by Lacey Alpha
“I need to see Clarissa.”
“She's with a client now, but if you'd like to take a seat, I'll see if she can fit you in today.”
I slam my palm down on the desk and her eyes widen, seemingly knocked off her cloud.
“I need to see her. Now,” I snap.
She reaches for the phone on her desk. “Take a seat, please. I'll tell her you're here.”
I nod stiffly, moving away and dropping into an armchair. I'm antsy, resting my ankle on my knee, running a hand through my hair.
“Sorry to disturb you Miss Sinclair, but Ethan Harding is here.” She pauses. “He would very much like to see you. Perhaps I can delay your next client?” She glances at me, her blue eyes glowing. “Oh- cancel...? Okay. No problem, I'll do that for you.” She places the phone back on the hook, opening a diary and writing something in it. She taps her fingers on the keyboard to her computer, looking engrossed so I can't catch her eyes again.
I chew my cheek as I wait, tempted to break through the gum. It would be so easy, it would give me some release.
Clarissa appears before I give in to the urge, followed by a man with sallow skin and a receding hairline. He looks like he's been crying, his eyes red and hollow.
“Thank you Arthur. Same time next week?” Clarissa says. She's dressed in a smart pinafore dress with a white shirt underneath, giving off an odd school girl vibe. It doesn't suit her. She'd be the stern teacher with a cane, rapping students' knuckles for misbehaving.
Her client nods, smiling at her gratefully before heading away.
Clarissa's eyes slide to mine and I feel like she can see into my head, already thumbing through my thoughts, seeing what damage I've caused now.
“Ethan.” She gestures with her head for me to follow.
I stand, feeling like a child being escorted into the headmaster's office. As we arrive in her room, I'm pricked by a sharp jab of doubt.
Perhaps I shouldn't have come here. Maybe I could have dealt with this myself, if only I had taken a moment to breathe.
She drops into her leather chair and I take up my usual spot on the goose-grey sofa. The sun is shining through the window, its rays being soaked up by a potted plant beneath the pane.
“How can I help you, Ethan? Did something happen?” she asks gently, leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs.
I try to get comfortable on the sofa but I think it's me that's the problem.
I bite down on my tongue, deciding how to say this. “I met someone.”
Her eyebrows lift, just a fraction, but enough to tell me she disapproves.
“A girl?”
“No, a fucking pigeon,” I say dryly and she tuts at me. “Of course a girl.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I prepare to go on, “We kissed.”
She surveys me, blinking slowly, her eyes light and curious. “And how did that make you feel?”
My brows lower as I consider my answer. “I felt...free.”
“Free from what?”
I point at my head. “From all the shit going on in here.”
Her lips press into a taut line. “Do you really need to be so harsh on yourself?”
My mouth tugs down and I nod. “I'm broken, Clarissa. We both know that. I'm not going to lie to myself.”
“Broken is a strong word, don't you think?”
She's doing that psychology thing, turning everything back on me, forcing me to become introspective. And it works like a charm.
Broken. Damaged. Defective. They all seem pretty accurate descriptions of me.
I shrug in answer.
Clarissa tilts her head to the side, jotting a note on her pad.
“What did you write?” I blurt, overcome by the need to know.
I despise the note-taking. It's like being evaluated when she does it.
“I wrote that your anger is heightened today. That perhaps the girl you met has brought this out in you, hm?” Her brow arches.
I don't know if she's trying to patronise me but that's how I feel. I suppose that's because I've never had to discuss a date before. She probably thinks I'm not capable of one. And she's right to think that, because the person I went on a date with is Annalise fucking Drake.
“Yes, that's why I'm here. I don't think I should have gone on the date.”
“She asked you?” she guesses, seeming mildly surprised.
I nod, wringing my hands together tightly. “I tried to say no, but she was persistent.” I'm lost for a minute to the memory, my heart lifting. “And she's gorgeous, how could I say no?”
“Perhaps this is a good thing. It may help you to deflect the focus from your obsession.”
A lump lodges in my throat. Hell, I am in the shit here. She would not be suggesting that if she knew who I really went on a date with.
“Maybe,” I say vaguely, struggling for what to say. If I'm going to leave here with any peace of mind, I need to walk as close to the truth as possible.
“I'd like to see her again...”
Clarissa presses her lips together, going quiet in thought. “I want to discuss an idea with you.”
I raise my brows, thrown by her change of direction.
“Have you heard of aversion therapy?”
I shake my head, mutely awaiting an explanation.
She runs her thumb in circles on her bare knee, drawing my attention to it. “Aversion therapy is a form of treatment to help patients overcome negative behaviours.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “Behaviours like my obsession?”
“Like I said before, Ethan, you can't be 'fixed'. But aversion therapy may break some of your more self-deprecating habits.”
“Such as?”
“The voice in your head. I think it's time we addressed it.”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at her bringing it up. It was a particularly painful session when I had to talk about the voice. But Clarissa helped me through it. Helped me see that it was just a creation of my mind, that it didn't really have a hold on me. For all the good that knowledge does...
