by Bella Grant
I nodded and used my phone to call a cab. It arrived quickly. I was perceptive enough to know he thought that ordering a cab was strange, when I’d usually take the train. But he wouldn’t ask any questions that I couldn’t begin to answer tonight, though. We hugged our goodbyes, and he walked away into the distance. I felt his warmth move away, and I was back in the foreign world I didn’t know.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Yonkers, please,” I said. I showed him the money.
“This is a prepaid ride,” he said.
Oh no, I thought, that sly bastard. This is money he is giving me, not to use for a cab.
The human part of me took over during that car ride, the part of me that reluctantly cherished the luxury of a long cab ride. I enjoyed not having to walk to the train after a long day, with the ever-present chance that strangers would talk to me. It felt so fucking selfishly great, it really did.
That morning, I’d had a bill, a huge tuition bill with some new charge they’d tacked on this year. I was selfishly relieved that the burden was gone, that it could be handled by the money in my pocket.
When I finally got home to my dark house, I collapsed into bed. I clasped my eyes shut and cried. I’d crossed the line, and I couldn’t handle what that meant. Next session would make it right. I would just have to wait until then. And tomorrow, the sun would come up, and it would be a new day. It would all be okay.
KATIE
I was nervous about meeting Fiona. Part of me was guilty, and part of me was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to maintain my professional demeanor. I had meditated before getting ready and leaving the house. This time, I would make everything right. I would set great boundaries and follow them. The nightmare of last week, and the lines I’d crossed, would fade away.
I needed the money for school, after all. I could accept generosity, because I needed it and would return it. I chose my clothes more carefully than usual, taking note of the red outfit I had picked—the pitfalls of being so self-aware, the burdens of my training.
I paid no mind to my own childishness and went to work. I waited for what seemed like forever in my office, unable to focus on anything. Finally, a knock sounded at the door.
Billy walked in, arm-in-arm with the woman I recognized as his fiancée. To my immediate delight, she was not as extravagant as she looked on the news. She looked me over, a fake smile plastered on her face. Beneath that smile, though, I could see tiredness. I felt suddenly bad; the counselor part of me checked in; I could genuinely see her angst. This had affected their relationship, and I would put my feelings aside to help. It was my job, my duty.
This mantra faltered a bit in my head when I looked at Billy. His eyes were amazing, as usual. He was sharply dressed in a black suit. He and his fiancée were wearing the same color, which was a clear statement to me. I was crestfallen, a little, but also relieved that I felt this pain. This pain would drive me away from him.
“Hello, Fiona,” I said warmly. “Nice to meet you.” I took her hand gently, carefully, noting her fine manicure. She looked distastefully at my hand—my nails were bland and neat, but that was it.
“Yes. A pleasure,” she answered in an airy voice. She sat down next to Billy, closer than a couple usually would sit at a session.
Certainly she’s not intimidated by me, I thought. Someone as rich as her? Nah.
But it was clear. She was visibly shaken by me. This could happen, sometimes, with male-to-female therapy sessions, but I knew that wasn’t why. She had an instinct, and she was right, unfortunately.
“Mr. Carson has told me all about you,” I said pleasantly, trying to put her at ease and establish boundaries. It worked. She sat up a bit straighter and finally made eye contact. I didn’t see hate in her eyes, just confusion.
“Has he told you I’m a saint for putting up with him?” she joked.
“Something like that,” I responded, trying to build a therapeutic alliance with her. “But he’s also told me that some of his panic attacks are impacting the relationship,” I said, my voice more businesslike. “I’m here to help.”
“Thank God for that,” she said eagerly.
Billy looked put off. He sighed. “You can at least give me credit for trying?”
“I do. I do!” Fiona said, patting his hand.
I could honestly see how he might have an issue with her. There was something plastic about her, and I realized this made her unattractive. On her own, she had great natural beauty. But she tried too hard. She was trying too hard now… trying too hard to look normal. It was obvious that I would have a hard time trusting her as well.
