Page 28 of Laced in Longing

So, when she finishes her interrogation and asks if there’s anything I’d like to discuss, I take a calculated risk.

“I’ve been having strange dreams lately.” I keep my tone casual and low.

The doctor’s pen pauses mid-stroke before her eyes snap up to the screen. “Strange how?”

“Vivid ones. Places I’ve never been but have thought about visiting. They feel real while I’m in them.” I’m careful to maintain eye contact, to not fidget in the way that always makes her suspicious.

“Vivid dreams aren’t uncommon,” she remarks, but her voice carries a note of interest that wasn’t there before. “Especially in individuals with active imaginations or those experiencing stress.”

“These are different.” I weigh my next words a hundred times in the span of a second. “They feel…significant. Like they’re trying to tell me something.”

“What do you think they’re trying to tell you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you. Isn’t dream interpretation part of your thing?”

“Dream analysis can be a therapeutic tool, but I don’t place much stock in the idea that dreams are messages from the subconscious in the Freudian sense.” She leans forward a bit, eyes narrowing. “What’s really on your mind, Maven? This isn’t like you, asking about dreams.”

Heat creeps up my neck. I’ve pushed too far, too fast. Shown excessive interest in something I’d normally dismiss as pointless psychobabble.

“Just curious,” I say, backpedaling. “They’re so real, I wondered if there might be a medical explanation.”

“There are several possible explanations for vivid dreaming. Stress, medication side effects, changes in sleep patterns.” She pauses, studying me through the screen. “Are you experiencing anything else unusual? Visual disturbances while awake? Hearing things that others don’t?”

My stomach drops, the question far too close to reality for my liking. “No, nothing like that. Just the dreams.”

She hums and, shit, she doesn’t sound convinced. “Have you ever experienced temporary dissociation? This may be feeling as though you’re watching yourself from outside your body, or that the world around you isn’t quite real?”

I consider lying, but something in her tone suggests she already knows the answer. “Sometimes, but doesn’t everyone?”

“Not to a clinically significant degree, no.” Her pen clicks against the table as she sets it down, focusing her full attention on me. “Maven, these questions aren’t random. You’ve brought up vivid dreams and seem unusually interested in their meaning. I’m wondering if you’re experiencing something beyond typical dreaming.”

My heart races as blood rushes in my ears. Fuck, this was a mistake. I’ve aroused her therapist instincts when I should have known better.

“It’s nothing,” I answer, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “Just dreams that I was curious about.”

“Curiosity isn’t typically part of your presentation. You tend toward apathy about most things, including your own mental health.”

“Maybe I’m evolving.” I attempt a smile that I can’t force to reach my eyes. “Isn’t that what therapy is supposed to do? Help me become a better, more engaged human?”

Dr. Voss doesn’t return the smile. Rude. “Evolution is gradual, Maven. Sudden shifts in behavior or perception are something we need to monitor closely.”

Warning bells sound in my head. She’s watching me now, looking for signs of deterioration. One wrong move, one slip, and she’ll have me committed faster than I can say ‘it was just a damn question.’

“I’m fine. Really. The dreams are interesting, that’s all. Like watching a movie while I sleep, and I was just wondering about them.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then sighs. “Alright. But I want you to keep track of these dreams. Write them down when you wake up—what happens, how they make you feel. We’ll discuss them next week.”

I nod, relieved she’s not pushing harder. “I can do that.”

“And Maven?” Her voice takes on that particular blend of concern and subtle warning that she’s perfected. “If anything changes—if these dreams begin affecting your waking life, or if you experience anything unusual while awake—I want you to call me immediately. Not next Friday. Immediately.”

“I will.” Liar, liar.

We wrap up the session with a few more questions about my nonexistent weekend plans and a reminder to practice self-care, whatever that means. By the time I end the call, my shirt sticks to my back with nervous sweat.

I’m such an idiot. That was too close.

And utterly useless. I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know, and I managed to raise her suspicions in the process. Perfect—I love being a stupid idiot.