“With this type of therapy, I'd be using pain to counter the behaviour. Is it something you would be interested in trying?” There's a note of hope in her voice.
I run my tongue over my teeth, considering it. If it helps get rid of the voice, I'm open to anything.
“Sure,” I agree.
She nods slowly, a flicker of light going through her eyes. “It's not something we can conduct here. I'm not licensed to practice it. It would need to be in my home, are you comfortable with that?”
I nod, wanting to try whatever she can offer. She must know what she's talking about. “Have you had success with it before?”
She nods keenly. “Much. We can have a session tonight, if you'd like?”
“I guess...” My gut writhes. I'm not completely convinced about this, but if Clarissa thinks it could destroy the voice in my head, I have to give it a try.
⊱✿ ✿⊰
I spend the afternoon working out, thinking of Annalise. When I'm dripping with sweat but still feeling like shit, I try to release the anxiety in my chest by writing in my journal.
Today you smiled just for me. And it was divine. The way your cheeks creased, your lashes fluttered and brushed against the skin below your eyes. How can I be worthy of such an expression? In all my life I can never remember a time where I felt so blessed.
I don't know if there are other forces in the world, if there's a god or something all-powerful out there. But if there is, I was gifted something today that can't be explained. Because no one is less worthy of your smile, than me.
I thumb my phone on the desk, a dangerous idea entering my mind. It would be euphoric to speak to her, just to hear her voice again.
Bad idea, creep.
I check the time. I planned to be at Clarissa's house for 6pm. I have nearly an hour before I need to leave.
Tucking my phone firmly into my pocket, I stand, pulling on a shirt and heading out the door.
I'll ta
ke in some air, force these crazed ideas from my head.
I jog to the park, walking to the cherry blossom at the heart of it. It throws shade onto the bench beneath it, the shadows dancing and swaying across it as the wind blows. I drop down onto the seat, brushing little pink blossom petals from the wood. They're damp from a recent rain shower, sticking to the grain.
A sweet floral scent is in the air, the springtime songs of birds soaring overhead as they flutter from branch to branch. The world is at peace but my head is a raging storm, causing me eternal grief.
My knee jolts up and down as I try to expend some of my nervous energy. I wish, for one single day, that I could leave my head, walk in someone else's shoes. Anyone's at all. Just to be free for a while.
“Ethan?”
I snap my head up, my mouth parting at the sight of Annalise standing before me, her hands tucked into her bomber jacket.
“Arg-hi,” a strained noise leaves my throat, making heat rush down my neck.
Fucking idiot.
And there's that smile: she's beaming, radiant, showing all her teeth. She smiles like no one has ever hurt her. Her expression is entirely open to me, like she hasn't even considered that my intentions toward her could be sour.
“What are you doing here?” I manage.
“In the park..?” Her brows draw together in a neat line and she gestures around like it's obvious.
I feel like a moron. “Right, yeah. You're taking a walk.”
She smiles, a little more awkwardly this time, glancing at the space on the bench beside me.
“So I guess I'll...see you around?” She takes a step away, her boot crushing a fallen bunch of blossom.
“Unless you wanna join me?” I blurt before she walks away, my heartbeat stuttering.
Let her go, you fuck-up!
She looks a touch relieved, moving toward me and dropping into the space.
“Beautiful day, isn't it?” she says, looking up at the fan of branches above.
“Beautiful,” I echo, staring at her whilst she's distracted. Her throat is exposed as she gazes upwards. I could take it between my palms, my hands would encompass its entirety.
She glances down at me and I drop my gaze, scared of meeting her amber eyes.
Her hand drops next to mine on the bench and I gaze down, her fingers just millimetres away. I long to take it, to feel the soft caress of her skin.
Sicko.
I fight the urge as long as I can before I'm compelled to touch her. My fingers graze hers and she immediately responds, twisting her hand upwards, letting me entwine my fingers with hers. It's like hooves are drumming against my chest, my heart pumping blood around my body at a rapid pace.
“Do you live close by?” she breathes.
“Just up the road,” I say quietly, my mind anywhere but on what she's asking me.
Why does this feel so right?
I squeeze her fingers, relishing her smooth knuckles, running my thumb over them in steady strokes, exploring.
“Do you live alone?” she questions.
I nod.
There's a beat of silence before she asks another question. “Did you grow up here?”
“In Surrey. Haven't lived there since I was a boy, though...” I hate to think of my childhood. I don't let the memories in, blocking them out, squeezing my eyes shut for half a second.
“I've lived in London my whole life,” she says, going on to tell me about her parents who are currently sailing around the world. She tells me about her life in London, her friends. But I know most of it. I've witnessed most of it. And that's the most fucked up thing of all.
The sun sinks low in the sky, the trees around us casting slanting shadows across the grass.
With a jolt, I remember I have to be at Clarissa's soon. I don't have a watch so check the time on my phone, swearing, finding it almost quarter to.
I stand, my hand parting from hers. “I have to go.”
I gaze down at her and she nods, giving me a small smile.
“Okay. I'll...see you soon?” Her expression fills with hope and I'm flooded with yearning, to forget about Clarissa, to stay here, take her out to dinner, listen to more stories about her past, learn every private detail about her life.
