Vi pulls up just as I exit Olivia's apartment complex. She must've been flooring that gas pedal.
I get in the car, and for a while, Vi just stares at me. Then, she reaches into her pockets, pulls out a piece of gum and hands it to me.

"You smell like sex."

With my cheeks bright red, I take the gum.

"So I'm guessing that date went well," Vi says, pushing the gas pedal to the floor.
"You could say that."
"She didn't say anything about the tattoo?"
"She didn't see it."
"You left your shirt on?"

I think if Vi was rolling her eyes much harder right now, she'd cause brain damage.

"The fuck was I supposed to do? Say, 'Oh by the way before I take your innocence, I used to be a serial killer.'?"

Vi slams the brakes, looking at me, utterly shocked.

"Her innocence? You took her virginity? Fuck, Jinx, do you understand what you've done? If she finds out who you are she'll be traumatized for life!"
"She won't find out! I could get the tattoo removed -"
"That's not the point. If it's not the tattoo, it'll be something else. You can't hide something like this from your lover. This is why you don't go on a date with someone you just met."

Wrong. You're wrong. She'll never know. Why give me a new identity when I'm supposed to tell people who I am anyway? What do you know about relationships, anyway? You've only ever been in one when you were 17 and it didn't even last a year. And now you've been trying to get with your boss for five years.
All these things are running through my head, but I remain silent. Neither of us say a word until we arrive at my therapist's.

"See you in an hour," Vi mumbles after I get out of the car.

I check my phone. I'm ten minutes late. My therapist is not going to be very happy.
I hurry into the building. I knock on her office door, and, without waiting for her to tell me to come in, I enter the room.

She's sitting in her chair, looking at me over the top of her glasses.

"You're late," she says, while looking at her watch.
"I know, I'm sorry. I was at a friend's and forgot the time," I say.

I'm not going to tell her that I was on a date. Let alone that I had sex. She's just going to judge me for it, like Vi did.
I sit down.

"What happened to your hand?", she asks, pointing at my bandaged left hand.
"I fell down the stairs."

She looks at me, is practically scanning me. She doesn't believe me.
Time to change the topic.

"Why did you never tell me that I had a miscarriage?"
"I thought you knew. I was waiting on you to bring it up."
"I didn't remember. I relived it yesterday, ended up in the hospital."
"Does knowing it change anything within you?"
"Of course!", I scoff, "It's the entire reason why I'm still alive! If that hadn't happened, they would've shot me, given the chance."
"You seem aggravated today."
"I had a fight with Vi."
"Again? What were you fighting about?"

I don't respond. My therapist sighs and scribbles something on her clipboard.

"You said you were with a friend."
"Yes."
"Who? Your friend from college – what was her name?"
"Olivia. Yes."
"I'm glad you found a friend."

She knows. She knows there's more to this.

"What did you do together?"

Had really good, desperately needed sex.

"We studied together."

Silence. Again, she isn't buying it.

"How is your medication working? Do you remember to take it every day?"

I can feel all the colour drain from my face. I forgot to take my pills this morning.
Fuck. Fuck.

"Jinx?"
"Yeah. I mean, yes. Meds are fine."
"You didn't take them, did you?"

Silence.

"There's more, am I right?"

Again, I don't respond.

"You slept with her, didn't you?"
"No one can forbid me to be sexually active."
"That is true. But being so intimate with someone you just met, in your situation -"
"She's good for me."
"That's what you think now."
"What do you know?"
"I have studied the human mind for seven years. I've seen you struggle first hand, I've seen what you are capable of doing. I probably know you better than you know yourself."
"No, you don't."
"You're not ready for a relationship."
"Fuck you."

My therapist stares at me in stunned silence.

"You know when's the last time I heard these words from your mouth?", she leans forward and looks at me with narrow eyes, "When you had just arrived at the hospital and didn't quite understand that I was there to help you."
"You're not trying to help me. You're trying to ruin the only good thing I have right now."
"I'm shocked, Jinx. Within two days, I feel like you've lost at least two years of progress."

I don't answer. I just get up and leave, slamming the door behind me. I hear her calling after me, but I don't care. I don't need to hear this.
Fuck her. Fuck all of you.
I sit down on the sidewalk, playing random games on my phone until Vi arrives to pick me up.

"You're done early," she says as I get into her car.
"Yeah. She had another appointment, so she had to cut ours short."

Lies. Lies. Lies.
I know Vi knows something isn't right. But she doesn't say anything about it, apparently finding me to be more of an adult than my therapist does. Which is sad, really.

Who does she think she is? Who do they think they are? I'm 27. I can decide for myself who I want to be in a relationship with. I don't need anyone's opinion.
I haven't even arrived home when I text Olivia.

"I've just had had a really stressful hour. Could you come over?"

I'm just getting out of Vi's car when she responds.
"On my way. :)"

I slam the car door shut, without saying Good Bye to my sister, and rush upstairs to touch up my make up and at least comb my hair.
Then, remembering my little break down from the other day, I clean up the mirror shards and the broken cup that are still on my bedroom floor. The door bell rings as I'm scrubbing the dried tea out of my carpet.