mercer," she says in the same tone.
Jesus Christ.
Switch gears.
I offer, "Why don't you tell me why you think you're here."
She sighs, playing the wounded ingénue. "I'm here because everyone suddenly wants to act like I'm unhinged."
"Tell me why they might think that."
Her gaze sharpens. "Why don't you tell me? You have your fancy notes."
I keep my tone even. "I have your parents' perspectives. I don't have yours."
Blue reclines slightly, her chin lifting with the faintest air of defiance. "People love to exaggerate when they're embarrassed."
