Long time no see :P Decided to do another chapter of this thing! Set over a year later; 13th July 2010. Bit scared about this one...hope you like! x


"Here, shake my hand." I extend my arm, trying to pretend that it isn't trembling.

"What?"

He looks at me with utmost skeptism. I don't blame him – I know myself that I sound desperate, almost deranged. The voice in my head is concurring with me, asking me why I'm putting myself through this. It's futile.

Up until recently, and since the day I shook his hand for the first time, this voice in my head had taken the form of Christian's - pleading with me, telling me constantly to be true to myself (becoming louder when the real Christian started joining in) – but soon after I found the therapist, I started to hear my own voice as well, in unison with Christian's. So much so that the therapist's voice began to decrease in volume as time went on. This, today, was a last attempt to ignore the other voices; to cling to Alan's advice and his promise that I could change; this was the day I had to test out the techniques I've been taught. If they didn't work today, chances are they'd never work.

I'd already touched Christian today, in the middle of the market. I could tell myself it was spontaneous, I did it without thinking when I saw that he was heading for an accident with his back to Adam in his wheelchair. What I couldn't tell myself was that I saw him a mile off, saw him coming closer with his back to me and realised it was the perfect opportunity to make contact with him, regardless of whether he was actually going to cause a commotion or not. I'd run forward and placed my hands over his upper arms to halt him before I could change my mind. He had turned around to face me, yet somehow I managed to keep hold of him. The skin over his biceps felt soft under my fingers - cold from the wind, but surely warming up against my burning palms. I couldn't look him in the eyes, so I had shifted my own elsewhere; anywhere. What was it Alan said? Think of lice, think of pus...he's covered in it. I willed myself to see it. And I did; I saw it. But I couldn't feel it. I felt the small raise of goosebumps under my fingertips; the hard muscle under smooth skin. The visualisations simply couldn't compete.

I hadn't realised how long I'd stood there like an idiot, just...holding him. Chastising him for not looking where he was going while wondering how bad the consequences would actually be if I just pulled him closer and kissed him. As soon as that thought had crossed my mind I banished it, ending the conversation, pulling away reluctantly. I felt the heat of his gaze as I walked away.

...

"Come on, shake it."

I'm prepared now. I'm here, in his flat, which is full of memories of us, and I'm about to feel his skin against mine again. It's like the ultimate test. My mind is seeing the lice all over him. But dammit, Christian could even pull that off with aplomb. His voice, and my voice, in my head are telling me Alan's techniques will be shot to pieces as soon as I make contact. Hell, even Alan had thought it was too soon. So why am I doing this exactly, torturing myself? At least, torturing myself in a different way. My own thoughts - about therapy, about Christian, about my parents - torment me every night. I suppose this is me taking a risk. What happened in the market doesn't count, I wasn't ready then. I am now. I am.

Eventually he pulls a hand out of his pocket and reaches forward. His palm closes around mine loosely and we carry out the tiniest of handshakes before he wraps his thumb over my hand, effectively trapping it in his. I just about manage to withhold the gasp that's threatening to fill my lungs. It's just the same as it always was; no change whatsoever in the intensity of the jolt that spreads up my arm and makes me tense my shoulders in protection.

I steal a glance down at our joined hands, trying to discreetly take a deep breath. Looking back up at his eyes - big mistake - I can see determination now behind them. But I'm the one who's determined. Aren't I?

"See? Nothing. I don't feel anything."

Do I sound desperate? In my case, surely there's no such thing as protesting too much; protesting is pretty much the idea behind the therapy.

No no no no; he's moving closer, taking a step forward, close enough for me to feel his body heat. I wasn't prepared for this... Another glance down to our hands; anything to avoid him seeing what's in my eyes...which is fear. A lot of it. But not of him; it's fear that comes with the realisation that I'll never be cured. Because there is no cure. How can there be a cure for something which is the furthest possible thing from a disease imaginable? Those lice that I had relied on for visual aids? The jolt when our hands made contact electrocuted them into oblivion.

I can't let him see that, though. Can't let anyone see.

"I'm not attracted to you anymore."

I heard the tremble in my voice. Did he? If he didn't hear that, then surely he heard my heart speed up as he drew closer?

"I'm cured. It's over."

I force a smile on my face, trying my hardest to sound convincing. Maybe if I say it as many different ways as I can, I'll start to believe it too.

There's a pause as we look at each other, resolutely opposite each other, like a stand off. I see the disbelief in his eyes; it kills the part of me that wants so badly to be cured. There's no way he buys any of it. But did I really expect him to? Did I want him to?

"So you're okay with the menu, yeah?"

I can't stay here much longer. I feel that familiar suffocating sensation of things getting too much. I haven't changed in two months, haven't made progress despite all that time and money. Not one iota. Why?

I pull my hand free, perhaps a bit too forcefully. I acknowledge Roxy for the first time since I arrived; the realisation she was there the whole time colours my cheeks red just as I'm heading for the front door. I guess I'm not used to a third person within those four walls. Our four walls.

It didn't work. None of it did.

I make my way to the therapist's office with a heavy heart and stomach full of dread.