Page 17

? ? ?

I let out a deep sigh, my eyes opening to the darkness swallowing every edge of my bedroom.

I reached for my phone first, reading over my lock screen that displayed new notifications and the time.

10:37 am.

Even if I felt embarrassed by last night—embarrassed by her rejection, I still checked my lock screen for her contact.

Nothing.

There was nothing else for her.

I was less surprised than hopeful.

It seems she's giving me space rather than reaching out again.

Something I'm unaccustomed to.

I let out a deep sigh, dropping my phone on the bed as I stared up at the ceiling.

I'm never going to therapy again.

There's just no possible way.

Not after I tried to kiss her and she rejected me.

Normally, I would try again.

I wouldn't give up.

This time is different—my ego is past bruised, and nearly falling the fuck apart.

Any other woman in Seattle would be easier to chase.

But I'm realizing Dr. Leclair isn't even meant to be chased.

Maybe I should've run in the other direction instead.

Even from the beginning—before she knew I was her patient, she always held the upper hand.

And in it, she held my ego, every single fucking time.

She drives me insane to the point that I have to force myself to step back.

To sit this one out for once.

Something I've never decided in my entire life.

I'm a winner.

I know I'm a winner.

But this go-around, I'm okay with forfeiting.

It's better than losing the game itself.

Or maybe I already lost.

Maybe her rejection was enough to consider a loss—a fuck up on my end.

This isn't me.

I'm not some girl who begs for someone.

I've never felt this way or done these things.

I've never even chased after someone like this.

Normally, people chase me.

They want me.

Why doesn't Dr. Leclair want me?

It's not because she's my therapist.

I see how she looks at me sometimes.

I see how irritated Dr. Kincaid makes her by simply standing next to me.

Not all therapists would get up in the middle of the night and come pick up their patients after a night gone wrong.

But Dr. Leclair did.

She initiated a hug too... sort of.

I mean, I had to lean in, but she still initiated it all.

Then it's how she talks to me—I can hear the double meanings, and I know she does too.

She's calculated.

Every action she takes, the words she speaks, even the fucking air she breathes—it's all calculated.

She's not dumb, not even close to it.

She's analytical.

So why is she being like this?

Why did she reject me?

I quickly shook my head, burying my face under the pillow with a groan.

I hate her for doing this—for making me feel this way.

But at the same time, I want to know where her head is at.

Why she's acted the way she has up to this point.

It's confusing.

But I think I'm okay with being confused.

Or maybe... I know I'll have to be.

Dr. Leclair will probably never reveal what her true thoughts consist of.

I need to just step back before I genuinely go insane.

I let out a deep sigh, laying up from my bed to go brush my teeth.

I also did my skincare, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt to head over to Zion and Sarai's.

I didn't make my bed.

Maybe it was out of spite or maybe I just didn't want to do anything associated with her.

Either way, I pushed through the thoughts of her fogging up my brain—finally finding some sort of balance once I made it to Zion and Sarai's.

It made me feel a little better being around them, focusing on other aspects of my life.

Like the great best friends I have.

We cooked breakfast together and ate in front of the TV, watching Zion's favorite show at the moment, Bob's Burgers.

It was a nice morning, and Zion and Sarai even agreed to go to the gym with me.

That alone filled up my day, especially since we grabbed a smoothie after.

Then we walked downtown for a couple of hours, shopping and browsing the different stores.

We agreed to have dinner tonight, especially since it was Saturday night and I was staying inside.

Zion and Sarai were making such a big effort to be here for me.

Even if I kind of wanted to give this whole not drinking thing up.

But I owed it to myself.

And I don't know... I just don't think I even need it anymore.

It's weird.

Like I still have the urge.

I want to drink and go out.

But I also have this louder thought, a deeper feeling, where I'm completely aware that I don't need that to feel better.

Zion and Sarai really help me feel better without realizing it.

I think I just don't want to be alone, like entirely isolated, and their presence really helps soothe me.

I even ended up staying the night at their place on Saturday, sleeping on their comfortable couch.

We didn't end up making breakfast in the morning, instead, opting for Cookie Crisp cereal.

