Chapter 13 - React Pt. 1

Tobias's POV: Wednesday

Flashback:

Taking the fastest shower I ever have in my life, because I don't trust Tris to actually stay where she is, I end up using soap for my body and hair. I grin at the fact, as I dry off quickly, that Tris groaned after I walked into the bathroom. I kind of love the fact that she checks me out, seeing as I practically stare at her constantly—peeking around the corner when I know she's undressing, envisioning my hands, both of them, on her ass when she bends over to grab something, and just about drooling every time her nipples harden through those damned camitol, camiside, cami-whatever things she wears. What? She's my girlfriend! She's mine. I'm allowed! Or, is that totally creepy? Fuck it. At this point, it's whatever gets me through the day.

I wrap a towel around my waist, although, I'd rather be naked, and quietly open the bathroom door because there's no way she actually did what I told her to. I'm totally going to catch her in the act…-of touching herrrselllfff. A dry mouth doesn't even begin to describe it, it's like Death Valley up and took residence. I am literally watching Tris run the tips of her fingers over her panties. I don't have a perfect view, on account of her knees, whom I'm very angry at right now, but I can envision it well enough. Maybe if I just move to the left a little… Move? Yeah, that's impossible. Plus, I'll get caught. Maybe I should get caught? I mean, she needs me. It's obvious. And I will assist her. No, you will not!

She squeezes her legs together and I watch in awe as her cheeks flush and she—Oh, God she's changing angles.

"Fuck," she mouths without sound. I can feel the tip of my cock brush against the towel, and I have to glue my hands to my side to prevent myself from dropping trow and grabbing my dick.

And now she's biting her lip… Please, stop that. Incrementally she angles her hips down and sucks in a breath and for a moment I thought I was busted. But, then she closes her eyes, more like squeezes them shut.

She lets out a deep breath, "Tobias."

Did she…? She just…said my name. She's getting herself off, thinking about me. And that is officially the best thing that's happened to me since Tris survived after dying. That's it. I definitely need to help her. She's obviously struggling. Do the right thing, Tobias!

I step forward and trip over the edge of the towel, catching myself on the door as it swings open. You idiot! I look up at her in frantic embarrassment to see that she is still looking up at the ceiling but has moved her hand away.

Okay, what do I say? Did I miss my chance? She's still in the same spot I left her, technically. Was that calculated?

"You, uh, really haven't moved. Wow." Wow? Really?

"Mmm hmm. Just, doing as I was told." Yeah, I didn't tell you to do THAT?!

"Ha, yeah. Okay. Well, good." Very, very, good. Very good.

"Yep."

I watch her lips as she makes a popping sound and the stark reminder of the noise she makes after she gives me head rings in my ears.

"So, can… …, yet?"

"Huh?"

"Can I move…yet?" No. Stay right there so I can bury my fingers in you—Holy shit, I'm still completely turned on and fully erect!

"Oh, yeah," I comment not at all smoothly as I face away from her. "Well, you can move just…um, so…stay…right there on the bed." My entire body temperature is rising rapidly. "Looking…very…yes. And I'll just…get dressed," I stammer, scurrying to the closet like a pussy. Pussy? Really, Tobias?

What the fuck happened to aiding her you chicken shit?!

I stare at my dick, as it looks on in obvious disappointment, and silently curse it for ruining a perfectly wonderful situation. Are you kidding? You're blaming your penis, now? It didn't do anything wrong except present itself at a very rationale moment! You're the disappointment, Tobias! You are contributing to the degeneration of the male species—

"Tobias, what am I waiting for, here?"

End Flashback:

"Four?"

"Yep," I reply, still staring at the table as if my assistant isn't standing in the doorway trying to get my attention. I'm trying to hold onto this memory because, apparently, it's more important than whatever Jamie's going to tell me, right now.

"Hey, I just found this on my desk, and it has your name on it, therefore, I can only assume it's for you. It's probably been there since this morning. Sorry, I think it got mixed up in all the crap—I'm still playing the trying-to-figure-out-what-the-hell-you-do game."

"Thanks," I reply, visions of Tris biting her lower lip still lingering.