But I can't. I have to face the shit in my head, and if Clarissa's aversion therapy can help me do that, I have to try.
I say nothing, knowing I shouldn't make any further plans with her.
Before she says another word, I turn, forcing myself to walk away. By the time I reach the edge of the park, a knot has grown in my chest, a battle raging in my head between looking back and keeping my eyes averted.
I feel like Orpheus, climbing out of the underworld, promising not to look back at his wife who's following. But, like him, I fail the test, glancing around and spying her still on the bench.
The knot eases and I lift a hand, waving. She doesn't see me and I grunt at my stupidity, dropping my arm heavily to my side and hurrying away.
Fucking loser.
I arrive at Clarissa's town house just as the sun is setting, casting the clouds in a pink and coral light.
I climb the steps to the shiny black door, bashing my fist against it, my gut constricting uncomfortably.
She answers, dressed in a fitted black dress and high heels, her eyes painted in grey shadows.
A golf ball lodges in my throat.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...
“Come in, Ethan.” She gives me an appraising stare as I step past her into the house, catching the scent of rose perfume from her throat.
The hall is wide and sparse, the only ornament a single black effigy of a man bent over backwards, his naked body contorted and restricted by barbed wire. I grimace at the art piece, wondering why anyone would want such a thing in their home.
Clarissa moves past me, heading toward a wooden door beneath the staircase. “Come with me.”
I move after her, following her down a series of wooden steps into a wide basement, dimly lit by a single bulb.
There's a metal frame erected at one end of the room beside a large antique chest, painted in gold and blue.
I pause at the bottom of the steps, taken aback by the set-up. Clarissa glances over her shoulder.
“This is for therapy? This seems more like some BDSM shit.”
She raises a brow at me. “It's only sexual if you make it so, Ethan. If you can't do this chastely then I can't go any further down this road.”
I mull over her words, eyeing the frame again, tonguing my cheek. “I guess I could try it.”
“Good...you understand I'll need to use certain implements to hurt you? I'm not strong enough to inflict pain on your...physique.” Her eyes flick up and down me. “And for this to work, a certain level of pain is required.”
My gut stirs uncomfortably.
It's not pain I'm worried about, I've experienced ten times worse than anything this women could do to me. But it's the niggling feeling that this isn't just about my therapy.
Is it worth going through with this if I suspect Clarissa's getting off on it?
Dirty creep.
I screw my eyes shut, trying to force away the voice.
Fuck it. I've got nothing to lose. I widen my arms in submission. “What do you want me to do?”
Her eyes brighten and she points to the frame. “Shirt off, stand on the bottom bar. I'll strap you in.”
A lump rises in my throat. This isn't sexual is it? Hell. I hope I'm not getting myself into some messed up shit here.
I tug off my shirt, discarding it on the floor before stepping onto the metal bar at the bottom of the frame.
Clarissa approaches, surveying my chest, her eyes skimming over the bullet hole scars on my body. “You've been through a lot of pain, Ethan. This kind will help, I promise. But it will have to be intense, considering how much pain you've been exposed to in the past.”
I frown, gazing down at her with determination. “Do your worst.”
A s
mile pulls at her mouth then she nods to my hands. “Arms up.”
I lift them and she tiptoes, buckling the leather straps tightly around my wrists.
“Are you into some kinky shit or something?” I question, guessing this equipment isn't solely for her so-called 'aversion therapy'.
She blinks slow and calm. “I'm a dominant.”
I tongue my cheek, nodding, unsure how to feel about that. It makes sense, though. This woman is all about control, from the careful way she braids her hair, to her crease-free clothes, her nails painted crimson without a single chip in them.
“So you're gonna enjoy this?” I ask, not liking the idea.
“This is completely professional, Ethan. This is therapy not domination.” Her eyes are big and green and bright, assuring me she's telling the truth.
She moves across the room to the antique-looking chest. Opening a drawer, she takes out a bundle of wires, carrying them to me. She produces two pads, sticking one either side of my ribcage. My mouth goes dry as I watch her, plugging them into a socket on the wall. She holds a remote in her hand, standing before me, her expression collected and calm.
“I'm going to ask you to repeat the words you hear in your head. And when you do, I'll give you an electric shock.”
I absorb her words, nodding, my mind sinking into the darkest place of my past: me on the floor, beaten bloody beneath a menacing form who's forcing me to echo the insults he throws at me.
Pain unleashes in my chest, my hatred for myself reaching to the forefront of my thoughts.
“Tell me what you are, Ethan,” she says, her tone cool.
Her words cut through to my heart and I frown heavily as I prepare to do as she says.
“I'm worthless,” I breathe and she presses the button.
What feels like a thousand volts of electricity courses through my body, every one of my muscles contracting in pain.
I roar in agony, blinded by it.
As abruptly as it started, it stops and I hang from my restraints, panting.
“Good. Now tell me again,” she purrs.
I'm certain this is more to her than what she said. I just hope this is worthwhile, because the last thing I need is Clarissa forming some fucked up sub/dom relationship with me without my consent.
