"Life on its own, without art to shape it, leaves you in confusion and chaos, but aesthetic emotion harmonizes what you know with what you feel to give you a heightened awareness and a sureness of your place in reality."

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𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏

My palms are sweaty and I'm trying hard not to keep them balled as that may look aggressive. She'll read me for that, she's too smart, and I'm not good at hiding what I'm feeling.

I keep fiddling around and repositioning myself on the couch. It's not particularly comfortable already, though.

It's been a while, I'm just nervous to open up again. I'm dreading she ask why I've disappeared for quite some time. What would my answer be, anyway? That I don't think I need her anymore? While that's the goal of therapy, go stop needing it, I feel guilty because I know I should've continued regular sessions. I've just— things seem on the up and up with my relationship and I don't want to sit here and tell her things that she'll dissect and then tell me they're actually not on the up and up. Frankly, I can't deal with facing the reality that what I think is perfect in my life, isn't.

Dr.Hassan stares back at me. She's smiling, that's a good thing, or at least for now.

She taps her pen against the clipboard on her lap. I know she's getting testy, just waiting for me to dump all of my trauma onto her.

"I feel good." I blurt, hands on my knees.

To further convince her, I smile wide from ear to ear like a guilty child.

She doesn't even say anything and I go, "Yeah. I think I want to go down to twice a month now. You know, since I don't really have anymore problems."

"A-huh." She sounds. Damn it.

Her eyes laser on me, I can read her hyper focus.

"How's Chris-"

"Please don't." I cut her off to say.

She's taken aback. "You wouldn't like to talk about him now?"

"No." I make clear, rubbing my palms over the cushions. "I feel like he's all we talk about. I'm getting along without him, can we focus on that?"

"How can I when that's all you've ever presented to me?"

"What is?" I look up at her through my eyelashes.

She puts her notes aside, legs spread, and clasps her fingers in between them. "That all you are depends on him. Your mood, your everything. You have given me more insight on him than you have told me about who you actually are, and what Morgan Ann Bennett actually wants from this world."

"Okay," I snarl, throwing my offended hands up. "I don't need to hear this."

I stand from the seat and storm to the door.

But, something stops me.

I drop my hand from the knob and am mentally brought back to a year ago. Four years ago. Eighteen years ago.

"Morgan?" Rita's mature voice brings me back.

A tear falls and I swallow hard. My throat is dry.

I clutch the strap to my canvas bag and remain planted in the same spot.

"My parents got rid of me when I was eight. Callie would abandon me to go hook up with guys. Some of those men hurt me, introduced me to things I shouldn't have known about so young. I had to works my ass off since I was fourteen. I settled for some asshole who didn't treat me good, just to say I had a boyfriend because, to me, that consistency was a lot better than whatever the fuck Callie had, and he didn't leave me like my parents. And I stayed with him for years solely because I thought that was as good as it was gonna get for me..."

"Morgan-" Rita speaks up but I keep going.

"Then I meet the devil himself and I let that go on for far too long because I got myself into it and I thought it's what I deserved. Chris was there for me, he might've raised his voice and said some shit along the way but he never made me feel less than. He's loved me, and at times, more than I've loved myself. Like now. I know he's good for me. I like how things are when they're good. I hate when they're not, and I never want to feel like that again. So, I don't want to dwell on those times. I don't want to hear that we're not supposed to be together. I love him, he loves me, and that's enough."

Rita nods her head. "If you could sit down, I'd like to know more about you."

Finally.

"I am somebody without him. I had a life before I knew he existed. It wasn't a good one, but still."

"The question is: will you continue to live after him?"

I make my eyes large at her.

With no answer, she clicks her pen and then crosses her legs again.

"So," she hums, looking at me through her red glasses. "who is Morgan Ann Bennett, really?"

"I'm... funny." I laugh, palming my warm cheek.

Rita laughs, too.

She gestures to the couch and I go sit again, this time, getting comfortable.

"You are," she says. "and?"

