I step into the hall and pull the door halfway closed, leaving it cracked so the light can fall into the room. It feels wrong to shut her in completely.
The rest of the apartment feels smaller without her in it, as if all the gravity is in the bedroom and everything else is just orbit. I move through the space on autopilot, passing the kitchen where an abandoned bowl sits in the sink, proof she ate and that I pushed her to do something good for herself.
I should have stopped there.
I rub a hand over my jaw, pacing the narrow length of her living room, back and forth, like a caged animal. My brain splits into competing arguments.
I have to terminate her treatment.
I can't dump her right now. She'll implode.
I have to disclose this to a colleague.
And say what? That I kissed my patient in her apartment after walking her home and then sat on her bed until she fell asleep? Great plan.
I'll lose my license.
I deserve to.
I move to the window and stare out at the street. A few cars pass. A couple walks by, and everything represents normal life. Nobody out there has any idea what kind of ethical nightmare I just built with my own hands.
What is the most pressing priority?
Getting her stable so she doesn't hurt herself and keeping her from spinning back into a manic state.
I know what the right thing would be if this were any other patient, but the rules don't seem to apply to Blue.
I should have no further contact with her other than what's necessary to keep her safe while she transitions to someone else.
Fuck!
I glance at the bedroom door again, knowing I can't leave without an explanation. She'll freak out, and who knows what she'll do. But I can't stay.
I find a pad on the counter near the fridge, the kind with a magnetic strip and a faded grocery list half started. I grab a pen and write her a note, keeping it simple.
Blue,
You finally got some sleep. That matters more than anything right now.
I stayed until you were out. I'm going home to get a few hours myself, but I'll still be here for our next session. We'll talk then about how to keep you safe and stable going forward.
Eat breakfast when you wake up and drink some water. No caffeine today.
– Red
I stare at the final line. It feels stark and incomplete, way too clinical for what just happened.
I almost scratch my name out and replace it with "Dr. Mercer," but the thought of her seeing that formality after everything tonight, makes something in me recoil, so I leave it.
I place the note on her nightstand, angling it so she'll see it as soon as she turns her head. For a second, my fingers linger on the paper.
This is all I can give her tonight.
I straighten, forcing myself to look at her one last time. I tell myself I'm memorizing her as a warning, not a fantasy. Then I back away, leaving the door slightly open.
Tomorrow, I'll have to be her doctor again. I'll sit in my chair, ask measured questions, and pretend my body doesn't remember the way she shuddered under my hands. I'll figure out how to protect her without lying about who I was tonight.
I'm an irresponsible, ethically challenged therapist.
