Page 6

Session 05:

"The Referral"

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"My head is fucking pounding."

"Maybe don't finish an entire bottle of wine," I mumbled as I slid a cup of fresh steaming coffee across the kitchen island to her.

"I get it—you're mad," Kaia sighed as she picked up the steaming mug of coffee.

"I am mad," I said, walking around the kitchen island toward her, "Because you always do this when you're drunk."

Kaia took a hesitant sip of her steaming coffee, "I know, I just thought it was a funny story and—"

"And? It's still my business," I emphasized, standing beside her at the kitchen island she was leaning over.

"I'm sorry," Kaia didn't hesitate to say the two words I constantly hear from her.

It felt like it was easier for her to say them than show them.

"I just wish you would stop doing that, Ki," I admitted with a deep sigh, feeling entirely conflicted.

"I know-I know, I'm a terrible friend and I have a big mouth and I always fuck up—"

"Kaia," I sighed, cutting her negative rant short as I eyed her face, "I one hundred percent agree."

My best friend scoffed jokingly, glancing down at my lips when they spread into a smile.

She knew I was joking with her.

"I really am sorry, Libby—I didn't realize Zion and Sarai couldn't know about it," Kaia admitted, her tone more serious than before.

"It's fine," I mumbled, awkwardly nudging my arm into hers.

I could never actually be mad at her, or even considering not being her friend, especially because she's always here for me when I need her.

Kaia smiled as she took another sip of her coffee, "So all is well in Ki and Libby world?" she asked, lowering the mug in her hand.

I nodded, "All is amazing," I assured her, knowing she overthinks more than me, "I love you too much to be mad at you."

Kaia hummed happily, "Good because you're the only one that can ever put up with all this," she joked, popping her hip with a snap.

I dramatically rolled my eyes, "It's a lot to deal with too," I added sarcastically.

"Because I'm that fucking incredible," Kaia said as she took another sip of her coffee, "Wanna shower together before therapy?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, I just can't get my hair wet," I told her, knowing I had a hairstyle planned for my day two hair.

"More hot water for me," Kaia determined as she backed away from the kitchen island, bringing her cup of coffee with her as we walked toward my room.

Once we entered my bathroom, I reached for my hair in a ponytail—tying it in a tight bun away from my face before stripping out of my oversized t-shirt and underwear.

Kaia took off her sweatshirt and sweatpants, stripping out of her underwear as I turned on the shower to the hottest setting.

It only took a few seconds for the water to grow steamy, clouding the glass walls of the shower as I turned on my Bluetooth speaker and started playing one of my playlists.

Kaia waited for me as I quickly used my dry brush all over my body to exfoliate my skin.

Once I had finished, we walked over to the shower opening together.

The steam engulfed us perfectly as we walked deeper into the shower, angling our bodies under the hot water.

It was like any other shower we took together—singing to the music together as we washed ourselves.

Kaia focused on washing her hair and body with the products she left here for herself.

I focused on exfoliating my body with different scrubs, grabbing my exfoliating net to clean my skin afterward.

I was out of the shower before Kaia, drying off my body before pulling on my silky cheetah robe that fell to my mid-thighs.

While Kaia finished showering, I picked out my outfit for the day.

A black low-cut tank top, a forest green leather jacket, and black low-rise jeans.

I grabbed the black Golden Goose platform sneakers I wore yesterday to pair with the casual outfit—throwing them on my bed so I could finish getting ready in my robe.

My hair was first on the agenda, slicking half of it up and leaving the rest down.

The half-up was in a side part, going over my hair with a straightener since I got tired of my wavy blowout.

I planned to do a wash day tonight to refresh my curls and let them breathe for a little while before adding more heat.

It was something a hairstylist in LA taught me rather than my mother.

Next, I put on a little makeup, filling my brows in and gelling them down before putting on light concealer.

I also added a liquid blush on my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose, applying highlight over it.

Last, I lined my lips with a brown liner, adding a pinkish nude gloss over it.

Then I got dressed in my outfit, sliding on my low-rise jeans first before carefully pulling on the smooth black tank top so I wouldn't mess up my makeup.

The tank top combined with the low-rise jeans left a small part of my lower stomach revealed, pulling my dark green leather jacket on before slipping my shoes on.

By the time I sprayed on my perfume, Kaia was luckily done in the bathroom.

She didn't get ready or anything considering she would take longer than me.

Instead, she pulled on one of my sweatshirts and sweatpants to wear home, keeping her damp hair brushed back and her face bare.

"Have fun getting your brain poked at," Kaia jokingly said as we parted ways through the parking garage.

"Fuck you, Ki," I jokingly said as I unlocked my Mercedes.

She sauntered over to her silver Porsche, flicking me off as she unlocked it.

I rolled my eyes with an amused smile as I slid into my car and closed the door, getting settled in the driver's seat.

After buckling my seatbelt, I started the car and put it in drive, following behind Kaia's Porsche out of the parking garage.

The therapy office wasn't exactly what I expected.

Or where I expected.

Yes, it was downtown, but instead of the quaint brick building I envisioned—it was a tall skyscraper instead.

