I breathe, pleading, "Talk to me. Please."
He fights for a moment, then, in an intimate, hushed voice, asks, "What do you want me to say?"
Everything in me tightens. "Tell me what you thought when you saw me tonight."
He exhales shakily. "You're pushing me somewhere I can't go."
"You already went there."
His breath breaks, soft and broken.
I beg, "Don't let me lose you. Not tonight."
He adds, "I'm still here, aren't I?"
I close my eyes as warmth floods through me.
His voice returns gentler, fragile. "You need stability. You need care. Not whatever this is turning into."
"I need you," I whisper.
He goes silent.
When he speaks again, he sounds defeated in a way that thrills something deep inside me. "Tomorrow. Noon at my office."
"It's Sunday tomorrow," I point out, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.
He continues, "One hour, Blue. Strictly clinical. I need to do a final assessment and refer you to another therapist."
My heart breaks. "What? You're giving up on me?"
"No. I crossed an ethical line with you. This is my fault. You deserve a therapist who can help you."
"You are helping me," I insist.
"I'm sorry, Blue. I'll see you tomorrow at noon," he asserts, and hangs up.
I call him back, but he doesn't answer. After the twelfth time, I text him
Me: Answer me.
Red: Go to sleep, Blue. Or I'll cancel tomorrow.
I stare at the message, with my heart pounding, afraid I might never see him again.
Several minutes pass. I can't help myself.
Me: Goodnight, Dr. Mercer.
I wait ten minutes, unable to break my gaze from the screen.
He finally replies.
Red: Goodnight, Blue.
So much relief hits me I tear up. He hasn't abandoned me the way Brax did. And it's the answer I needed. I hold thephone against my chest, close my eyes, and sink into the warm, throbbing silence he left behind.
He's not reinforcing boundaries.