"So, okay, I'll just…leave it…here. So, it's…right in front of you."

"Thank you."

I hear the click of the door, and my eyes are drawn to a folded up piece of paper with my name written in Amar's handwriting. So, I open it, images of Tris slipping from my mind.

I have some things to work out. Going to our cabin in Galena for some perspective. Will fill you in upon my return. Take a look at my preliminary thoughts for the possible expansion.

Amar

This is the first time I've heard from him since his two brief text messages yesterday saying he wasn't coming in. It's probably better he wasn't here yesterday, seeing as my mood was more foul than usual.

The note Amar left me is officially the only thing that registers right now, even though, technically my eyes are dragging over the expansion proposal I have now unfolded. It's more or less a bunch of notes at this point, and they aren't making my synapses fire. Although, I do see that the notes are in English, and he wrote with blue ink. I push the papers to the side and remove my glasses, resting my forehead on the table.

This day has flown by, mimicking yesterday's speed as well. However, unlike yesterday, where I was just a bastard all day and working like a maniac, exhaustion has officially set in now that the extra shot of espresso I had Lauren (God, help me.) dump into my coffee has worn off. I've done exactly as Tris seems to be dying for me to do—concentrate on work and forget about her. Although burying myself in work is more or less what I did, concentrating not being the appropriate verb.

I haven't initiated any texts nor called her in well over 24 hours. I responded with a cordial, "OK," when she texted me that she was taking Tori to chemo after work last night. And when she crawled into bed around 5:00 AM, I had my arm laid out waiting for her to rest on. I saw through my drowsy sleep-deprived eyes, her lip protruding out and trembling before she bit it back and clung to me. I waited until her breathing evened out before I slipped away to go for a ridiculously early run, going straight to work to shower when I was done.

I'm giving her space. Not that she asked for it, but, based on yesterday morning… Shit, maybe I needed some space. And the other thing is, I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO FUCKING DO! Because when her spitefulness comes out, man, the things I want to say to her!

And, what the hell? How can she not see that I'm flailing right now?! Calling me an asshole, a snooty asshole, because of my grammar? Thanks, so much for your thoughtful eloquence, Tris.

Although, I haven't exactly been forthcoming about why I'm so adamant about my speech. Damn it! Why can't I just tell her this shit? Tell her that my mother tutored me after Marcus told me that I sound like a "grade A, idiot, inbred hick."

I still remember her saying conspiratorially, "Let's prove him wrong." The hours we spent on the nuances of the English language, and then how she'd wink at me and I'd grin when Marcus said something grammatically incorrect. It was our little secret—our silent protest. And I can't let it go.

It's funny how it doesn't even occur to me to tell Tris these little insights when they come up. It's like they have just become second nature, almost like the thought doesn't even cross my mind to mention the reason behind my ridiculous idiosyncrasies. Because MY bullshit is secondary, right now! Don't be so fucking selfish! She doesn't need my dumbass quirks on her mind! Particularly because of the specifics she's dealing with!

Dealing with... Fuck, I hope she stays in therapy. Her nightmares alone being reason enough.

Flashback:

I set the bag of take-out on the counter, noticing how quiet the apartment is, and how Tris hasn't made her appearance from our, or my, bedroom since I walked in the door.

"Tris?" I call as I grab two plates from the cabinet.

No answer. So, I walk toward the bedroom and see her cute, sweet (relatively speaking) self, curled onto her side. She has her knees up to her chest and is wearing one of my T-shirts, which is bunched up to the apex of her thighs giving me a clear shot of her behind…and more.

My dirty, male, mind immediately envisions exactly what's under that small, thin, piece of fabric and I practically start to salivate, along with sport an uncontrollable erection. Lately, no amount of cold showers and near daily self-gratification has been able to temper that. She's obviously trying to kill me.

