I begin with the standard check-in, asking how she slept, even though I already know the answer. It was seven hours, interrupted once by a dream she didn't detail at breakfast. Her appetite has stayed steady, and she hasn't skipped meals.
"Any thoughts of self-harm?" I ask, my stomach flipping.
She doesn't flinch. "Not since last night."
My pulse ticks up. We were together last night, and I had no idea she had any inclination to hurt herself. I lean closer. "What triggered you last night?"
She exhales through her nose. "You came over after your last client. We cooked pasta. I burned the garlic because I got distracted watching you chop onions." A small smile flickers, then vanishes.
"And?"
"We ate on the couch. You put your arm around me. I leaned into your shoulder. We kissed for a while, and I fought to keep it slow, since weagreed it was best. But then I couldn't help myself, and I started to climb into your lap, and you said, 'Not tonight.'"
My cock flickers, remembering how hard I was when she kissed me. My voice drops. "Yes. I remember."
She releases a frustrated breath. "So we stopped kissing. We watched the rest of our show. Then you left at eleven-thirty and didn't stay the night."
Anxiety flares, and I consider my words so they don't sound accusing. "I thought it was best since I was having a hard time stopping myself from crossing the boundary we agreed was best."
She tilts her head, and her eyes slant. "You mean the boundary you set."
"And you agreed to."
"I didn't really have a choice, did I?"
I sigh. "You did. But let's talk about what happened inside you when you felt like harming yourself."
Her gaze lifts to mine. "I wanted more. A lot more. My skin felt tight and hot. You left, and I hated the space between us. But I also knew if you stayed, I wouldn't be able to keep my word—you wouldn't be able to keep your word to me, either. And it made me angry. I felt out of control but also rejected."
"Even though you just stated you knew I wanted you just as badly?" I question.
She nods. "Yes. You still left. You're a man, and I'm a woman. I started spinning out. If you really wanted me, how could you have gone home?"
"It wasn't easy, but I love you enough to do what's best for you," I declare.
She scoffs.
"You don't believe me?"
She glances at the ceiling, then pins her glare on me. "What's best for me isn't this boundary, Red. It's been a month. I need to be held and to feel how much you want and need me. This only feels like rejection now."
"I promise you, it's not," I insist.
She huffs, "Sure it's not."
"It's not," I firmly assert.
She bites her lip for a moment, then continues, "I thought about just using the tip of my knife on my knee, but I knew if I did, you'd be upset."
"You would have been upset with yourself, too," I remind her.
She doesn't react and adds, "I breathed through it and counted to ten like you taught me. The urge passed."
Pride moves through me, quiet and steady. I don't voice it yet. I've learned praising her too early can turn into currency she spends later to deflect. Instead, I ask, "And after I left?"
"I went to bed alone. I didn't touch myself. I didn't text you anything provocative. I wrote three sentences in the journal about what the dream I had on Monday meant instead." She pulls a slim notebook from her bag and sets it on the cushion beside her. "I brought it if you want to read."
"I do." I extend my hand.