Then Zion and Sarai set up to work on schoolwork and study for the next couple of hours.

While I could study, I'm also really ahead on all of my assignments—thanks to all my free time last week.

So I decided to give it a rest, heading back to my apartment so I could climb into my unmade bed.

But I was quickly halted by the bright sticky note on my front door, my brows immediately furrowing as I read it.

This was left for you:)

-Front Desk Management

My confusion grew, glancing away from the note, and immediately noticing the bouquet by my feet.

My heart physically stalled in my chest, bending down to fully analyze the bouquet.

It wasn't made of flowers.

But lollipops instead?

It was wrapped neatly in a blush pink paper, tied together by a silky white ribbon at the base.

I reached for the card immediately, even if I already knew who it was from.

I just needed to see it.

I flipped the card over, my eyes trailing over it.

-Dr. Leclair

That's it.

That's all it said.

Are you fucking kidding me?

First, she rejects my kiss and now she's sending me a bouquet?

A very well-thought-out one, might I add.

She knows what she's doing.

She fucking has to.

It's why there's no note and she purposely used her formal name, rather than including her first and last name.

It's still clinical with her.

She's basically establishing that she's still my therapist—who sends me fucking bouquets.

I shook my head to myself, determining that I'm officially over her confusing signals.

Fuck skipping therapy, maybe I will show up for my session.

Maybe, I'll return this bouquet right back to her, and tell her just how confusing this is.

That she can't send me a bouquet after rejecting me two days prior.

Yeah.

That's what I'll do.

And then I won't stay.

I'll ask for a referral and leave.

For good.

I picked up the bouquet, peeling the sticky note off my door as I came to my conclusion.

Naturally, I began planning the argument in my head, making sure I had every detail planned out for what I would say.

I didn't want to skip something and then later on think of it and wish I had said it.

I thought about it all night, tossing and turning as I tried my best to get a decent amount of sleep.

The next day, I anticipated the evening more—my mind still on what I would say.

Or what she would say back.

I was on edge all fucking day.

Even during class when I desperately tried to focus.

Luckily, I was tired enough from my lack of sleep the night prior, that I fell asleep right after class, taking a short nap before therapy.

Then around three o'clock, I began getting ready, determined to look my best when I storm into her office and throw this bouquet at her.

I pulled on low-rise True Religion jeans and a crop top that emphasized my toned stomach.

I did a blowout on my hair so it was in effortless waves, spraying hair perfume over my strands and putting on a light amount of makeup.

I made sure my lip combo looked perfect, walking out of my bathroom to slide on a pair of chunky sneakers and spray myself with perfume.

Then I exited my room, grabbing my keys and the bouquet as I left my apartment.

I was fifteen minutes late.

I didn't care.

I took my time walking to my car—I didn't even mind the traffic, stopping when the light turned yellow rather than speeding up.

By the time, I got parked and made my way through the modern lobby, I was already thirty minutes late.

It made a smile grow prominently on my lips, watching the floors rise as I stood in the quiet elevator with a few other people.

Soon enough, it dinged on my level, allowing me to step off with the bouquet in my hands.

"Sienna," I singsonged, for once choosing to ignore how much she had previously irritated me.

She can fucking have Dr. Leclair.

Or should I say chase her?

"I'm here for my appointment," I said as I approached her with a smile.

"Oh of course," Sienna smiled, glancing down to her computer, "You're a little late so your session might be cut sho—"

"Got it, thanks girl," I quickly cut her short, turning around before she could say anything else and walking toward the familiar hallway.

That's when the nerves hit me, especially as I passed the different doors, noticing hers was left open.

I got this.

I'm going to say what I want and she'll have to listen.

I drew in a deep breath, approaching the open door, and walking right through.

I didn't even bother closing it, wanting to cause somewhat of a scene.

Dr. Leclair was seated at her desk, her dark hair cascading down to her waist and her bangs framing her face perfectly.

Her focus was on her laptop—until she immediately glanced up, noticing my presence.

"Liberty," she said, smoothly standing from her office chair.