And parking was a fucking mess.

I couldn't find a single parallel parking spot so I had to pay for parking in the nearby parking garage.

I wasn't that affected given it's my mother's money, and she's the one who wanted me in therapy to begin with.

I was just irritated because I looked for parking for ten minutes straight, having to avoid one-way streets.

I still didn't rush since I didn't want to be here in the first place.

I took my time walking into the modern building, glancing around the sleek lobby filled with people either waiting for the elevator or leaving past me.

I noticed the glowing directory sign in the middle of it all, deciding to look at that before going over to the front desk where polished workers sat with security guards off to the side.

My dark eyes read over the different levels.

The first ten levels consisted of cafes and restaurants—along with yoga studios and a full-on fucking spa.

Levels ten through thirty were corporate offices like law firms, financial services, and a tech startup.

Levels thirty-one through forty-five were where I noticed the therapy practices and two private medical practices.

Then from levels forty-six and up were luxury apartments, rooftop bars, and restaurants at the very top.

This building had everything—I honestly considered why I didn't live here myself.

Then again, I wouldn't like the idea of so many things going on in my apartment building.

I walked past the directory toward the elevators after ensuring I was going to the right therapy practice.

I had to double-check my messages to confirm that the name was The Meridian Practice.

It was on the forty-fifth floor, involving a decently long elevator ride with strangers stopping on various floors.

At this point, I was over fifteen minutes late, which naturally made me smile.

Only because I knew it would probably irritate a certain therapist.

It felt like I was returning the irritation she caused me the other night.

I glanced at the doors when they smoothly dinged open—revealing the dim lobby.

I stepped off the elevator with a sigh, rolling my shoulders back.

My dark eyes trailed the lobby, taking in the marble black floors, sleek receptionist desk, tinted floor-to-ceiling windows, and the waiting area with black cushioned chairs.

The ceiling lights were turned low to a dimmer setting, naturally making the lobby a little more calming.

"Can I help you?" one of the women behind the desk politely asked me.

She was dark-skinned with her curly hair slicked into a low bun away from her bare face.

She wore the same white button-down and black dress pants as the other blonde woman seated beside her.

"I had an appointment at eleven with Dr. Leclair. I'm a little late, so I can always reschedule if needed," I purposely offered, trying to soften my voice among the quiet air.

"No, it's okay," the woman immediately assured me, her voice soft and reassuring, "You'll still have the full hour since Dr. Leclair keeps thirty-minute openings between appointments for precaution."

Of course, she does.

I forced a nod at her words, watching the woman briefly click around on her laptop.

"Liberty Fierro?" she clarified, briefly glancing away from her computer screen.

"Yes," I said with a brief nod.

"It's nice to meet you," she said with a warm smile, standing from the shared front desk, "I really like your hair."

I smiled at her compliment, "Thank you, I like yours too," I complimented her back.

I love a girl's girl.

"Thank you," she smiled as she rounded the desk, "I'll walk you back since Dr. Leclair went to go handle something while awaiting your arrival," she spoke to me, her voice soft and steady, "Also, I'm Sienna—and that's Reagan. We're always here if you need help with appointments or have questions," she said, motioning to her coworker.

I nodded, suddenly realizing this was the same Sienna Dr. Leclair had been speaking to on the phone a couple of nights ago.

I glanced around as we walked past the reception area down a black hallway, stopping by one of the doors halfway down the hall.

It was left open, unlike the rest of the frosted glass doors that blocked you from fully seeing inside.

"Here's her office," Sienna said, motioning her to the open doorway.

"Thank you," I said as I walked past her into the office, inhaling the deep Jasmine scent.

"She should be in any minute," Sienna said as she backed away from the doorway, leaving me alone in the large office I naturally began analyzing.

There was a sleek black couch with leather pillows placed precisely on it and two black tables on either side.

Across from the couch was a cushioned leather chair with a small side table by it, facing away from the tinted black floor-to-ceiling windows behind it.

Off to the further end of the office, there was a small step-up in the floor where a long black desk with a swivel chair sat.

The desk was clean, only a Macbook and a glass of black pens were on it.

Behind the desk, were tall black filing cabinets on either side—a place where I assumed a lot of client information was.

"Liberty," I suddenly heard the soft familiar voice behind me.

I immediately glanced over, noticing her presence by the door that she carefully shut behind her.

She wore black dress pants with a white button-down and a black blazer over it, keeping the tie tucked under the blazer that clung to her waist.

Her smooth brown hair wasn't down like the last time I saw her.

Instead, it was in a high bun, leaving her bangs to frame her sharp face covered in light makeup.

It felt like there wasn't a single inch of her that wasn't polished or carefully curated.

She was so unlike most of the women I had seen, especially compared to the ones at my college.

I pursed my lips, fighting my amusement when her blue eyes finally landed on me.

I noticed her expression shift.

But it wasn't obvious.

Her brows did subtly furrow—just barely.

"Wow, what a coincidence," I purposely said, my glossed lips parting dramatically as if I were actually in shock, "You were at that bar a couple of nights ago."