I twist my mouth in thought and pick my nails. "I like to make people feel good. Like, that makes me feel good. I'm adventurous, but not really. I don't necessarily live fast, but I can't slow down. I like long car rides but only if I'm not driving. Small babies scare me, I like when they're older than a few months. Two is the perfect age - or three."

~~~

"Thank you." I say to some gentleman, holding the door for me.

I gallop ahead to hurry inside so he's not waiting so long.

Once I'm in the lobby, I no longer feel the August humidity on my exposed legs. I smooth my short dress down and cover my breasts with the unbuttoned cropped cardigan.

I push the hair out of my face and look around. I've never seen Chris's work while it's open. They're all so busy, so important-looking. It's almost intimidating, the hustle and bustle of it all.

"Excuse me." A woman snarks as she bumps past me.

I make a face at her but let it go, so I can do what I came for.

I inhale and exhale, walking towards the elevator I remember from before.

"La la la la la." I hum the small tune playing as I ride the elevator to the top floor.

DING! I'm let off on the correct floor and squeeze through some large men trying to get in.

As they shuffle around me rudely, I'm spun and dazed, dropping my canvas bag. All of it's contents spill out and none of them lend a hand. Well, except for one man.

"What's the matter with you? No Southern hospitality. When you come back from your lunch break, I'll have all your asses on a stick. Especially you, Dawson." An already familiar voice scolds the rushing employees before the elevator closes them inside.

"Uh," I stammer. "thanks."

"Here." Beck Jordan helps me up once I have everything back in the bag. Well, almost everything.

"Sea Moss supplements?" He reads the packaging.

My cheeks start to blush, I can feel it. "Um, yeah. It's still in the works, so..." I snatch the plastic jar from his hands and look around awkwardly.

Beck smiles at me. "It's been a while. How was your birthday?"

"Oh. It was good."

"What'd you turn, eighteen?" He thinks he's being complimentary.

"No," I laugh in his face. "good try, though."

"I suppose you're here for Christian?"

"Christopher." I cross both arms over my chest.

He nods. "You just missed him. Might've mentioned pizza."

I curl my face, feeling abandoned. Chris never said anything about getting lunch without me. In fact, I'm only here because he said we could grab something together since I was nearby for therapy.

Beck looks pleased that Chris has left me behind so I try to straighten my face to an expression less disappointed.

"I haven't eaten, yet. I was gonna do Chinese, please, join me."

"I'm not hungry." I claim.

My stomach just had to betray me, though, growling loudly to embarrass me.

I pull my lips in and shut my eyes tight as if it'll make me disappear from this conversation.

Beck laughs. "It'll be harmless. It's on me, we can even eat it in the break room until Christopher returns. I'm sure he won't mind."

"No, but I will. And anyway, I was only going to drop this off for him." I insist, handing Beck the sea moss gummies.

He doesn't let my hand go for a good three seconds until I finally pull away and clear my throat.

"Make sure you put them on his desk, you don't need to hand it to him personally. P-please."

"You have a gap?" Beck notices, slightly bending his knees so he can get a closer look.

"Oh my God." I cover my mouth and turn my back to him so I can leave before he notices any other flaws.

DING!

I'm faced with the elevator and the door's slowly part.

Chris steps out and is trying to turn his boss to stone with his cold, menacing glare.

"Hey." I gasp at the sight of my boyfriend.

"Hey, baby..." He says, slowly removing his eyes from Beck.

I squeeze his body in a hug then Chris kisses my lips hard and grabs my ass.

Once he lets me go, I wipe the corners of my lips and avoid looking back at Beck who, for some reason, is still standing there - watching.

"What are you doing here? I was calling you, look." Chris says, showing me his phone screen.

I'm flattered he was trying to contact me. See, I knew he wouldn't leave when we had plans.

"Waiting for you." I bubble, chewing my lip.

Chris lifts my chin and then pecks my lips once again.

"Ready?" He asks me, holding my waist.

I just squeak a small "mhm" and let him grab my hand, pulling me back into the elevator.

Once in there, Chris pins me against the wall and kisses down my neck.

Elevator sex, I'm into it. Or, I would've been even more if I didn't catch Beck's eyes watching us until the slow doors shut.

~

"Shit." Chris curses, still thrusting into me.

I pant for breath and come back to myself after shattering on top of him.

He releases my hair and I bite his lip.

"I needed that." Chris says, looking into my eyes.

I just smile and run my hand down his rippling abs, basking in the euphoria he's just sprung on me.

I kiss all over Chris's sweaty face and he laughs, wrapping his arms around me.

A timer goes off on his phone and I pout, removing myself from his lap.

I sit in the passenger seat of my Lexus and make myself decent, smoothing down my dress and pulling my straps back up to cover my breasts.

I hand Chris some aloe baby wipes after I use a couple between my sticky legs.

I'm glad I can go home and shower after this and take a nap. I need one.

"Do you have to go back to work?" I pout, watching Chris buckle his belt.

He uses his fingers to comb his hair back into a low ponytail, covering his wings tattoo on his neck, and then sighs.

"Unfortunately." He grumbles.

"What were you and Beck talking about?" Chris asks, looking at me through the corner of his eye.

"What?"

Chris just glared at me. Usually I do that to him when he plays stupid.

"Oh," I suddenly recall. "I gave him the gummies to put on your desk. He said you left and I didn't want to wait around."

"I hate him."  Chris exhales.

I don't say anything, just let him be grumpy.

"Hey," Chris's husky voice enthralls me, his hand on my thigh. "have you thought about what I said?"

I immediately know what he's talking about but act like I'm unsure.

I shake my head.

Chris kisses the back of my hand before saying, "About the baby thing?"

I hesitate to give him an answer because I have thought about it, but I don't know if my honesty will appease him.

"I thought about it, yeah." My volume decreases as I brush my hair.

"And?" He pushes, squeezing my thigh.

I turn my head slightly to look at him, bored.

Suddenly, his second timer goes off. How fortunate.

"Saved by the bell, huh?" He teases, nudging me playfully.

I giggle and then kiss his lips before we both get out of the car.

Chris comes around to grab both of my hands, swinging them below his belt. He's being so cute lately, but this is also probably just because he just dropped a load. That, and he's anticipating me to hop on the baby bandwagon.

"Have the best day." I coo at Chris.

"I love you." He says to me sweetly, wetting his lips as he stares at mine. "You know that?"

"I love you the most. Now kiss me one more time so you can finally leave." I giggle, pre-maturely scrunching my nose before his wet lips contact my forehead.

"Okay," he drawls, separating from my body slowly. "I guess I'll go... back to work... on an empty stomach."

"Take the pizza, Chris." I roll my eyes, hands on hips.

"You're the best!" He chuckles, running away with the box we ordered and didn't get to eat.
Lucky he's so cute.

