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“I've got a question for you, Scarlett.”
My stomach flips. “Okay.”
“Why are you still a virgin?” She smiles a little. “Let me rephrase. There's no reason not to be a virgin, if that's what you so choose, but you're a pretty girl, and judging by your plans, I assume there are no religious or ethical qualms about experiencing intercourse.”
I swallow hard, wanting to die. Does she actually expect me to answer this?
“I was curious, that's all. If you don't want to discuss it, we don't have to.”
Well, dangit. Now I feel like I should discuss it. I play with my fingernail, then realize I'm doing it and force myself to look into her eyes.
“The question makes you uncomfortable?” she asks.
“Well, yeah.”
“Does sex make you uncomfortable?”
I sigh. “That's not why. I guess it's just a little further than I like to go.”
“With therapists.”
“With anyone,” I say. But, hey, I'm here. Why not? I chew my lip and then just jump in head-first. “I used to be fat,” I tell her. “And I have trust issues.”
“What kind?”
“The because of my mom kind. The kind you get when you grow up in an unstable home. You know the story.”
“I don't know your story. How does that go?”
I shrug. “My parents never had sex very much. A few times I over-heard them talking about it. Their relationship was just the surface. Probably because, with an addict, it's impossible to get any deeper than that. So we were all...I don't know...like, roommates. I made friends with Suri and Cross, my two best friends, when I was young, so I grew to trust them without meaning to. But everybody else...” I bite my lip as the truth finally dawns on me with crystal clarity. I spit it out in a froggy voice. “I guess I just never considered that it was possible to have a good relationship with a man.”
Her face is sympathetic. The kind of sympathy that almost hurts. I raise my hand to my chest. It kind of does hurt. “Geez, that's new to me. I didn't even know that until just now.”
She nods. “That's one of the reasons people—non-addict people—come to therapy. To learn more about themselves. How much time have you spent learning about Scarlett? Not Mom, not Dad, but Scarlett. Her issues. Her fears.”
I press my lips together. The answer is none, of course. “I never had time.”
“That's very common for a young woman with your history. And it's not your fault,” she says with a reassuring smile. “The great thing about getting older is, you change yourself. And what's healthy and appropriate, you nourish.”
I nod, relieved. I'm not a freak who doesn't want a relationship. I just never really thought that one was possible. It makes sense!
She looks up at the clock behind me, and I'm surprised to find an hour has passed since I walked through her door.
“Do you find yourself in Vegas very often?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I hedge. I sigh. “Not really.” I feel my cheeks flush, and I tentatively say, “I wish I did. It was kind of nice talking to you.”
She smiles. “Well I asked because I have an office in Los Angeles. I know it's not a speedy drive, but it is in driving range.”
I nod, and she asks, “Would you like to talk again sometime?”
“It depends on how much money I get,” I say, smirking, though honestly, it's embarrassing having as little money as I do.
“I work on sliding scales at times. Perhaps that would work for you.”
“Maybe.” She hands me her card, and I put it in my purse. “I'll call some time.”
“I'd like that. And Scarlett?” I turn with my hand on the door-knob. “Don't hesitate to come back if you'd like to talk again before you go.”