Dr. Leclair remained silent for a moment, but her stare didn't falter—analyzing my face so openly.

"And now I'm your therapist," Dr. Leclair calmly said, her voice just as smooth as I recalled it, "Everything that transpired before this is merely a past instance."

I tilted my head at her words, and how professional she now behaved in front of me, especially the generous amount of space between us.

It was a complete contrast to what I previously witnessed.

This is not going according to plan.

She's supposed to feel uncomfortable and drop me as a patient.

"I'm not sure that would be possible," I suddenly said, crossing my arms over my chest, which made Dr. Leclair's stare briefly divert down, acknowledging my change of stance, "Maybe I shouldn't be your client. It would be so awkward after what happened at that bar," I said, trying my best to sound like I was genuinely worried.

But the smile threatening to grow on my lips was making this shit so hard.

I don't know why this is amusing to me.

Dr. Leclair hummed, the soft sound vibrating in her throat, "We're now in a professional setting. My role as your therapist is separate from anything that happened previously," she briefly explained, making me internally roll my eyes.

Why can't she just offer the idea of dropping me as a client?

"I just..." I trailed off with a sigh more dramatic than I was aiming for. I'm so not good at acting, what the fuck, "I don't think I can view you as just my therapist anymore."

Dr. Leclair rolled her lips into a pursed line, clearly analyzing this entire conversation between us.

Hopefully, she doesn't analyze too fucking harshly.

"Come on doc," I purposely said, flashing her my usual smirk, "You should just drop me as a patient—this clearly isn't going to work," I said, openly holding her blue eyes.

Dr. Leclair calmly clasped her hands together, "Is this purely about our previous altercation, Liberty?" she asked me, making me internally sigh.

I figured this would be easier.

Like I would walk in and she would immediately say no.

But it seems to be the fucking opposite.

"Yes, definitely," I said, hoping she would just take that and leave it alone, but it didn't seem like she was, "I mean, I could get used to staring at you for an hour if that's what you want," I suddenly decided to flirt with her, hoping it would help her with her decision to drop me.

But Dr. Leclair didn't seem to react.

At least not visibly.

She somehow remained neutral, her blue eyes narrowing the tiniest bit.

But enough for me to recognize that she was calculating her next words.

"Okay," Dr. Leclair suddenly said, naturally making my tense shoulders relax now that I had gotten my way, "I can refer you to my associate, Celia Kincaid. She's down the hall."

My eyes suddenly widened at her words, "No-no I don't need a reference," I quickly said, knowing that would mean I did all of this for nothing.

If Dr. Leclair drops me as a patient without a reference then my mother would have to find me another, which she'll probably never get around to again.

But if she refers me...

Then I'll still be stuck in fucking therapy.

"I can't let you leave here without a suitable reference, Liberty," Dr. Leclair calmly said, naturally earning a deep sigh from me.

"But I literally don't need one. I can find my own," I said, trying my best not to get irritated.

This all just feels like it was for nothing, especially if I end up down the hall with another therapist.

"I'm not referring you to inconvenience you," Dr. Leclair said, clearly picking up on my irritation. Maybe it's the way I'm looking at her right now because this is genuinely all so fucked, "I have a responsibility to ensure you're taken care of."

I rolled my eyes, "You really don't—you just fucking met me," I mumbled, purposely using a cuss word just to irritate her.

Only because I'm irritated and she's just...

Calm.

I get she's a professional but it's annoying.

Dr. Leclair nodded stiffly, clearly affected by the cuss word I used, "Sit down," she calmly instructed, motioning her head to the couch, "Or we can walk down the hall to Dr. Kincaid."

Is she really talking to me like a child?

My jaw tightened, "Or I can leave. I have free will," I pointed out, shaking my head at this entire situation.

It took a quicker turn than I expected.

"Something tells me that if you could leave, you would've already," Dr. Leclair stated, her blue eyes never wavering from mine, "But by all means, you're free to leave, Liberty."

I scoffed, glancing away from her when my face burned up, "This is so fucking stupid," I mumbled, staring past her at the city just beyond the tinted glass walls.

"Yet, you're still standing here," Dr. Leclair calmly pointed out, making my irritation triple, "Which means this isn't about a past altercation between us—or even a referral itself."

I remained silent, hating that she read this all so easily.

"So we can discuss this together, or I can refer you. The choice is yours," Dr. Leclair told me, still only offering the two options I didn't want.

But I couldn't walk out of here, or my mother would probably make good on her promise to cut me off.

And I don't want to go to a new therapist—if anything I want to stay here and make her job as hard as fucking possible.

It's only fair given she can't drop me as a client and let me leave.

I suddenly turned away from her, silently walking over to the leather couch and reluctantly sitting down.

Fuck my life.

I crossed my arms back over my chest as I watched Dr. Leclair sit down in the chair adjacent to me, smoothly crossing her leg over the other.

"Now," Dr. Leclair went to speak, rolling her shoulders back slightly as she got comfortable in her chair, "Do you want to tell me why you're starting therapy, Liberty?"