~~~

Duke and Stevie run rampant upon me entering. I greet them with a brief game of fetch and then amble upstairs to the kitchen where Chris is raiding the kitchen for something to drink and eat.

"No dinner?" He asks me.

I look down at his shoes and bag just carelessly laid across the floor.

"Really, babe?" I nag, picking up his belongings.

"Sorry." He shrugs, pouring a glass of lemonade I made fresh.

After putting his shoes on the hallway rack and bag in a chair, I walk around the island to greet him properly with a hug and kiss.

"This is good." He compliments me.

I smile but only for a second. "Thank you. How was work?"

"Bad. Baby, what happened to those vitamins you were bringing me?" Chris asks, jaw clenched.

"I-" I start to talk but quickly remember giving them to Beck who agreed to get them to Chris. Although, I distinctly recall telling him to put them on his desk.

Now I see why Chris hates him, I think.
Of course I'm not going to mention it to Chris that I handed them to his boss AKA his arch nemesis.

Fortunately, my delayed response makes Chris change the subject.
He asks me, "Remember my client, Russ?" Chris takes a cookie from the jar I'd just filled and organized and talks with a mouthful.

I shake my head no.

Chris straightens his face at me, annoyed that I don't remember.

"Yes you do, Annie. Um," he snaps his fingers. "the one that makes the cars - Pyro."

"Oh, yeah." I recall suddenly and stand under him, my hands squaring his hips.

Chris pauses to swallow and then washes the cookie down with a few gulps of lemonade as he talks. "He invited us to this ball thing."

"I like balls." I joke, squeezing between his legs.

Chris jerks and playfully slaps my hand before kissing my nose.

"No, but it's like, an actual ball - gowns, masks type shit. Of course I couldn't say no, so, uh, you need to start looking for a dress."

I widen my eyes at this news. "A ball? When?"

"Relax, it's not for a while, but I did RSVP already. Don't look at me like that, he's an important client."

"I'm so happy you have clients," my voice trails off as I eye the groceries. "And I'm so happy you remembered to get the coconut oil, thank you!" I rummage through the paper bags.

I had sent Chris to the store after work to pick up some things so I can make a new batch of those organic sugar scrubs since I sold out.
Business is getting bigger, more clients and demand, so I think I'll need more space for production. In the meantime, I make what I can when I can and sell from home by getting orders online and shipping them out. Between my UGC packages coming in and my orders going out, I'm working closer with the delivery companies. I'm thankful, anyway, much rather be doing this than stuck behind some desk working a nine-to-five, though Chris seems to love what he does. Well, sometimes.

Chris takes the oil from my hands after I open the jar and pops it in the microwave.

"Oh, this is for us." He smirks, slapping my butt as he walks past me behind the counter.

His phone starts to ring on the dresser to my left.

At first I ignore it, but it keeps ringing.

I just want to see who it is in cause it's an emergency. So, I take a peek at the screen. Only, there's no caller ID.

This again?!

"Who is it?" He asks me, diving into the mini cupcakes he brought home from the bakery.

"No one." I swallow and force a coy smile.

It stops ringing.

Though I know the number, it's not my phone and I trust Chris - I learned that lesson last time. I don't, however, trust whoever is on the other end of the call. Oh, but I am going to find out who it is. And when I do, well. . .