A/n: I know I know I should be doing my old ones right?
Summary: When did life get so complicated! I'm 19, unhappily married and having an affair with my therapist!
Chapter 1:
Hey. I'm Dana Johansson, formerly Cruz. I got married when I was 17, and I know you're probably thinking 'wait isn't that illegal' but it's not illegal when the parental units are practically pushing your 5-month pregnant self down the isle. I wasn't a bad kid honest. It's not like I slept around… I've only ever slept with the one guy: Paolo Johannson, my husband. Sexy, dark, Italian. Dark brown eyes and long black hair, and the tightest stomach ever. I tried so hard, I really did, I tried to make him love me… but I don't think it's worked at all. We were never in love we were a random fling. One of those passionate exotic 'I'm-a-teenager-so-sue-me' flings. After I miscarried the baby, Paolo stopped being passionate and exotic. In fact, I don't think we've done 'the deed' since a little after we were wed.
Yeah. When I was 6 months pregnant I lost the baby. I'd only been married a month. It was devastating, there had been life inside of me and then there wasn't. Just like that, click fingers gone. I didn't get depressed though.
"Paolo dinner." I say, placing the plate in front of him. He gives me a vague smile. I know what he does. He's off every night screwing all the other girls and getting drunk. While I stay at home cooking and cleaning. Now you're thinking 'Why don't you just divorce him' I would… but I can't. My parents would disown me and I shamed them so much already I don't think they'd ever forgive me.
"Kay. I'm going out later."
"Kay." After losing my baby I didn't get depressed. When my husband became ice-like I didn't get depressed. I'm depressed now though. Not like God-I'm-bored-today-I'm-gonna-slash-my-wrists depressed. Like clinically. I haven't told Paolo. I grab my coat and leave. I've told my best friends, Zoey Brooks, Nina Stead and Angelica Beaumont. They're friends from work. I work at a salon. Yep, with no education behind me, having dropped out when I got pregnant, Dana Cruz-Johannson, the girl who was going places, ended up at a beauty salon. But anyway, my friends told me to go to my GP. My GP set me up with a professional therapist.
And oh the shock I got when I walked into that office that first day! My ex boyfriend from high school, pretty-boy rich-kid whom everyone assumed would live a glamorous life, made a living determining how nutso random strangers were. So that's where we are now. In his office. I'm on that stupid leather couch thing (Sat down, not lying down, because that's what the insane people do right, lie on the couch and cry).
"How're you feeling today Dana?" he asks in that annoying patronising voice that health professionals use. You know that 'I know you better than you know you' tone. Yet he still manages to maintain the sexy 'come take me now' kinda voice that most hot guys use. I am not denying he is hot. He was hot in high school when we were all happy and naïve and sane. He's still hot.
"How do you think I'm feeling you fucking moron?" He smiles gently but doesn't rise to it. He's scrawling in a black ledger; I'd love to know what he writes about me in there. I mean wouldn't you! He could be telling the big professional boss guys that I'm clinically deranged and need to be locked up right away."How's Paolo?" He asks conversationally.
"I dunno. If you wanna know how Paolo is go ask Paolo. We're two different people Logan." I growl. He nods in understanding.
"Mrs Johansson…"
"My name is DANA!" I hiss. He nods again, and scrawls again. I hate how he does that. He psychoanalyses my every move with excruciating detail. It's really annoying.
"Interesting. Ok Dana… today I want to focus on your miscarriage." I narrow my eyes.
"No." I warn. It's dangerous territory. I never discussed this with anyone.
"No?" He asks raising his eyebrows.
"Logan…"
"Doctor Reese." He corrects.
"Logan." I say defiantly. "I'm speaking to you as a friend and not as my therapist… You KNOW I never let anybody see me weak. I never cried in public. I never let anyone know what was happening in here." I tap the side of my head. "I'm not about to open up to you and spill the secrets of the past two years of hell Logan. All I want is for you to give me a referral, to somewhere they can give me a magical drug to take away the pain."
"Interesting." He mumbles, jotting things down in his notebook.
"AND WOULD YOU STOP SAYING I'M INTERESTING!" I howl snatching the book from his hands. He jumps up and makes to grab it. I know it's immature but I'm a teenager! I climb onto his desk and hold the ledger above my head.
