Her face in the restaurant glares at me. It's the one when she stared at me with a mixture of defiance, hunger, and hurt so potent, it rattled something in me I didn't want awakened.
I pull my chair back another inch, needing more distance for her safety and mine.
I run through my script again, muttering, "Blue, yesterday crossed a line I should have stopped. You deserve a therapist who can help you safely. I will refer you to another professional who can help you and ensure your continuity of care."
Her voice from last night, whispering, "Dr. Mercer…oh God, Dr. Mercer," fills the room and coils around my spine.
My pulse kicks in my throat. My balls tighten, and I curse myself.
Stop.
Breathe.
Focus.
I sit at my desk and force myself to inhale slowly and exhale even slower. I should be leading her through grounding exercises, not needing them myself. The irony isn't lost on me.
My phone vibrates.
Blue: I'm here. Should I come up?
My body reacts like she whispered it into my skin. I close my eyes and steady myself. This session is not optional. It's necessary and irresponsible to cancel. She's too reactive, too unstable, too emotionally tied to me.
Do the right thing.
She needs help, not what I've done.
Me: Yes. Please do.
I stand, straighten my shirt, loosen my jaw, and take one last look at the referral paperwork. Then I walk to the elevator and wait.
The numbers move until they reach my floor. The doors open, and Blue appears in jeans, a thick sweater, and her hair in a messy knot. She wears no makeup and holds two coffee cups.
Fuck, she's gorgeous.
Not helping.
She shyly states, "Hey."
"Good morning," I say, trying to be professional.
She grins. "It's noon. Isn't it afternoon?"
"Sure." My pulse ticks up.
The air thickens, warm and electric, pulling tight between us like something alive. We stare at each other.
She holds a cup toward me. "I got you an Americano flat, two sugars."
My heart beats harder. I peer closer. "How did you know what I drink?"
"I have my ways, Dr. Mercer," she chirps.
I don't move or take the coffee.
Her face falls. "I asked Shirley before our last appointment."
"How did that come up?" I question, feeling awkward.