I took a breath and closed my eyes, separating my wants from my gut feeling. My gut was telling me, but I would have to prove it, that she was trying too hard to be with him. She was trying to run away from something with all her clothes and expensive things. Running away from some kind of truth.
I opened my eyes and said, “So. How long have these issues been occurring?”
“Well. We were never perfect before the attack, don’t get me wrong, but after what happened to me—the first few months were unbearable.”
I was surprised he admitted this to me. I met his eyes, and he looked down for several seconds before looking up, unable to disguise his hunger for me. Seeing him want me like that made me wet. I didn’t let him linger on me for too long for fear Fiona would detect the uncomfortable silence.
“What kinds of things happen?” I asked.
“We argue a lot. Partly because I’m so tired. I can’t sleep, ever. He keeps me up,” she whined, not sounding like a grown-ass woman at all. She sounded like a spoiled child who always got her way.
“I honestly feel terribly about it,” he said.
“Have you been taking your medication?” I asked.
“Yes. But it doesn’t help.”
“I’ll refer you to the psychiatrist after the session. He can look over your meds.”
“You mean you can’t?” Fiona asked indignantly.
“No. I am a counselor. Only psychiatrists can prescribe medicine.”
“Oh.” She sounded smug. She’d found her edge. “I thought you were more important than that.”
Billy grumbled and rested his head in his hand. I cleared my throat and rose before asking them a few more generic questions. I was nervous about pushing Billy too hard, and still felt I needed to get to know them more before getting to the harder stuff.
“Okay. Let’s take a short break. You guys are doing great. Meet back here in ten minutes.”
When Fiona turned on her phone, it began buzzing like crazy. Billy didn’t seem to notice. He fished for a cigar and said, “I’m gonna have one of these outside.”
Fiona smiled at Bill—a bit too widely. “It’s cold. I gotta return this phone call anyway.”
They shared a peck. I looked down and tried not to drown in my coffee cup. “I’ll be here when you guys get back.”
Billy gave me one look—was it apologetic? Then he left.
The only thing that made me envy Fiona was how blissfully unaware she was of everything. I could tell she’d grown up rich and would marry into wealth. Nothing was ever enough. But her ignorance was an advantage because I could hear her clearly on the phone in the waiting room. She was so blissfully self-indulgent, she didn’t think about how thin the walls were in this old, distinguished building.
Her voice was flirty. “Hey, babe,” she said, her voice dropping, though I could still hear her.
What did Billy want that he couldn’t tell her in the office? But I realized quickly Billy wasn’t on the other end of that phone call.
“I’m at the shrink. Can you believe it? A shrink. I couldn’t sleep last night again.” She paused and giggled. “Yeah, I wish I could have been there, too. But do you know what else I wish? I wish I had married him before all this started. That way I could get a divorce. I have a chance now, though, to get some of the money when I finally do.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
She’d just admitted that she was using him for money, that this was all pretense. Coming here to therapy was an act so she could look understanding and get more money. She didn’t give a damn about him.
The rest of the session was hard for me to sit through because I had the strongest urge to protect Billy and to tell him what I had heard. It was the hardest day of my professional career, sitting in that office with them, watching her pretend that she was faithful to him. As strong as he was, he bought into it. He bought into it because he was weak in love, like most of us were. He cared for her—he cared a lot. I could see that, and I felt terrible for him.
“I don’t think this is going anywhere,” Fiona complained. “With all due respect, Ms…”
“Warren,” I supplied.
“With all due respect, Ms. Warren, we would like to see a more qualified professional together.” I was stone faced, my reaction nil. She was taken aback. “R—right, Billy?”
“We can see a psychiatrist together, but I am happy with my therapy.”
She crossed her arms and pouted.
“It would be unethical for me to remove Mr. Carson from our sessions without his approval, but I do hope to see you again,” I lied.