My eyes dipped down, noticing the blush pink blouse she wore with black dress pants and shiny stilettos—her stare no longer on me.

And rather the bouquet in my hand.

"Seriously?"

It was the first thing I could think to say as I walked over to her, holding the bouquet up even if she already noticed it.

"You're so confusing. On Friday, you rej—"

I was cut off when she took a calm step toward me, pressing her hand to my mouth in one fluid motion before I could finish.

I froze at the contact, the warmth of her hand pressed against my lips, her eyes holding mine.

It made shivers run down my spine.

But I had to push it away.

I pushed her away too, pressing my hands against her stomach.

Somehow touching her only made the feeling inside of me grow worse.

She didn't budge at my actions.

Instead, she motioned her head to the door—the one I purposely left open.

I pushed at her stomach again, leaning back from her hand and causing her to take a respectful step back.

Then she walked over to the door.

I hated to admit it, but I watched her.

I watched every inch of her figure as she walked to that door.

How her blouse outlined the curve of her waist or her dress pants that emphasized her long legs.

I had to force myself back into reality, especially once she shut the door.

"I don't know why you're doing that," I mumbled, harshly throwing the bouquet on her desk, "I'm not staying."

Dr. Leclair calmly slid her hands into her pant pockets, "I understand, Liberty," she said, walking back toward me, "But I would appreciate discussing this before you leave my office."

I shrugged, "There's nothing to discuss. You're confusing—and you know you're confusing," I said, taking a few steps toward her, "You know what you're doing, every word, every action."

"I care about you, Liberty," Dr. Leclair calmly stated, her words irritatingly sending warmth through my body, "Nothing that happened on Friday changes that."

I shook my head, my brows furrowing, "But what does that mean? What do you even want?" I asked, my face burning up.

"It means, that the bouquet was sent to establish that, Liberty," Dr. Leclair explained, still not giving me anything to go off of, "That I care about you as my patient, and that's why I needed to keep my role clear on Friday."

"I still don't understand—you still make zero sense," I said, hating that she was trying to choose her words carefully with me right now, "You're the one who rejected me."

"It wasn't rejection," Dr. Leclair quickly countered my statement, her blue eyes holding mine, "It was me setting boundaries between us, Liberty."

I furrowed my brows, blinking a few times, "So you do want me?" I asked in confusion.

Dr. Leclair remained silent for a moment, her eyes tracing every inch of my face.

My heart pounded in my ears, anticipating what she might say next.

I don't even know why I'm listening.

Why am I willing to hear her out?

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

"I'm your therapist, Liberty," Dr. Leclair sighed, her voice so soft and genuine with me.

But it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

"Then why do all this—why are you weird about Dr. Kincaid being around me... why do you say certain things that hold a double meaning? I see the way you look at me," I breathed out, my rant weak and unsteady.

Tears of frustration burned in my eyes, threatening to spill.

And then, just like that, one tear broke the dam.

Fuck.

"Or maybe I'm just delusional—maybe I misread this," I whispered in frustration, messily wiping under my eyes.

I wasn't even upset—I just felt so frustrated and confused that all I could do was cry.

It wasn't about getting my way for once.

It was about getting her to be present in a different way.

Even if it's just sex, or merely physical between us.

I don't do relationships anyway so I would honestly prefer that.

It would work for me.

"You're not delusional, Liberty," Dr. Leclair said, her blue eyes trailing my face before she let out a measured sigh.

I watched as she glanced away from me for a moment, almost appearing conflicting.

A tense silence hung between us, making me feel even more embarrassed for crying right now.

Then her gaze met mine again, taking a step closer.

Her arms wrapped around me before I could process it, her hands stiff at my upper back—like she was still deciding if she should be doing this.

Everything about her screamed hesitation, like she was carefully choosing how to react.

And then, finally, her arms tightened around me, pulling me in completely.

This time I did hug her back, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing my cheek against her chest.

"I thought you wanted me," I forced out, my voice lowered and inaudible, "I thought... I thought you were playing the game with me too."

Dr. Leclair remained silent, causing my arms to tighten around her.

I wondered what she was thinking.

Where her head was at.

Then I felt it.

