It's always been a point of embarrassment. The older I got, the more embarrassing it became, which is its own specific trap — too embarrassed to talk about it, too damaged to fix it, going in circles for a decade.
I sit forward and put my elbows on my knees.
"I'm a virgin, Dr. Amara."
She remains silent.
"I had a date the other night. Things started to get physical — the intention wasn't sex, just making out — and I couldn't get through it without a panic attack that my date had to talk me through." I look at my hands. "She was kind about it. More than I deserved."
"Tell me about what’s been going on leading up to that night," Dr. Amara says.
“Okay... Well...”
For the next twenty minutes or so, I walked her through my past few days, though I skipped over the encounters with Blaire where I couldn’t control my anger, figuring those details weren’t relevant to anything she needed to understand about my panic attack. Yet she seemed to zone in on that part of the story, anyway.
“So, you haven’t told Blaire who you are?”
I shake my head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Why is that?”
“She doesn’t deserve to know Bennet Sullivan.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pick up her notepad and jot something down. I usually gave no real thought to anything she wrote, but today it bothered me, for some reason.
“How did you feel when you saw her again for the first time?”
“I didn’t feel anything. She’s no one. A non-issue.”
“Then, why not tell her who you are and have your board hire a different firm?”
I started to answer and stopped. I feel my anger starting to rise and I look up at Dr. Amara directly. "Is there a point to all these questions? I think we've gone off track."
"What do you see as on track for today? Is there something specific you'd like to talk about?"
I drag a hand through my hair. "No offense, but I'm starting to question my choice in being here at all. So, no. There's nothing specific I want to discuss today."
She's quiet for a long moment. "You seem angry today, Bennet. Are you?"
A small mercy landed in my lap when my watch buzzes. I look down at the notification — a message from Claudia that I'm needed in the conference room. I stand and button my jacket before extending my hand to Dr. Amara. "I'm sorry to cut this short. I'm in the middle of an acquisition and didn't realize I'd been double booked."
Luckily, Dr. Amara's office is in my building.
Well, not luckily. That was strategic on my part. Having a therapist ten floors down usually would remove every excuse I've could try to use for canceling.
"I'd like to finish our session this week, Bennet." She stands and takes my hand. "Shall I reach out to your assistant?"
"Sure. That'll be fine."
She holds my hand a beat longer than a handshake requires, which is her way of saying what she didn't get to say out loud today. I pretend not to notice. She pretends I'm not pretending.
I walk out.
The elevator ride down gives me exactly enough time to do what I always do after a session with Dr. Amara — put everything back in the box, seal the lid, and become Bennet Sullivan again before the doors open.
I'm almost convincing myself that it's working.
"Claudia, let Mr. Kincaid know I'll be there shortly. Just need to grab my laptop from my office."