I sigh out a small breath of disappointment as I crouch down next to her, folding in her bottom arm that lies extended mid-air exposing her double-jointed elbows. Her hair is piled on top of her head, so I carefully attempt to detangle it from her ponytail holder thing, knowing she hates sleeping with her hair up. She flinches just as I realize my naïve attempt is futile. I lean in and deliver a soft kiss to her forehead, breathing her in. Then, knowing she'd hate it, but taking my chance anyway, I pull up her shirt to inspect her side. The swelling has gone down significantly much to my relief. Until that relief dissipates upon seeing a much more enticing swell—the underside of her breast. Having enough sexual frustration in my life for the time being, I hastily pull my t-shirt down over her ass and stand, making my way for yet another dinner…alone.

"Stop," she whispers, although, it comes out as more of a mumble.

"You're awake?" I chuckle as I crouch down again. "I got Chinese—"

Her legs shoot out straight as she cries out in pain. My hand instinctively braces her bruised ribs, trying to quell the probable ache. What the fuck did she do to herself today?!

"Hey, are you okay—"

"Tobias, please," she moans.

"What? What do you need? I'm right here."

She doesn't respond, and it doesn't take me long to realize she's having a nightmare…and I'm in it. I run my fingers down the side of her face and shake her shoulders a bit. "Tris."

She groans and shakes her head muttering something I don't understand. I'm at a loss for what to do. Based on how she was acting when she got home, along with her passing out, she's clearly wrecked and exhausted…or drunk. So, she may need sleep. However, if she's having a nightmare, maybe I should—

"Tobias!" she screams at the top of her lungs, almost launching me off the bed from the shock alone.

"Tris, babe. Hey, hey, hey. Hey!" I roll her onto her back as she opens her eyes wide.

"Hi," she breathes out rapidly as she looks right and left and then back up at me. "What are you…? You're here."

"Yeah."

"Okay, that's good," she whispers as her eyes get heavy again. "'Cause I don't…know why… And again...I don't…" Her eyes close as her last words trail off, and she seems to fall immediately back to sleep.

I run the back of my knuckles down her cheekbone and my thumb along her bottom lip. I think about shaking her awake again, but my mind instead wanders to her tone of voice as she yelled for me. Except he wasn't yelling for me, she was yelling…at me.

End Flashback

After that initial nightmare, the rest were borderline call-911. Nine times, count them, nine times she woke up screaming and thrashing. Apparently, not remembering waking up at all. The last one being the worst—hearing her plead for me, hearing her say she's sorry, then, just like all the other dreams, she's yelling at me. Whatever I was doing, she wanted me to stop. Although, according to her, I wasn't doing anything. She can say she doesn't blame me for doing nothing when I knew Eric was looking for her, but, unmistakably, her subconscious says otherwise. Now the question is—Has she been lying to me about it this whole time? Her admission about holding back was upsetting. But, I wonder how much she's keeping from me?

"Hey, boss."

"Don't call me that," I state in the flattest voice I'm capable of.

"So," Matthew begins as he pulls up a chair in front of my desk. "I realize architects and builders aren't always on the same page, but if I get another damned phone call to clarify the electric, I'm going to march right down to MOSAI—"

"What?"

"What what?"

"What the hell is MOSAI?"

"Oh, I made it up. I was tired of saying 'Museum of Science and Industry.' It's too long. So…now I say MOSAI. It's an acronym. Like ROY G BIV. Ya know, colors of the rainbow? Sorry, I have no idea where that one came from. I don't think there could be a less dumb example of an acronym. Anyway, you get my drift—"

"I know what a damned acronym is," I cut off before he pisses me off even more. Also, because he just called my acronymic example 'dumb.' "And if you insist on using it for the museum, then say 'MSI.'"

"Mmmmmyeah, no." He shakes his head doubtfully. "That doesn't sound as cool."

"Well, Matthew, transitions aren't used in acronyms and since when has sounding cool been a priority for you?" I ask hoping he realizes he is the least cool person…ever.

"Touché, s'il vous plaît."

"God… Just because it rhymes, doesn't mean it makes sense," I whine, resting my head on my desk.

"Anyway, so I really want to smack their electrician up the side of the head. I know I can't, totally unprofessional, but one can dream. Maybe he'd slide down the hill...or should I say, the slope? My slope. Sorry, I meant, our slope."