The softest touch of her fingers in my hair, gently caressing the back of my head as my cheek remained pressed to her chest.

I could feel her hesitation, how stiff she was against me.

Until she exhaled, letting herself relax.

Her fingers continued their gentle motion, soothing me in a way that made my body relax into hers.

"I've already told you I don't engage in this kind of game, Liberty," Dr. Leclair calmly spoke, "Let's forget that idea. We're done with that."

"Then what do we do?" I forced out in a whisper, inhaling her familiar sweet scent mixed with the cologne she always wore.

"I continue helping you. I continue to be here for you," Dr. Leclair said, causing me to immediately shake my head.

Her words made something sink inside of me.

"No-no, I..." I trailed off, squeezing my eyes shut in frustration.

I pulled away from her before I could realize it, breaking away from her warmth as I put distance between us.

"I don't want you to be my therapist anymore," I said, forcing the words out before I could second-guess them, "I want a referral."

Dr. Leclair's brow lifted slightly.

But she didn't speak.

A long tense moment settled around us.

Then her lips parted—like she wanted to say something.

Like she was battling herself on what that something would be.

Then she softly cleared her throat, nodding almost forcefully at my previous words.

"If that's what you need, Liberty. I'll arrange it," she said, immediately making a scoff fall from my lips.

It felt like I had her.

Like she let me in for a brief moment.

And now she's gone again.

Back to being a therapist.

Just not mine.

"Okay," I mumbled coldly, walking past her before she could say anything else.

For once, her brows were subtly furrowed as I walked past her, looking slightly confused.

She had given me exactly what I just asked for, and still, she failed.

I didn't care anymore.

I walked out, rushing down the hallway and past the lobby toward the elevators.

I didn't look over at Sienna or Reagan one time, even as they told me to have a good evening.

I just waited for the elevator to ding open, stepping on and pressing the lobby.

Frustrated tears blurred my vision as I watched the floors decrease on the digital screen.

As soon as I made it to the lobby, I reached for my phone and quickly unlocked it.

I scrolled far down my call log, past Zion and Sarai's contacts that had been recently dialed.

Even past Dr. Leclair's missed call from Friday night that made me feel fucking worse.

I clicked her name on the screen instead, pressing the phone to my ear as I sniffled a few times.

She answered on the first ring.

Her voice flooding into my ear.

"Libby?" Kaia said, a concern etched into her voice.

I kept my head down as I walked through the lobby, more tears burning so heavily in my eyes.

"Hey, Ki," I whispered to the best of my abilities.

"What's going on? Is everything good?" she asked me, clearly caught off guard by the sudden phone call.

Even I was too.

"Yeah-yes, I was just wondering if you wanted to have dinner right now? Maybe talk about everything?" I asked her, hoping to god that she doesn't reject me too.

"Um..." I heard her trail of in thought, making my chest tighten, "Of course, yeah, tell me where and I'll meet you."

I glanced around as I exited the building, searching for a restaurant nearby.

Alto's.

It was illuminated by a soft pink fluorescent lighting, shining bright under the dull grey rain clouds above.

"Let's do Alto's," I suddenly said.

"Okay, I need like an hour to get ready and make it there," Kaia told me, and I could hear shuffling on her end.

I pursed my lips, "Oh well, I'm already nearby—"

"Just go home. I'll pick you up and drive us," Kaia quickly offered.

I raised a brow at her words, "That's new," I said, wiping some of my tears away.

"I don't always have to be passenger princess," she joked with me, making me laugh slightly.

"Okay, Ki, I'll see you in a few," I told her, feeling somewhat relieved by her familiar presence, even if it was over the phone.

"I'll text you when I'm on the way," Kaia said, earning a nod from me.

"Perfect, love..." I trailed off, realizing what I was about to say out of instinct.

It made my walking halt, feeling so embarrassed by the slip-up.

"Love you too, Libby," Kaia suddenly said, making it just a little easier to breathe.

"Talk soon," I whispered, earning a hum from her before we hung up—which left me to process what I had just done.

But this could be good.

Maybe Kaia and I can make progress after a decent talk.

I do really miss her.