I sprayed Ollie's cologne, a sharp ginger scent in dark glass, into the scalding hot bathtub back home, preparing to take my third bath of the night. Three AM, an empty bottle of red wine, and scrubbing until my skin was raw with heat had done little to alleviate the pit in my stomach, but it was all I could think to do. I genuinely couldn't believe myself; this wasn't like me. My career had always come first and I'd broken one of my most sacred vows as a therapist: to not take advantage of a client. I'd broken my vows to my husband too, in a way. I hated myself.

Punishment seemed only fair, and as my legs trembled into the vat of steam and pain, I fought the urge to pull away. I recognized it as self harm, but that didn't stop me. Sitting down into it, my eyes welled up with fat tears and my chin trembled, but I fought it; I wasn't the victim here. My rounded shoulder leaned against the cool tan tile of the shower walls, giving myself some relief but not much - just enough to bear the sharp sting of heat, shooting up and down my arms and legs. It was all the relief that I deserved. Somewhere at the back of my brain I heard my phone ringing from the toilet lid and I snatched it with my luckily-still-dry left hand. Harmony.

"What's up? I'm in the bath... also it's three. Are you just now getting home?" Annoyance was apparent in my voice, but I was having a hard time caring. She was used to me.

"Yes, actually. After you ran off to get some, which I expect a full report on, this guy comes in dressed like a pirate and -"

"You hooked up with a pirate?" I rolled my eyes and leaned my back against the tile, trying to relax into the stinging water. Fog wafted through the bathroom, ghost-like with unfinished business, haunting guilt. My shoulders and forehead held tension, ready to snap like a rubber band.

"Not just any pirate! The guy from those billboards!" She squealed.

That actually did make me feel better. My body lurched forward, causing a small wave of bath water to spill over onto the red mat. "You're kidding!"

"Nope! He took me on a private tour! Charlie, it was amazing. We walked historical downtown, went over all the 'real' ghost stories that made our hearts race, and then took that out on each other in his - get this - cherry red Mustang! Just what the doctor ordered, but enough about me! How was it with the punk hunk? I've never seen him before or I would've scooped him up for myself by now - if he'd have me that is! He was so into you!"

I sunk back into the hot water.

"It was... something. I don't know if I'll be seeing him again and I don't think that I was ready, honestly."

"Chin up, love. You don't have to see him again if you don't want to; I'm just surprised from the way that y'all were sucking face at the bar that it wasn't better for you. Sorry to hear it but please don't give up! You just got back out there!" Harmony's words provided little comfort and I wished that I could explain the situation, but I'd broken too many rules already. 

I'd have to handle this one alone.

"Can we talk later?" I asked, stiff-spined. The lower half of my body had gone numb.

"I mean... we can but are you gunna be okay?" Harmony's voice was laced with concern and I had to look up to avoid crying.

"I'm fine."

                                                                                  | o o o |

Walking into the office the next morning felt like typing in nuclear launch codes, but exhaustion kept me in a haze as I threw my shell of a body into my leather desk chair, spinning. Disassociation shielded me from myself. Thank God. The morning was a blur of regulars, a mother with postpartum depression and a seventy year old veteran with PTSD. I felt the weight of their pain a little extra that day, and the warm smile on my face and upbeat words from a dead-inside woman eased only them. That was how it needed to be, how it always should've been.

For lunch, I stared at a wall.

My next client was new, and as my break faded away into empty-stomached rest of the day, I flipped through his paperwork with a furrowed brow. Axel Stephens, twenty-five, rapped on my office door right at start time, and I beckoned him inside with a, "Come on in!" Taking one last deep breath, my eyes flit over his intake forms before the mask came on - bright-eyed and toothy.

"Dr. Morgan's office?" Peeped the newcomer as the door creaked open.

"Yes, sir. Find yourself a seat." 

When I looked up, my smile faltered.

In came a great big grizzly man, long blonde haired with an orange beard, like a viking in a button up and slacks. Muscles strained against the translucent material of his shirt and blue green eyes smiled at me as he gently set himself on the edge of the orange patient's couch, peppered with crocheted pillow covers and a tissue box.

I learned my lesson; I regained my composure in record time.

"And you must be Axel. It's nice to meet you," I greeted him.

"Nice to meet you too." He had this great big smile, hidden under a shelf of a mustache and his ocean eyes squinted with joy. I shook my head, dismissing myself before going over the standard questions and concerns, rattling from the standard script. He listened silently, grinning and speaking softly whenever his input was requested.

"Have you ever tried therapy before?"

"No, ma'am. First time I've needed it, I think," he admitted.

"No need for the formalities, but I appreciate how respectful you're being. Do you want to tell me a little about that? What pushed you to seek counseling?" I asked, dying to know the answer. Despite the man's massive stature, his gentle demeanor and warm smile felt... safe. I decided that 'non-threatening' was a better word and wrote that down in my loopy handwriting.