"You can take credit for the damned slope, Matthew," I mutter still with my head on my desk, truly not giving a flying fuck about how much of a whiny bitch I look like.

"Hey, thanks, Boss! I mean…friend, Four. Just…Four."

Knowing I need to nip this in the bud, I lift my head meeting his dumb stare. "Is there any other reason you're here apart from complaining about something completely out of our control?"

"Well, since you asked—"

"Hey, Four, sorry to bother you." Jamie walks in a little more tentatively than before, considering her more confident personality.

"I'm not," I reply, running my hands down my face.

"How's it goin,' Matthew?" she asks, trying to hide her laugh. She picked up, on day one, that Matthew drives me to the brink of mind implosion.

"Fuckin' great!" he responds with way too much emphasis.

"O…kay. Do I get to swear like that too?" she whispers as she comes closer.

"Yes."

"Sweet. There's a kid here to see you. He seems pretty eager…or terrified." She ushers in an incredibly nervous looking young errand boy.

"Jonathan?" I say his name as if I'm unsure, even though, I had quickly realized he's the runner for the concierge in my apartment complex.

"Hi, Mr. Eaton—"

"Better call him 'Four.' Seriously, dude…for your own safety."

"Matthew, don't say 'dude,' and Jonathan, ignore him. What's up?"

"Well, Miss Prior…or Tris, yeah. Is it okay that I call her that? I don't want my boss to yell at me."

"Did she tell you to call you that?" I inquire at his laughable question while my heart skips a beat at her name.

"Forcefully."

"I'm not surprised," I mumble under my breath, it not going unnoticed that Matthew said the same thing…at the same time.

I shake my head as both he and Jamie stifle a laugh.

"Uh, yeah, so, she wanted me to give this to you."

He sets a 2-go cup of coffee, the particular aroma I instantly recognize as Gertie's, down on my desk, turning it, so the word 'guilt' shows up in Tris's messy script. I know I have a childish smile on my face, but I don't care. Then he sets down a plastic container, a ready-made snack of sorts, of Nutella with the words, "You already know what this is," written on it in equally terrible handwriting.

"Thank you, Jonathan," I remark suddenly in an incredibly better mood. Is this how she felt the other day? We're awesome! Nutella rocks! I take my wallet out of my pocket, en route for a tip. "Here."

He tentatively reaches out, but then shakes his head and backs away.

"Sir—"

"Don't call him 'sir.'"

"Shut your mouth, Matthew."

"Just sayin'."

"Um…I'm not supposed to take your tip until I…" the kid falters as I look at him curiously.

"Until you…?"

"Ya know, I don't need the tip." He waves me off. "See ya around, Mr.—"

"Jonathan, stop. You work for tips, and my rent pays your salary, so, think of me as your boss and take the tip," I retort.

"She said you'd say something like that."

Jamie reenters the room and sets the interior layout of ALG that I asked for on my desk unrolling it, which grabs my attention because I've been waiting for it. My office phone also rings, and I see it's Amar.

"Guys, I need to take this—"

"Four, did you have time to approve the copper alternatives we came up with?" Trevor and Diana both magically appear, rudely pushing Jamie to the side, which ticks me off.

"Wow! Looks like a party!" Will enters and I feel like my head may explode. "So, Zoe wants me to sign off on the reno. Wanted to run it by you first—"

"Wait, Will, it's not ready, yet—Oh, sorry everyone!" Zoe backs away nearly running into Jonathan while my mind answers all questions, but my voice doesn't.

I see Jonathan's mop of hair make a break for the door. "Jonathan!" I yell, getting his prompt attention. "Take the damned tip," I grit out as I look over to see Amar has hung up. "Damn it!"

"Um…she's going to be really mad—"

"Come on, kid, move it!"

"Trevor, you are no more important than him. And, not the first time and, definitely, not the last time, kid!" I shout over everyone trying to both chastise Trevor and encourage Jonathan.

"Um…"

"Jonathan!" I grit out, still in the throes of demanding associates all chatting, trying to talk over each other.

"Okay, she said, there's only one reason you're getting guilt coffee and apology Nutella…"

"Con..tin…ue!"

I watch him mutter something, and I officially can't take this shit anymore!