To make it worse for Billy, for the entire session, I remained cool and professional. Clearly he needed warmth, and I was refusing to provide him solace.
“I’ll see you next week, Doc?” he said playfully when it ended.
“Yes. And please, I am not a doctor. I am a counselor. Your counselor. And we will have our formal session next week.” My tone was icy. My heart broke to treat him so meanly, but I was trying to protect him from the harm that could come from a counselor crossing the line. I didn’t want to cross the line any more than I already had.
Fiona nearly slammed the door in Billy’s face. He looked sadly back at me as he walked out the door. No wonder he was scared of being vulnerable. The moment he allowed himself to be, someone literally slammed the door on him.
So many thoughts and feelings ran through me. I hadn’t felt myself wanting to run this much since I was a teen, a time I should have forgotten, if not for the wild urges it brought out in me sometimes.
After they left, I dialed Kent, who answered promptly, as always. “Hey. What’s up?” He greeted me warmly.
“I want to see you.”
“Okay. Rephrase that. What’s wrong?”
“Meet me at the coffee shop near the office.”
“All right. I’ll be there in a half hour.”
I was glad to leave the office behind. I went inside the shop, not ordering until he arrived. He arrived quicker than I thought. As I made my way down the stairs to greet him, I saw a limo go by. His limo. His face, looking crestfallen, passed by. I snapped my head away from his and guided Kent inside.
“I had a really emotional session,” I said.
“Okay, what happened?” He was so concerned. There was something so sane about our interaction, the kind of sanity I found comfort in. When I lost my mind, I found his sanity and logic to be so comforting. I needed him, Kent, right now. I needed to be reminded of who I really was beneath my immoral feelings, beneath my lust.
“I heard Mr. Carson’s fiancée on the phone. She’s cheating on him. I don’t know what to do,” I informed him.
“Whoa. All right. Major dilemma. First, I’m gonna get coffee, and then we can talk once we have some caffeine in us.”
Just as I was beginning to feel safe, Billy walked in. He looked furious. I gulped, wanting to hide behind the napkin holder.
He greeted me, forcing a smile. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, not sounding the least bit surprised.
“Hello again,” I greeted him in my professional voice. “We’re going to a Broadway play. Wanted to stop in and get some coffee.” Billy was lying. I could see right through it. His face was tight. His bright green eyes pierced through me like a laser. He was seething with jealousy after seeing me with Kent just now. Fiona trailed behind him, clearly in a jealous fit as well.
“I hope the coffee here is good. Doesn’t seem like a high-class place,” she spat.
“It’s great,” I said, trying to cut the tension. “Very good coffee, Mr. Carson.” I attempted to make my aloofness clear to him.
Kent returned, looking as bright-eyed and happy as usual. He put our coffee down and stopped when he saw Billy. “Mr. Carson! Hello,” he said warmly. He reached out his hand. Billy took it, almost squeezing it off. Kent removed his hand but remained standing. They looked into each other’s eyes, scoping each other out—all for a silent but subconsciously obvious reason.
“I’ve seen you in the office, haven’t I?” Billy asked Kent.
“Yes! I’m a counselor there,” Kent replied. I could hear the pride in his voice.
“We’d better get coffee and get going. The play starts in a half hour,” Fiona whined again, still sounding childish.
“See you next week, Doc,” Billy said to me, his eyes looking seductively into mine.
Kent and I sat in an uncomfortable silence after they walked to the counter to order. I sipped my coffee, willing it to burn my mouth so I would have a reason to run to the bathroom. I was begging the cosmos for Kent obliviousness to what was happening. Luckily, he didn’t say anything until they left.
From the moment Billy walked in until the moment the door closed behind him, I could feel his eyes on me—like he was staking his territory. The feeling was alarming and fucking intoxicating at the same time.
“Was he hitting on you?” he finally asked.
Wamp wamp wamp, I thought.
“No.” I shook my head. “He’s like that with everyone.”
