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Aweek later, I find myself in my therapist’s office, my heart feeling as heavy and bruised as it did when I left Max’s.
“Do you want to tell me what happened between the two of you?” My therapist, Dr. Browning, looks at me keenly, in response to me mentioning numbly, a moment before, that Max and I had crossed a line. Her gray hair is twisted up in a bun today, making her look more prim than usual; her glasses off and sitting on the small table next to her. “When you saycrossed a line, what does that mean, exactly?”
I press my lips together, feeling myself flush. We haven’t talked much about sex in my sessions–not outside of the context of what happened to me a year ago, anyway, and the possibility of my trying it in the future. There hasn’t been any reason to talk about it in an immediate context, and the idea of doing so now makes me feel embarrassed.
But if I can’t talk about it here, I don’t know where I’d be able to.
“After my last session–” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I went down to the warehouse docks–where it happened. My–assault.”
“And why did you do that?” My therapist cocks her head, although I suspect she already knows. “What did you think that would do for you?”
I shrug. “I thought it might help me process it. You’re always using that word–process–and I hadn’t been there since it happened.” I swallow hard. “Ever since I matched with those men on Tinder, they’ve been in my dreams–and not in a good way. I felt so guilty, having these horrible dreams about men I don’t even know. I thought if I went there, I could remind myself that the ones who hurt me were dead. I’m free of them, at least. That part of my life is in the past.”
“And did it help?” Dr. Browning looks at me sympathetically. “Did you feel better at all? More able to process?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe, if what happened after…didn’t. I think I was feeling better. A little guilty, maybe, for how glad I am that they’re dead. But I was reminded that itisin the past. But then–Max showed up.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Dr. Browning frowns. “Had you spoken to him since that text conversation?”
“No. I hadn’t. And when I tried to bring it up, he said not to worry about it. Water under the bridge, basically–and that was fine. I was willing to let it go, even ifIwanted to talk about it, for the sake of our friendship. He offered to walk me back to his car and give me a ride home so I wouldn’t have to wait for the driver, and we were walking back–”
“Is that when this line was crossed?”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. The room is warm, despite the air-conditioning, but I suddenly feel very cold. I hadn’t let myself think until now about just how awful the attack could have been, where that man might have planned to take me, or what he might have done to me. I’d blocked it out, and I’m glad I did, because even right now, in my therapist’s office, I feel as if I might be about to have a panic attack, the first I’ve had in a while.
“It’s alright, Sasha,” Dr. Browning says gently. “Just breathe. You can tell me when you’re ready; there’s no rush.”
It takes me a minute to calm down enough to get the words out. “Someone jumped us,” I say slowly, feeling as if it takes effort to speak. “We were almost to the car–and someone in the alley grabbed me. I don’t know who it was; I didn’t recognize him. He dragged me into the alley, and–Max came after us.”
“And he helped you?”
I nod, feeling shaky as I rub my arms, wishing I’d brought a jacket. I hadn’t expected to feel this cold. “He fought the man off. I–I’d never seen that side of him before. The way he fought–he knew what he was doing. It was so violent, and–”
“It scared you?” Dr. Browning offers helpfully. “Were you scared of him? Of Max?”
I blink, shaking my head. “No, I–” I swallow hard, unsure of what she’ll think of me when I admit the truth. “It made me want him more. Seeing him protect me like that–it turned me on, honestly. It made me feel safe.”
Dr. Browning nods, making a note of something on her pad. I always hate that most of all, wondering what she’s writing down, filing away for later. I asked once, and she said it was just so that she could remember what we talked about, but that didn’t help the anxiety of wondering if she was noting down something specifically aboutme, something she thought that I shouldn’t know.
“So he saved you,” she says calmly, setting down her pad. “From this attacker. And then what?”
“He took me home. Well–back to where he lives, the guest house on Viktor’s property. I’d never been inside before. He didn’t want to risk Caterina or the kids seeing him like that until he had a chance to clean up.”
“He was hurt?”
I nod. “His lip was split, and his nose got knocked out of joint. He asked me to come into the bathroom and help him with his nose. I did, and then–”
Dr. Browning waits for me to finish, an expectant look on her face.
“He said–” I take a deep breath, my heart aching all over again at the memory of what Max had said to me. “He said that he hadn’t been able to resist how much I needed him from the very beginning. Even though it would make him want something he could never have–and I knew he meantme.”
“Did he say that?”
I shake my head. “But I know that’s what he meant.”
Dr. Browning makes another small note on her pad, and I can feel myself tensing. “What happened then, Sasha?” she asks gently, and I bite my lip.
“I kissed him,” I admit, so quietly that it’s barely audible in the room over the sound of the air-conditioning and the noise of the city outside.
