Page 84 of Hunter

He stares at me, not one bit of softening in his gaze. “I don't sugar-coat. You’re here because the courts say you have to be. I’m here to help you stay alive and functional. If you want to waste both our time, tell me now and we can sit in silence for fifty minutes every week until the judge gets tired of it.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Straight to it, huh?”

“I find it saves time.” He leans back slightly. “Tell me why you drank yourself unconscious in the middle of a therapy session.”

I stare at the floor. Robby’s voice is quieter today, but still there, whispering that I’m a fuck-up who doesn’t deserve help.

“I… I pushed someone I care about too far,” I say finally. “He had a panic attack because of me. I left when he asked me to. Then I drank until I couldn’t feel anything anymore.”

Dr. Middleton nods once, no judgment or pity. “And the panic attack triggered you how?”

I shrug. “Made me feel like the monster I already know I am.”

He watches me for a long moment.

“Why do you feel like a monster?”

I shift in the chair, the leather creaking under me.

“Because I hurt him,” I mutter. “I was rough because I got impatient and in my head. I held him down. And I ruined everything…he broke because of me. He started shaking and crying, and I just…I froze. I realized I was scaring him. Hurting him. Just like…”

I stop. The words get stuck.

Dr. Middleton doesn’t push.

“Just like what?” he asks eventually when I don’t continue.

I swallow hard. “Just like everything else I touch turns to shit. My ex. The fire. Now him…he didn’t deserve any of it.”

He nods slowly, writing something down.

“So you see yourself as inherently destructive,” he says. “And when this person had a panic attack during intimacy, it confirmed that belief. So you drank to punish yourself for it.”

I don’t answer. I just stare at the floor.

He leans back slightly.

“We’re going to unpack that belief,” he says. “But not all at once. For now, I want you to tell me what happened right before you made the decision to hold him down. What was the moment that made you decide to do that?”

I close my eyes. “I don’t think it was a conscious thing. I just kept thinking about how my ex always cheated on me and the sex was less after that…and Charlie seemed fine with not having sex at all. So I thought maybe he was getting it somewhere else, too.”

“How long was your relationship with this new person?”

“A couple weeks.”

He lets out a slow breath, almost like a sigh, but there’s no judgment in it. Just clinical observation.

“Being a gay man myself, I know that sometimes one-night stands are a thing and real relationships are harder to come by… but in a normal, healthy relationship, that sort of intimacy usually takes time. Especially for someone with trauma like yourself.”

I feel my face heat. I look away, jaw tight.

“I know that,” I say, voice low. “I knew it then, too. But the thoughts just kept coming. That he was probably seeing other people. That I wasn’t enough. That I was just… temporary. So I got rough. I pinned him down. I wanted to feel like I had him. Like he was mine. I was jealous.”

The words taste bitter coming out. I hate how they sound. How possessive and fucked up they are.

“So insecurity and fear of abandonment triggered possessive behavior,” he says. “You tried to regain control through sex. And when he had a panic attack, it confirmed every negative belief you have about yourself.”

I don’t answer. I just stare at the floor, shame crawling up my throat like bile.