"What?! Jesus, just say it!"

"BECAUSE SHE KNOWS YOU'LL TURN DOWN AN APOLOGY BLOWJOB OKAY NOW CAN I PLEASE LEAVE?!"

You know that sound in movies? The diamond tip scratching across a vinyl record to signify all loss of conversation because something was said that was unbelievable? Yes, that just occurred.

"Well, who would turn that down?! I know I wouldn't—"

"Shut the hell up, Matthew."

"Here ya go, buddy." I glance up and see Will hand poor Jonathan a $50. "You better run."

And, that's exactly what he does.

"Okay, everyone. Let's give Four a minute to…process…that." Will ushers the now awkwardly silent herd of employees out the door, and, of course, laughter ensues in the hallway. She's going to pay for this…

I groan into my hands, the hotness of my face not going unnoticed, and pretend I'm alone for a moment.

"I knew you were a nice guy, but, wow, I guess you're a really nice guy."

"Thank you," I respond to the joking voice of Jamie, my voice muffled by my hands.

"Matthew, come on—"

"I need to talk to Four about something," he punctuates as I raise my head giving him a this-better-be-good face. "Seriously, I do."

"It's fine, Will." I nod to him, still giving Matthew the same look.

"Okay, buddy. Drinks this week—"

"Just tell me when and I will…be there," I reply with every ounce of intention I have.

I open up the cup of steaming coffee, listening to Will join in the laughter in the hallway, and take a sip. This coffee may just be worth the embarrassment. Damn you, Tris Prior! Matthew leans forward looking at me with a concerned expression. What now?!

"Would you really deny a—"

"Get out."

"I'm kidding!" he laughs jovially as if what just transpired was at all funny. "I honestly just want to find out how Tris is. I'm asking as a friend—not your friend…of course, but her friend. And I do promise that she's just a friend. I am otherwise engaged with a different beautiful woman. I mean, we're not engaged. I'm just engaging with her. And I didn't mean to say Tris is beautiful. In fact, I'll just say she's not…definitely not."

"Did you really just say that to me?"

"I mean, she is…most definitely. Shit, I just said 'definitely,' again. Anyway, I wouldn't, or I shouldn't say that to you because, well, you shouldn't talk about dating your boss's girlfriend. Not that I want to date her! No offense."

"None…taken."

He rocks back and forth on the toes and heels, and I take note of the redness in his face, we probably match right now, to be honest. And I feel a little, just slightly, sorry that he's trying so hard to prove to me his disinterest in Tris. What he doesn't know, is that his efforts are futile.

"So, um, is she okay?"

I sit back and cross my arm semi-astonished that he actually thinks I'm going to talk to him about Tris. Honestly, he honestly, believes that.

"She's not. I will take your silence and cold, dark eyes as a no?... So, just to clarify, is talking about our mutual acquaintance off limits? Not that she's just an acquaintance to you…or me. We're more than acquaintances—"

"Matthew. You need to be done speaking." I tilt my head toward the door signaling his exit order. So he stands, walking at a snail's pace toward the door, looking over his shoulder in debate before pausing at the door.

Not being able to take any more of his shit, I look at the building plans on my desk. First, the date strikes me—June, 13 1999. Shit, these are the originals. I pick up my phone to call Jamie and pause as Matthew now stands switching his weight. Good Lord! What the hell?

"You have 5 seconds to tell me why you're hovering in my—"

"I couldn't sleep last night because of what happened on the sidewalk and I was wondering if you could clue me in as to what that was about because it scared the shit out of me!"

I run all possibilities through my mind about what the hell he could be talking about. They were fixing the sidewalk a couple of days ago. Did someone get hurt? Jesus, I can't deal with a possible lawsuit, right now.

"I don't even know what happened," I admit slightly ashamed. Not that Matthew needs to know that.

"Oh, well. Psshhh…" He waves me off and heads toward the door with long strides. "I'm just rambling so—"

"Matthew, you will tell me what the fuck you're talking about."

"Uhhhh… Uuuuummmm… Welllll—"

"MATTHEW!"

