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I blow out a breath, hating this part, having to reiterate for what seems like the zillionth time in my life, but I know it needs to happen, and I’m hoping it’ll be the last time I’ll ever have to do it. “I’ve been to several therapists and psychiatrists in the past and was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder at the age of eight.”
“Symptom dimensions?” he prompts, placing his pad of paper on the arm of his chair and taking down notes as I list them.
“Ah… let’s see. Contamination, Symmetry, Arranging and Counting, Doubt and Harm, Unwanted Thoughts, and Rituals. Basically the whole shebang. Oh, and since becoming sexually active when I was fifteen, I feared I had the sexual subtype, but I have a suspicion that it’s probably the Dominant thing more than a part of my disorder.”
“Genetic or trauma-induced?” he prompts.
“Genetic on my father’s side.”
Evie shifts on the cushion next to me and makes a T with her hands. “Uuummm… can we take a timeout for a second? I may have a little background in psychology from college, but I haven’t gotten far enough to understand everything you two are talking about, and you’re going way too fast for me to keep up.”
I look over at Dr. Walker, and he gestures for me to explain. “There are four main types of OCD. Contamination is the fear that involves germs, feelings of disgust when it comes to uncleanliness, bodily fluids, sticky substances, and stuff. Symmetry, Arranging, and Counting—”
“That one’s a little more self-explanatory. Like the way you have to have your pencils and books just so,” she inserts, turning in her seat so she’s facing me.
I nod. “Right, but along with that is my compulsion to count. A lot of the time you can’t even tell I’m almost always counting in my head. Steps, time—”
“Thrusts,” she murmurs, and my eyebrows shoot up at her candidness in front of Dr. Walker. But I guess if he’s the one who introduced her to BDSM as a form of therapy years ago, then she’s used to talking about sexual things with him. I try to fight back the jealousy that rears its head.
“Oh, you noticed that, did you, mouse?”
“You betcha,” she replies with a grin.
I shake my head at her with a smile, realizing I really like this open and comfortable side of her. “Next on the list was Doubt about Accidental Harm and Checking. It’s a fear of the possibility of unintentionally harming myself or someone else because I wasn’t careful enough or because I was negligent.”
“So like when you said you never allowed yourself to be rough with previous sexual partners,” she points out, clearly trying to understand and put together everything in her mind.
“Correct. I somehow don’t have the Checking part of that subtype, those people you hear about who will unlock and relock the door over and over again, or will turn around and go home when they think they left the stove on. Mine wasn’t really anything I could check. I just didn’t let myself give in to my desires,” I explain, glancing over to see Dr. Walker is taking notes while answering Evie’s questions.
“Until me,” she replies, pulling my attention back to her.
“Until you.” My voice is low, seductive, and I feel myself stiffen behind my zipper at the memories her statement causes.
She swallows, biting her lip, and then purrs, “And I turned out juuust fine.”
I clear my throat, continuing on so I don’t end up fucking her on this couch in front of the good doctor. “Unwanted thoughts is a big one of mine. This is my intrusive, repetitive thoughts that get stuck in my head and it’s hard for me to snap out of it. And then Rituals, which I know you’ve seen… and experienced.”
“The things you do and have to get right the first time or you’ll have to start over?” she clarifies.
“Bingo,” I tell her, lifting my hand to her face and using my fingertip to push her glasses back up her nose so I can see her beautiful eyes more clearly.
“Can I just say, Evelyn, I’ve been seeing you for… how many years now?” Doc inserts.
“Um, since my parents passed five years ago,” Evie says quietly, and I reach down and take her hand.
“Five years. And while I thought you truly came into your own once you became a member of the club, I have to say I’ve never seen you so… content, I think is the right word. You seem at peace in Nathaniel’s presence,” he points out, and I can’t help wanting to puff out my chest.
“I feel that way too—well, most of the time at least,” she replies, and I deflate a fraction.
“Explain, please?” Dr. Walker prompts.
“Well, I’ve had a couple near panic attacks when my anxiety got the best of me. He went to go get us lunch, and when it took a while, I almost lost my shit thinking he wasn’t coming back.”
