“Oh God. I didn’t,” she said, seeming embarrassed.
“I liked it, Layla. I liked everything we did,” I told her.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Well too damn bad Layla, because I do.”
She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. I could tell she was fighting herself not to ask me what I wanted to talk about.
“I want you,” I said simply. “And not just in my bed. In my life, Layla. I want you in my life.”
“Oh God,” she said, then turned to stare out the window again, “please don’t say that. It’s not going to change anything. You’re a patient, or a former patient. This whole thing is unethical, and I could lose my job, and I would lose my professional reputation because I’d be the creepy, predatory shrink at the health department,” she said. She was gesturing wildly, getting agitated.
“Hey, hey,” I said, grabbing her hand, “look at me. It’s not like that. You’re blowing it out of proportion. I’m nobody’s victim, and maybe ten people know I went to that support group for a couple weeks. It’s not gonna end up a tabloid headline. This wasn’t like that at all. Your reputation and your job are safe. You’re safe. With me.”
She shook her head emphatically, “No.”
“There’s more to this that you’re not telling me,” I said. “It’s more than the forbidden counselor-patient thing. What is it?”
“Nothing. Isn’t being your former counselor enough reason?” she asked hotly.
“No. It’s not. It’s an excuse to push me away. You must think I’m pretty easily intimidated. I was a fucking Marine, Layla. My squad got blown up and I had shrapnel imbedded in my spleen and I relive that goddamn day nearly every night in my dreams. You’re not going to be able to scare me off. I know how I felt when we were together. I know that when I held you in my arms, it chased away every demon I’ve been running from for over a year. I slept, really slept, and woke up sure I’d be in paradise, and you were gone. You sobbed in my arms when I made love to you. I know you felt the same thing, goddammit,” I said.
She jerked her hand away.
“I hear that you are frustrated and don’t find my reasons adequate. Is there something I could explain differently that—”
“Could you just be a fucking woman for five minutes? Drop your armor and be here with me. Unless you’re too chicken,” I said.
I saw her bristle at that, then take an obvious deep breath probably to quiet her competitive streak, “I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, Tyler.”
“Call me Ty. Like you did in bed,” I said, my voice warmer now, trying to appeal to the power of that memory.
“That was a mistake. All of it.”
“No way. I’ve made mistakes. I feel like shit afterwards. This was the opposite. I felt like a miracle had happened. Like the fact that you accepted me the way I am now was an absolution.”
“So sex with me was equivalent to, like, bathing in the River Jordan?” she said sarcastically.
“That’s my girl,” I said with a grin.
“I am not your girl,” she said evenly, “and your belief that our involvement was in some way redemptive is a not-uncommon projection that the therapist is somehow endowed with powers of a saving or even romantic variety. It’s something we’re taught to avoid as undergrads, and I failed to side step it in this instance. I blundered it. I shouldn’t have looked twice at you once you were a patient.”
“The first time you saw me I wasn’t one. I was just some guy carrying a bunch of boards. I looked you up and down, and just like that, my body flared back to life. A part of me that died in that blast breathed again. Because of you. That’s not a blunder. Layla, something in you called out to something in me. I can’t explain it. I’m not good with words. But I could show you. If you’d let me.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t risk touching you.”
“Don’t you trust me?” I asked.
“It’s myself I can’t trust. You’ve been very honest with me about what you want. You haven’t manipulated me or misled me. I just know that I react in an extreme way to—to touching you. It’s just chemical.”
“No it isn’t,” I said, “give me your hand.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“I just asked for your hand. I didn’t tell you to take off your panties,” I said scornfully.
“Fine,” she said, rising to the challenge like I knew she would.
She offered me her left hand. I ringed her wrist with my fingers, brought it to my lips and kissed it.
“Jesus, Ty,” she said. When my name broke from her lips I felt a visceral triumph. She tried to take back her hand, but I kissed her palm then. She squirmed in her seat. “Seriously, you have to quit,” her voice was tremulous.