"DOES TRIS HAVE ANY STRANGE HABITS?"

"What the hell are you—?"

"Ya know, like, I don't know, violent confrontations with older dudes in expensive suits?"

I scan Matthew's face, and it's plain as day that he's trying to speak in dumbass code, as in code only used by dumbasses.

Apparently, I am rolling with this… Okay…Violent confrontations? No. Older dudes with…expensive suits—

"I can be more specific! Like, does she habitually get quite angry with older dudes in expensive suits, slap them, and then they…retaliate?"

His meaning clicks into place at the word "retaliate." Then, match it up with the words, "violent," "older dudes," and "expensive suits," and that is my own personal recipe for a stroke.

"No," I growl. "She doesn't. That is, indeed, NOT a habit of hers. Now, WHAT HAPPENED?" I stand and stride toward Matthew grabbing him by the arm and closing the door.

"Ow, ow, ow. I didn't say that happened."

"I don't have TIME for your bullshit. You will tell me what the fuck happened, and you will tell me now!" I push his arm away, although, he stands surprisingly strong.

"You should talk to her." I recognize the look on his face as loyalty. I know it well because I have very loyal friends.

"I do talk to her!" At this point, my mind is going to the worst-case scenario. Did he do that to her side? The scratches on her arm? The way she was acting? Did MY FATHER do that to her?!

"Look, I see that you are incredibly upset…like, more upset than I've ever seen you. So, for the record, she said she was going to tell you…and that's why I was not to tell you. But, apparently, she didn't tell you and WHY didn't she tell you?!" he asks in total exasperation mixed with fear he's trying to hide as he backs away.

Internalizing his look, I have to put myself in a mini time-out. I realize Matthew and I have a unique work relationship, but that doesn't give me the right to yell at him. He's still my employee. And, maybe it wasn't even Marcus. Maybe it was some crazy guy in the street. Either way, I'll hunt him down.

"Did she say who it was?" I ask with as mild of a tone as I'm capable of.

"No."

"Because she didn't know, or because she didn't want you to know?"

His lack of response is all the answer I need. I'm at my desk phone before I comprehend the movement.

"Alex, this is Four. Send me yesterday's exterior security footage for the street level Northwest corner of the building immediately."

Tris's POV:

Therapy:

I end the call on my phone, and I have the first, albeit small, smile on my face in almost 72 hours. It's fleeting, and really more like a smirk or maybe a grin, but it's there. And all on account of a phone call, a requested phone call, on behalf of Caleb—he's eating…and drinking. The nurse informed me that Caleb preferred for me to have minimal information. I know I could easily override that request, and find out everything, but, he deserves some type of control of his life. The only thing the nurse told me is that he's taken up playing chess again. I haven't prayed in a while, but I definitely took that moment to thank God.

I clear my throat and decide to concentrate on other things because I could easily worry about Caleb, for eternity. Of course, Tobias takes up immediate residence, but I push him away with more vigor because I would rather hold onto my mind, rather than lose it.

Concentrate on what's in front of you—the task at hand. That's the only thing that seems to have worked for the last day.

So, I take some time and look around Dr. DuBumbledick's office. It's about the size of the closet at Calahan's, my first memory being—Tobias giving me an orgasm with his mouth. Sweet Jesus… Okay, Tris. Other things, other things…

I observe that this place is actually pretty bare. Squinting my eyes at the various papers attached to his tack board, I see Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs Pyramid, pictures of the physical evolution of humans from an ape to an upright man. I see articles with words like stigma, behavior, psyche and—

"Tris." Dr. DuBendover enters the room and sits unceremoniously behind his desk, rather than in the chair next to me like last time. I must give him some kind of look because he smirks and comes back around the desk to sit across from me, making a notation right away. "You're here."

It's an interesting comment seeing as he's the ass dick who called me at the last minute for a session.

"Yep."

I still can't believe I'm here. So many of the questions he asked made me uncomfortable. And his demeanor, in general, was, well, not was I was expecting. But, I did an internet search of "common questions a therapist will ask," and many of the ones he provided were on that list.