"Well, I'm going through a divorce," he started. I wrote that down too, nodding. "We were married six months before she cheated on me with a co-worker - my coworker, not her's. Took my wife on a teacher's retreat in Tennessee and we left separated. I'm taking the year off of teaching and living with a bachelor friend of mine while... I work through it." His voice wavered at the end but otherwise remained strong and oaky. I felt a surge of confidence; I knew I could help someone like this - someone who wanted to get better.

"Infidelity is difficult to heal from. How are you coping with that?" I asked, inked pen tip trembling with excitement on lined notebook paper.

"I'm a bit of a gym rat." He huffed an embarrassed laugh, throwing a bulky arm behind his head to rub the back of his reddening neck. "I, um play video games."

It took everything in me not to laugh. This man had a genuine and sweet air to him that was so contagious that I'd almost forgotten that my life and career hinged on a patient's discretion. Almost. My smile faded into a silent sigh, disguising it as an exhale.

"How many hours a day would you say that you spend playing video games?"

His eyes snapped to mine, terrified, and a thick blush spread across his cheeks and freckled nose. "Um..."

"No judgment zone," I reassured him.

"Probably... um maybe like twelve?" His blue green eyes flitted across the art and framed nature photographs on the white-washed walls, looking anywhere but at me. Considering that I had people every day tell me the most horrible and unimaginable things that have ever happened to them, it was a refreshing change of pace. My chest swelled with pride.

"Nothing to be ashamed of! We can work with that; you'd be surprised how common these kinds of addictions are these days. Are you using any substances while you play? And what games are you playing, mainly?"

"Maybe once a night I'll smoke a bowl of um, weed with my roommate, but that's it. And um, mostly... mostly Minecraft, but that's my main source of income right now."

I nodded emphatically, intrigued. "Are you a streamer?"

Axel seemed emboldened by my interest and nodded his big bearded skull, a smile returning to his visible bottom lip, glistening. "Sometimes! I get paid to build mostly - castles and servers. Stuff like that. It's way too many hours for the payout, but it's fun."

I smiled.

"How do you feel about taking the time away from teaching and doing that instead?"

He paused to consider my question, playing a little game of thumb wars in his lap. I let myself notice the way his man-bunned hair caught the white light overhead, glowing and virginal, a halo atop a seemingly kind man's head. It was nice to have met him. "It's fine, I think. I know that my screen time isn't ideal, but my main struggle is when I step away from the game and have to face the music with my breakup. She's... she's pregnant and we don't know..."

I didn't make him finish that sentence. "You don't know if it's your kid or not."

He nodded, staring down at his Chuck Taylor's, before sniffling.

"I don't think that it is, but it could be so she kept the house and the dog and... the money, really. I couldn't take it all away from her, even if it isn't my kid. Divorce finalizes this week. I'm just... I'm a little sad."

My heart broke for the sensitive man on my burnt-orange couch, dabbing the corners of his eyes with a tissue. I wished that it was appropriate to disclose that I was widowed and that I understood the pain of accepting that your life isn't going to look how you thought, but it wasn't, so I didn't. I wasn't taking any more risks.

"However you're feeling right now is understandable. Everything is different now."

"Yeah."

The remainder of our session felt hopeful and productive. We talked about coping skills, unplugging for mindfulness, and accepting the things that we could not change. Axel was eager and receptive; it was endearing and I wished that the APA allowed for friendships, at least, because everything flowed naturally and comfortably with our conversations. Axel must've felt the same because as we wrapped, with next week's session already scheduled, he stopped in the doorway before turning to face me. His right arm clutched the doorframe.

"I'm not allowed to ask you on a date, am I?"

His words were sad, puppy dog eyed, and my response was even sadder.

"No."

                                                                                  | o o o |

My last session of the day was with a middle-aged mother whose son recently died of a drug overdose, so that took the wind out of my sails a little, but it was nothing new. The last year had been a crash course on learning how to cope with carrying the weight of the world and I believed that I could, despite the frequent panic attacks on the way home - taken silently and breathed through. Someone had to do it and why couldn't it be me? I knew so much and cared so deeply; I was made for this work. I had to be.

I sat in my car, staring at my garage door for an hour and convincing myself that I needed to go eat something, when someone rapped on the driver's side window. I screeched, clutching the literal pearls around my neck with one hand and covering myself with my white cardigan with the other.

"Fuck, dude," I groaned before rolling the window down with a whirr. "You scared the fuck out of me. What are you doing here?"

A smirking Dustin in gray sweatpants and an athletic material t-shirt, sweating and handsome, stood with tattooed arms crossed over his toned chest, breathing heavily in my driveway. He wasn't invited. "I went for a run and thought I'd swing by to say hey." 

"Hey," through gritted teeth, faking a smile. I was scared to piss him off; he held my future in his flat palms and he knew it - I could tell from the dominant eye contact that he held, unwavering and cocky, intruding after a long day's work. The down turning corners of his mouth made me queasy and my neck prickled a warning, sending my nervous system into fight or flight. Something wasn't right, but what?

"But actually, can I come in? We need to talk... privately."

"Fine."

I had no choice but to trust him.