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“She’s so great, too, Dr. Evans. I feel like she’s the first real girlfriend I’ve had. Everyone at Jizzabelle cut me off.”
“Do you suppose your ex had anything to do with that?” she asks, peering at me over her readers.
I sigh. “I know he threatened them, that’s totally his style. But still. Threats or not, you like to believe friends and human beings are more important than jobs. Jobs are replaceable.”
“People are shitty,” she says with a shrug, catching me off guard.
She cracks a slow grin, knowing she’s just thrown me, and as I laugh, she steers me into a more serious topic.
“And how are things with Cohen? Still friendly?”
I sink into the armchair. Actually, I melt into it. I am part of the fabric now. Linen, acetate, Scarlett. That’s the official label.
“Uh oh,” she tries but I sit up and shake my head.
“No, I mean, they’re good. It feels like we’re more. And not in the physical sense, either. I just mean, I feel like he and I together could be everything, the real deal. But… he’s holding something back from me. I can feel it.”
“We always can,” she says, shaking her head. “Communicate with him. Tell him how you’re feeling, that you see a future, but that he must show his cards for things to work.”
I swallow hard, hating that I have to ask the question, but knowing I do. “Am I even ready to be in a relationship?”
She smiles, taking me in for a second. Her voice is low and steady when she says, “You can heal and love at the same time.” An actual shiver wriggles up my back, slithering inside me. “If you wait until you feel safe and comfortable, you’ll never take the risk, because part of great change involves existing with fear and discomfort, but pushing through. Succeeding, not letting it claim you. And you, Scarlett, can absolutely do that. You’re strong.”
“He says I’m strong, too,” I tell Dr. Evans, and not in a way that makes me come off eager to make people like Cohen. I did that a lot with Pete, reworking his words, shining them up, promising to whoever would listen that he’s just different, he’s not a jerk.
Uh, yeah he was. Still is.
“So talk to me about what you believe is going on in Cohen’s world. You mentioned you feel there’s an event or perhaps a piece of his history you’re unaware of but one that you think is intrinsic to his sense of identity,” she says, getting comfortable in her chair as she remains focused on me.
“Yeah,” I agree, “though you made that sound way fancier. But yeah, I think something’s up with him. Because I get that he can be respectful and a gentleman and everything but… there’s something keeping him from really being with me, you know? And like I said, I don’t just mean in bed. I just mean…” I sigh, my head pounding from the discourse. But I’m here, and I want Cohen, and if she thinks I can do that, then I have to fight for it. Collecting a breath, I hold it a moment, steadying my mind. With an exhale, I say, “I think we both are falling for each other, I really do. But I need to know what is keeping that final piece of him from me.”
“Communication,” she deadpans. “I know it must feel like a get out of jail free card on my end. But it’s true. Communication gets to the root of most problems.”
I grin at her. “I’m really feeling better.”
She looks at her notes then back up at me. “Did you fill the Zoloft and Lexapro prescription I wrote you?”
I swallow, shame and guilt pounding in my ears. “I didn’t,” I admit, wincing in preparation for a scolding I deserve. I should have filled them. I should have taken them. Because they would have helped me, I know she’s right.
Hazarding a glance at her, I’m relieved and surprised to find her nodding, writing something mid-paper. “Okay, that’s good.”
I sigh, pressing my palm to my chest. “I thought you’d be mad.”
She takes her glasses off, resting them in her lap. She’s never looked more motherly, and for a moment, I miss my mother. That doesn’t happen often, as she was cold and unloving most of my life. When I was excommunicated from the family, I can’t say I was shocked. It felt like they finally had a reason to be rid of me.
Their awful, porn star daughter.
I’ve met my first real friend in the porn industry. I’ve connected with a lot of seriously intelligent people at Crave, Aug and Lance being just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve experienced a positive workplace and earned very good money, and my online fan base has grown and increased my popularity in my field.
I am successful.
When I held those paper prescriptions in my hand, something in me told me I didn’t need them. Having them felt like all the security I needed. So I didn’t fill them. Just having talked to someone, it started to alleviate some of the depression. It gave me a sense of accomplishment. It felt like my first step to recovery.
“But I still have them. Just having them makes me feel better,” I breathe, still surprised to see her smiling. “I know you wanted me to take them.”
She shakes her head. “I wanted you to feel better, whatever safe avenue you took.”
I swallow. “Thank you. I know we’re not friends, you’re my doctor. But still, thank you.”