I think what scared me the most was the way he focused on Tobias. He seemed to be eating up whatever I said about him. It made me crazy at the time, but, some of the things he said stuck with me.—"Do you think there is such a thing as being too supportive?", "He doesn't…understand?", "Do you feel suffocated?" That one hurt because my first reaction was an unequivocal, 'no.' But, going back, I do feel smothered, sometimes. But only on account of Tobias's insatiable need to fix this situation. It's more like me feeling pressure, not pressured. And the last and final question, "Do you think he wants to make you…better?" Ugh…

In addition, one nagging thought of my own still resonates, a particular comment on my behalf—"I don't know what I would do without him!" And…it is…so true. The mere thought of his absence in my life sends my mind into a tailspin—the memory of that nightmare still fresh. I can't fathom not feeling his arms around me, not hearing his authentic laugh. I can't imagine losing the way he makes me feel—better than I actually am. Fuck all of that! Just how much I love him, alone. Could I live without giving him that? He's shown me, unintentionally, how giving love is just as important as receiving it. But, if that's the case, then why am I holding back? What the fuck is wrong with me? So much… There is so much—

"Tris, are you going to actually participate today? Or shall we reschedule?"

I shake my head to clear it and focus on the rather unkind eyes of this therapist, glaring at him with contempt at his tone.

"Let me repeat—I was surprised you agreed to attend this last minute session. I was under the impression you were less than satisfied," he remarks smugly as if he knew I'd be back.

"That was an astute impression."

He immediately scribbles something on his pad while continuing. "Then, why did you come back? And so readily at that?"

I really don't want to give this blowhard the satisfaction of knowing he did, in fact, give me a lot to think about. I also don't want to lie because I want to get the most out of this, so why lie?

I take a deep breath and decide to reveal one of the deciding factors. "Well, my boyfriend …" I groan unintentionally, "…wants me to."

The dumb fucker quirks his head at me and, shit, I know exactly what he's thinking.

"Not that it's his decision, but, he feels… He didn't pressure me! I'm not here just because of him," I stammer as he takes notes. "And he didn't tell me to come to…try to fix me or make me…better." My eyes widen at the disdain with which I say that last part.

"Tris," he draws out my name in a condescending manner. "I never said he did. These comments are your own conjuring. Yet, I will say he seems to have quite the hold over you…obviously."

I sit there not knowing how to respond because he isn't exactly wrong. Tobias does have a hold over me, but not in an aggressive way. It's our emotional connection. Right?

"Is he controlling?"

"No," I reply quickly. However, memories come forward of his cute, frustrated, face when I do something he disapproves of, but knows he has no say in the matter. "Ha! Well, he wants to be but—No, don't take that wrong!" I interject trying to halt his note taking. "It's just his…well, it's kind of instinctual to him. But, he tempers it…constantly."

"He has to temper it? Hmmm. Does he have to try hard?" he asks sarcastically.

"I…guess. But, we all have our quirks, right? It doesn't bother me that he's like that. Sometimes, it's kind of adorable."

Flashes of me getting caught reaching up into the top of the cabinet shelves—the ones Tobias had deemed "Off limits for a minimum of two weeks because they're too damned high!" He huffed and exited the kitchen, grumbling some bullshit and probably running his hands down his face. But then not two minutes later he hugged me from behind, thinking I didn't notice him counting my ribs as if I'd lost them.

"Tris, what is your goal of these sessions?" Dr. DuBastard infringes.

"I want to learn to deal with things better," I reply with a firm nod of my head.

"Things?"

"Yes. I, still have nightmares of my…experiences and I—"

"Care to describe them?" he interrupts…AGAIN!

"No." I cross my arms and sit back, him acting like a scribe for Jesus—writing every damned thing down. I roll my eyes, knowing I'm being immature. "Fine. They used to be about the abuse from my ex-boyfriend, it was more like reliving it, every night. They went away after my current boyfriend and I started dating—"

"May I ask his name?"

"Four."

"Because…then you can start referring to him by name?" What the hell is he talking about? Oh…now I get it.

"No, sorry, not 'for' like 'Why?' Um…his name is…Four. It's…yeah…like the number," I respond drawing out my words because, honestly, I hate the name 'Four.'

