Page 89 of Dreamscape Therapies

“I've been told.”

I park, cut the engine, and realize neither of us is moving. The silence feels different. Weighted with the expectation of things to come. Things that I desperately want.

“So…” he says.

“So.”

“Are we doing this?”

“Yup,” I say awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Why is this so difficult? And weird. It’s difficult and weird and I don’t like that I feel that way. I want this to be easy and natural, but now there’s all this expectation and I can feel my anxiety rising.

His fingers tighten around mine.

“No more holding back?”

I shake my head, unable to speak with the intense emotions flowing through me.

The shift from therapist to partner feels strangely inevitable. Like we've been moving toward this moment since the day he fell through my porch, and now we're finally allowing ourselves to admit where we've been headed all along.

Vincent takes a slow breath. Then…

“Give me your safeword.”

I blink. “Uh… huh?”

“Safe. Word. Give.”

“YARN,” I blurt.

That gives him pause. “Yarn?”

“Yeah.” I can feel my face heating. “Dreamweaver seemed a little too obvious. Is that okay?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Perfect.” He studies me for another moment, and his expression changes. The teasing disappears, replaced by something deeper. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” I ask, every nerve standing on end as I wait for him to say something.

His smile turns dark and predatory.

“Run.”

My heart jumps.

Before my brain can catch up, I'm out of the truck and sprinting toward the porch.

“Ahhh!” I laugh as I reach the front door. My hands shake as I try to unlock it. The key misses twice before I finally manage to get it into the lock.

Behind me, I hear Vincent's footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

He isn't rushing.

He doesn't have to.