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I'm pretty sure that the therapist would notice if I sat silently and refused to talk about anything. I have no doubt both this situation and what would happen if I went to my counseling session would both be reported back to Kincaid. It all feels like a test and I can't help but wonder if he feels like he's as unworthy. If I'm as unworthy as I feel myself.
“Get comfortable,” Slick says. “We're going to close our eyes.”
“How long do I have to do this?” I ask.
“We can start out small,” she says. “We'll do ten minutes today and then the next time we do it, you can gauge how long you can go.”
It feels like a challenge, as if she expects me to say I'll do it for twenty or thirty minutes rather than only accepting the ten-minute time limit she's insisting on today.
“Start the timer,” I urge, placing my hands softly in my lap. I only close my eyes when she closes hers. I don’t want the woman staring at me. I feel ridiculous doing this in the first place.
“I want you to feel your breath,” she says.
I squint and open my eyes to make sure that her eyes are still closed, before closing mine once again.
“Follow this sensation. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.”
I do what she says, listening to the cadence of her words, letting my breathing match up to it perfectly. I know I need to relax. I know I'm more highly strung than usual, easily irritated.
“Thoughts will wander,” she says. “Eventually you'll stop focusing on your breath and your mind will go to other places. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.”
I don't realize that she's right about my mind wandering until she stops speaking. I feel my body settle. slouching deeper into the couch, but instead of relaxing, my breathing turns ragged. The sound of the ceiling fan overhead turns deadly. I no longer feel relaxed but I also can't pull myself out of it.
My fingers grip, brushing the magazine I'm able to put back into my rifle. Pain laces every inch of my body—my legs, my arms, my torso. Fire races through my spine. I'm incapable of telling you whether it’s sweat or tears that sting my eyes. I feel locked in place, terror seeping into every cell in my body, preventing me from being able to think.
I can't figure out how to respond, how to make my body work the way I need it to survive this.
“Breathe in, breathe out.” Her words are a shock to my system, and I don't realize she's touching me until I manage to open my eyes. Her hands are on my jaw. She's the only thing filling my vision. I swallow as I blink up at her
“Just breathe,” she urges but I no longer feel the relaxation I felt when we first started to meditate.
My pulse is racing. My breaths are ragged. I'm not taking in enough oxygen. My vision turns blurry.
“Like me,” she insists, taking a deep breath. “Let it out slowly. Your turn, Aro.”
In and out, I do my best to match her breathing, but it takes several gasping pulls of air before I can manage it. As I breathe deep and release it slowly, the world comes back into focus. I feel the weight of her on my lap. I feel my fingers clenched on her hips. I see the way her eyes are locked on my mouth. I could argue that she's watching me breathe, matching her breaths to mine, but I know desire when I see it.
The warmth of her body presses against me in all the right places and I respond to her the way any warm-blooded man would. I clench her tighter, wanting desperately to pull her even closer. I want to roll my hips at the heat I feel emanating between her thighs, but I can't.
Instead, I lift her off my lap and urge her onto the couch cushion beside me.
Chapter 11
Slick
More than once, I've mentally accused Aro of acting like a petulant child. That doesn't keep me from avoiding him as much as possible this morning. The man was having a panic attack yesterday during meditation and instead of doing my best to help him through it, I thought it was a good idea to climb on his lap and grind on his dick.
Physically kicking my own ass isn't an option so I plan to spend the day beating myself up mentally instead. I lie awake damn near all night, thinking about the mistake I made, how I allowed my own selfishness to control my actions while he was in crisis. In some circles, what I did could be considered a form of assault. It makes me feel like a complete pervert.
During the late hours of the night, or the early hours of this morning, however, I want to look at my deep introspection of the situation. Maybe, I realize, that for a split second, he wanted exactly what I was doing.