Dr. DuLittle-to-nothing raises his eyebrows in both annoyance and—What is that? Disgust? And I am on the defense pronto.

"He went through things as well, and he wanted to reinvent himself. There's meaning behind it! It's important to him—"

"What did he go through?"

"None of your business."

"Hmmph." He sits back and crosses his legs like a friggin' girl.

"Can we please get back to the whole nightmare thing?" I suggest. "And why am I directing the attention back to—"

"So, the nightmares just…poof!" He swirls his pencil in the air. "Up and went away?"

"Yes," I deadpan just now noticing that his skin is an unbecoming shade of boring and dull.

"But they came back?"

"Yes. We broke up for a while and they…started up, again. And then the most recent attack—"

"You broke up?" he inquires feigning surprise.

"Yes," I grit out.

"Why?"

"None of your business."

"Tris, I can see you're on the defense." His tone has suddenly changed to passive and horseshit. "I'm just curious as to why the nightmares left so easily, at first, but have now not gone away. Have you thought of why that may be?" He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, making me sit back against my chair.

"No." But I am now!

He chuckles under his breath as if the answer is obvious.

"I can only assume you have a rationale for that."

"In fact, I do. Maybe you're not as secure in your relationship as you think."

My silence is deafening, but, most likely, only to me. He has struck a major nerve. And the confusing part is that he seems to know it! What is this guy's story?

"I still don't understand why we're focusing so much on my relationship with my boyfriend!"

"Okay, okay, Tris," he soothes, making my skin crawl. "Like I said, your relationships affect you. As a doctor, I must use all facets of your life to evaluate you."

"Evaluate me?"

"I'm sorry. I misspoke," he replies hastily. What the fuck?

"Well, can…we…move…on…to…another…facet?"

"Yes, of course, of course. You're more than welcome to take the lead. But, may I say something complimentary about…Four?" He has the audacity to say his name like it's some kind of joke.

"To make up for your barraging remarks, yes."

He glances at my expression and makes some sort of checkmark on his paper. "From what you've told me, he seems very supportive of your progress in a therapeutic environment. That's an excellent quality. I can only assume he's sought therapy himself, seeing as he has had…issues that are none of my business."

I stay still, hoping he doesn't read into my reaction or lack thereof. I notice he suffers from adult-onset acne, and he obviously doesn't give a shit about it.

"I take that as a, 'no.'"

"Well, he said he would. Yesterday morning, he, he, he said it."

"Because you want him to? Did you suggest it?"

"Why does it matter?!" I'm getting incredibly angry, and his receding hairline isn't helping.

"Because he wouldn't be doing it for himself."

"What does it matter as long as he goes?! What the hell! You have to start somewhere! That's why I'm here! Scraping the damned bottom of the barrel!"

He gazes at me completely disregarding my fury. "In my opinion, unless someone initiates the experience, it doesn't—"

"Doesn't what? Doesn't count?!"

He shrugs his shoulders in a you-said-it-I-didn't manner. I notice the light brown-rimmed glasses and laugh to myself as something about his appearance connects.

"Dr. DuBois, aren't you curious about…? I don't know! But, I've watched enough Lifetime to know shrinks ask about, like, childhood and—"

"I'm much more focused on your present."

"Okay, let's do that." I stand and grab my purse. "Presently, I'm LEAVING! And, speaking of the present, you presently look like a cross between a pedophile and a sociopath! You're like the real-life version of Stanley fuckin' Tucci!"

I storm out, and the last thing I hear is him stifling a laugh.

AN: The Stanley Tucci reference is from a character he plays in the movie version of The Lovely Bones...soooo brilliantly creepy.

Had to add a little bit of humor in this one!

The reviews...passionate doesn't even describe it! I love the feedback. Finding out how people feel about what your writing, while your writing, is an experience I'm very grateful for. So, I thank you all because it really keeps me on my toes.

Thanks for all the understanding with the big move, also!

If you're interested in chatting, etc. Find me on Facebook. Search /Nitewriter4 or Kris Daniels. The page is no longer public. Too many creepers and weirdos.