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And it’s true.
My limbs feel light and my head is clear. For the first time in years, it’s like a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders. That omnipresent black cloud has, for the moment at least, gone. I wiggle my toes and find it a challenge to co-ordinate my movements. It’s like I’m drunk, but in a good way.
Nick glances at his watch. “All right, I think we should call it a day. Overall, I’m very pleased with the progress we’ve made so far. If you continue responding in this way, this promises to be a very successful treatment.”
Stooping down, I slip my boots back on. I can feel his eyes burning into me. Adjusting my sweater, I clear my throat and ask tentatively, “So, how many more sessions do you think I’ll need?”
“Oh, four or five usually does it. Then again, it depends on the individual. But you’ve made a phenomenal start, Carly, and I’m confident if we continue this way, we will definitely beat your addiction.”
The kindness in his eyes, the sincerity of his words sparks a rush of colour to my cheeks. If only he knew what I’d like to do to him.
Silently, Nick pads over to the rack and takes down my coat. Straightening my skirt, I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m disappointed the session’s over so soon; it certainly doesn’t feel like I’ve been here for an hour.
Nick comes up behind me and helps me on with my coat. Even through the thick material, the gentle brush of his fingers sends a shiver through me, and my body aches to be touched by him more intimately.
Once I’m presentable, Nick walks me to the office door. I stall with my hand on the knob, prolonging our time together for as long as possible. A brief hush falls between us. I wrack my brain for something sensible to say,but my mind has gone blank. We just stand there staring at each other, each lost in our private worlds. I’m obsessed with the sensual swell of his lips: the curve of them, the softness of them. I could spend forever ensconced in the warmth that seems to pour from them. This is crazy. We barely know each other, yet there seems to be a silent understanding between us; unspoken promises and a strange connection I cannot fathom.
Nick is the first to speak. “Well, Carly, it’s been a pleasure. Shall we say the same time next week?”
“Yes, definitely,” I reply, eyes shining.
“Excellent. See Tara on your way out and she’ll book your next appointment. Have a safe journey home.”
With a spring in my step, I bid him goodnight and stumble out of the room like a befuddled teenager. For a second I stand in the corridor, catching my breath, willing my heart to stop beating so fast.
Oh, my gosh, that was too intense.
Running my fingers down my nose, I smooth back my hair and head toward the reception.
Tara smiles magnanimously. “How did it go?”
“Brilliant!”
“Great! Do you want to pay by cash or card?”
My face drops.Oh, yeah.I’d forgotten about that. “Um, card …” I riffle through my bag in search of my wallet.
“Thanks.” Tara takes my Visa Debit and runs it through a portable card reader.
As I wait for my bank to authorise the payment, I wonder what the hell I’m doing. Not only have I just paid the equivalent of half a week’s wages for a hypnotherapy session, but also I’ve now committed myself to at least another four, which will end up costing me a small fortune. Still, in my crazy euphoric state, it seems a small price to pay for the chance to see Nick again.
Throughout the journey home, I’m lost in a blissful little fantasy world. Sitting in a packed train carriage, squashed between two overweight businessmen, I grin moronically at no one in particular. The people around me have miserable faces, hiding behind their books and iPods in an attempt to pretend they don’t see me. But I couldn’t care less what they think. I’m too excited. I try to read theEvening Standardbut the words swim before me in a haze of incoherence. It’s no use. Thoughts of Nick Craven consume me, and I keep replaying the events of the night over and over again. Sure, I’ve had crushes before, but nothing like this.Never like this.
I think of Nick’s laugh, his smile, his voice. The kindness in his eyes, those soft, swollen lips. The tightness of his shirt over his perfectly honed chest. I obsessively analyse what happened between us, picking apart our conversation in search of hidden meanings and double entendres. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I’m sure Nick was flirting with me. The way he looked at me … that couldn’t have just been my imagination.
I shake my head dismissively.
No, it’s definitely wishful thinking. Nick’s a nice guy; he’s probably nice to everyone. He’s a professional, and this is what professionals get paid for: to make you feel special. Perhaps I’m misreading the signs. Perhaps he treats all of his patients like this. I tell myself I barely know the man, that I’m behaving like an excitable schoolgirl, not a thirty-something woman. Even so, my head is full of him and I love it.
Then I remember the gorgeous redhead and feel an unexpected pang of jealousy. I picture her flushed, excited face, and wonder what her session with Nick was like. Did he smile at her the way he smiled at me? Did he treat her with such gentle understanding? She was clearly besotted, so my guess is he gives all his patients the V.I.P. treatment.
I throw down the newspaper and fold my arms in a gesture of defiance.
Get a grip! You hardly know the man. Stop acting like a child.
The next day, I awake flooded with energy. I lie in bed staring up at the ceiling, my mind and body clear of all anxiety.Bloody hell.I’ve never felt so good. Miraculously, I’m still under the spell of Nick’s hypnosis and feeling unusually optimistic about everything. Thanks to him, the world seems a brighter place, and I embrace the day with an enthusiasm I haven’t felt in ages.
Throwing back the duvet, I jump out of bed and race over to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, I pull out a half-finished pack of Marlboros. For a while I study the cigarettes, reaching into my subconscious to decide if I still have the urge to smoke one. Has Nick’s hypnosis really started to take effect?