Kent was too well trained; he understood the lie in my denial. He decided not to push me. “Okay. But if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.”
He took my hand in his. It felt so warm. I looked at him shyly, feeling pure again.
“Just remember. You worked so hard to be where you are now. Don’t let one situation with a client take that from you.” There was a subtle warning in his voice, and I knew he was right. I wanted to break down and cry. Professionally, I was in over my head. Personally, I was confused as all hell.
KATIE
What kind of a person was I? I sat in my room at home, scrawling notes for my doctoral dissertation. I felt like a hypocrite as I wrote the words. As the days passed, my normally strong professional resolve was wavering. Feelings of guilt quickly turned to moments of exhilaration. The fact that such a gorgeous and powerful older man wanted me was not only terrible, it was delectable. I had decided that it was okay to feel these things as long as I kept them inside my own head. I didn’t really have much of a choice, after all. The idea of referring him to someone else kept springing in and out of my consciousness.
As a student, I was often instructed to refer to another colleague if anything even remotely unethical might be happening. That’s exactly what I should have done. I, too, am human, though. Paying that tuition bill and the next three in advance felt so good. If I told my boss what was happening, she’d report him for harassment and he’d be gone. Worse, I wouldn’t see him anymore. I was falling for him, and it had been such a long time since I’d felt this way for a man. When I saw his ungrateful fiancée in subsequent sessions, my blood would boil. I had a wicked sort of excitement at the thought that he felt the same way when he saw me with Kent.
He was jealous as hell. The sheer intoxication of this made me helpless. I imagined him pinning me up against the wall, and guilt would trip through my brain. Because I was guilty. Horribly guilty. The more I tried to stay away from the line, the more I wanted to cross it. He was like a siren, tempting me with his eyes.
No. You’re fine. You didn’t do anything. I tried to assure myself. Yet, the evil voice in the back of my head said.
I gulped. Was it really just a matter of time? Of course not. I would never cross that line. But I would admit it was fun to feel this way. On top of it, he was giving me money for school
. I’d done some selfish things for my education, like moving far away and taking out a million loans. Spoiling myself with new shoes and a wardrobe so I could look good in graduate school and meet all the right people. This would be one of those selfish things, and I would never go beyond that. But that feeling—it was such an addiction. I wanted to bask in his wanting me and his possessiveness because I wanted him just as badly.
Only two weeks had gone by since our first session with Fiona, but the more I saw him during our sessions, the more and more my resolve faded. Each time I saw him in the newspaper or on the news, it would increase. I imagined myself in Fiona’s place, a place she didn’t deserve. She was just using him for his money, and I knew it. It would be unethical to tell him, though. Kent was right. He’d have to find out on his own.
My phone vibrated, and my heart leapt. It was him.
Carson Client: Doc, I need to go away on business. I don’t want to admit it, but I need some help on the trip. I’ve been too jumpy to do anything lately.
I took a deep breath and texted him back.
Katie Warren LPC: Mr. Carson, I do sometimes help clients through difficult trips. Can we do it from the phone, or do you feel that you need me to accompany you?
Carson Client: It’s urgent that you come for emotional support. Please don’t make me ask again.
Katie Warren LPC: Meet me at my office in two hours if you would like to discuss this further. I have a staff meeting shortly after.
Carson Client: OK. See you there.
People with his condition were jumpy and paranoid. It might really help him to have a trusted someone traveling with him to provide therapy and support. Of course, if we could do it by phone, that would be best. He could easily accuse me of abandonment, though, but his request was bizarre, so I was sure no one would blame me if I didn’t go with him.
Ugh. Who was I kidding? This was totally inappropriate. People would blame me if I did go with him, not if I didn’t. This was clearly crossing the line, and no matter what lies I tried to tell myself, I knew it well. This was not ethical or professional. If I had read about this kind of a thing in class, my professors would have pointed a finger at the counselor as being at fault.