"Dana!" He says in shock. I lean over and dangle the book out of the window. "Don't you dare!" He cries. He looks so shocked that I'm standing up to him. My eyes twinkle in a delight that hasn't been there in many years.
"Now, let's see what he writes about me in his little black book shall we…" I pull it back and open it to the most recent entry. He sits down amusedly in the chair opposite me. I guess he's probably thinking I should throw myself out of the window, coz I'm a frickin nutter.
"The files aren't confidential you can read them whenever you like." I ignore him and read today's entry. "Dana Johansson, builds a wall to prevent anyone from accessing her thoughts. By blocking out people she can block out her traumas. Phht! Yeah right." I scoff.
"It's true though."
"Whatever," I continue reading. "She refers to herself by her maiden name indicating troubles in the married life. Well, no duh it was practically a shotgun wedding! Honest you write this rubbish. Work on your material." I slide to sit down and continue leafing through the pages until I come to the last one. A rather illicit drawing of the two of us.
"Well… I'm no psychobabbler, but I know what that is." I smirk. He snatches the book back blushing.
"Shh. Back to the session." He says trying to brush past it.
"Logan's got a crush on me." I sing like a five-year-old with a new toy. This information does something for me. It gives me a kick. I can play with it and use it to my advantage. "What would your advisor say!" I smirk.
"Dana… I say this as a 'friend and not a therapist'." He copies. "Shut up."
"That's not very professional either, is it?" I purr. I go up to him and peer into his ledger. He turns it slightly so I can see. "Are there more? Drawings I mean." He slowly nods, a little uncertain, I could probably actually sue him. I sit down beside him. "Show me." I whisper. I know it sounds sick, and perverted and slutty but I'm curious. I've been with one guy and let's face it, it wasn't exactly recently. He flicks to the back of his book and shows me.
"You're a good artist." I whisper.
"Thanks, but if you tell anyone you are so dumped as a patient." He warns. I nod in understanding, leaning slightly closer to see the pictures. I lay my head on his shoulder. I missed him a lot. He was my boyfriend just before I started things with Paolo, if things had been a little different maybe I wouldn't have been in this situation. Logan checks his watch. "Time to go Mrs Johansson. I clock off now."
"Already." I whine. "I wanna see more artwork." I'm teasing him of course. He smirks.
"Y'know officially I'm not your therapist anymore." He glances at his watch again. "So I have no shame in saying that if you weren't a married woman, I'd show you a demonstration." Suddenly a wicked idea floats into my head. I raise my left hand and slowly remove my wedding ring, placing it on the counter.
"Demonstrate." I ask, my eyes lit up. He surveys me trying to figure out whether I'm teasing him again.
I don't know who started it, probably me. But we kissed. It felt good. I haven't been kissed like that since I was 17. The kiss got deeper and deeper and he pushed me slightly so I was laid on the desk. He climbed on top of me and fumbled with my shirt buttons. Of course I, in my advanced state of neglect, let him. We didn't get much further than that. He got up under my bra but that's about it then his cell phone rang.
"Ignore it." I whisper, toying with his hair. He says nothing just pulls away and answers his phone.
"Yo." It's amazing. When he's being professional he's very professional but otherwise he's just a 19-year-old hottie. "Serious? Key in usual place? Awesome, I'll see you in a few. Ciao." He hangs up. I sit up and smooth my shirt.
"That'll be all for today." He says grabbing his briefcase. "Same time next week." He's got his professional voice back. I rebutton my shirt and slip my ring back on.
"You can count on it." I say, hopping off the desk. He smirks slightly and holds the door open for me.
That's how it all started. This sordid little affair that I call my current life. I got what I wanted. I wanted a drug to make it all better. He was my drug. He was pure intoxication, Novocain, ecstasy; he magically made everything better. My world seems happier. Suddenly I don't care that Paolo doesn't love me. I don't care that I work at a beauty salon listening to wannabe pop stars whine about their latest gig. I don't care about anything. I meet up with a gorgeous bloke once a week for two hours of passionate non-commital sex. It really is the best medicine.
A/n: Hehe. I wonder how Paolo will react to this.