Page 7

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"I was forced to come, but now I'm staying for you," I said, answering Dr. Leclair's question as to why I'm starting therapy.

Flirting with her felt fun, mostly because she didn't react or seemed fazed.

I like games like this.

"What forced you here?" Dr. Leclair asked me, focusing only on the appropriate aspect of my words.

"More like who," I murmured, relaxing against the back of the plush couch, "What about you? Do you like picking people's brains?"

Dr. Leclair raised a brow at my words, "And who forced you here, Liberty?" she asked me, my name rolling off her lips as she ignored my question.

I need to make this harder.

I want to inconvenience her.

"I'm pretty sure I asked you a question first, doc," I pointed out, a slow smile growing on my lips as I eyed her face.

Maybe therapy could be fun.

Dr. Leclair's gaze remained steady, unreadable, as she considered my words.

Then... with a slow blink, she briefly adjusted the cuffs of her blazer.

"A trade then," she said, lowering her arms back on the armrest of her chair, "You answer my questions honestly, and I'll consider yours."

I raised a disapproving brow, "Consider?" I emphasized her words.

"Therapy isn't about me, Liberty. But I'm willing to meet you halfway if you're willing to do the same," Dr. Leclair clarified, her voice smooth and lowered.

I studied her, searching for any shift in her expression, but there was nothing.

Just that calm, collected presence that made her infuriating and interesting at the same time.

"Alright," I gave in, dramatically dragging the word out, "My mother sent me. She doesn't like my... lifestyle choices." I tilted my head at Dr. Leclair, "Now your turn."

She didn't answer immediately, instead, it seemed like she was registering my words.

"Well, I think it's clear I enjoy my career," she said, her blue eyes trailing my face, "Perhaps the better question is why do you think I do it?"

I rolled my eyes at her, "That's cheating," I determined, knowing she only answered my question with a question.

Dr. Leclair raised a brow, "Is it?" she asked me, her blue eyes locked with mine, "You want to know me, but I think you'd learn more by telling me what you assume," she stated, naturally making my brows furrow.

Her words felt so complex that it almost gave me a fucking headache.

"Then I assume you aren't going to actually let me know anything," I said, narrowing my eyes at her.

"I prefer to let my patients come to their own conclusions about me," Dr. Leclair stated calmly, her stare never wavering from mine, "Why does your mother dislike your lifestyle choices?"

I felt my smile grow amused at her words, "Because I party and let loose—something that somehow affects her image," I stated, knowing that otherwise she genuinely wouldn't care how I live my life.

"That must be frustrating," Dr. Leclair said, her light eyes trailing my face, "Having your decisions measured by how it looks to the public."

I lazily raised my brows, "Try telling her that," I mumbled, knowing my mother might actually fucking listen if it came from a qualified professional.

"So you've communicated this to her?" Dr. Leclair asked me.

"Yeah, but she's too self-involved to see anyone's perspective but her own," I explained with a nonchalant shrug, even if this entire topic irritated me, "But once I'm finished with school and financially independent, she won't matter anymore."

Dr. Leclair tilted her head ever so slightly, "I see, so there's a financial aspect to this," she stated, clearly trying to piece together this picture.

"Mhm, she loves threatening to cut me off," I told Dr. Leclair, and for once I seemed to have gotten a decent reaction from her.

It was small, but I could notice how her lips pursed together in acknowledgment.

"It's hard when she holds that over your head, isn't it?" Dr. Leclair asked me, her voice softer than I had previously witnessed it.

It made weird shivers tickle down my spine, but I quickly pushed it away.

"I'm used to it by now," I sighed, determining that I didn't want to verge deeper into this topic.

"It's easier to be used to it," Dr. Leclair stated, earning a nod from me, "But if you didn't have to be used to it, and you had a moment to say how it really makes you feel, what would you say?"

I remained silent for a moment, pursing my lips together at her question.

One that took me longer than I wanted to answer, but it felt like there was a lot to say.

This wasn't how I planned for this to all go.

I figured I would be back at my apartment, binge-watching a comfort show and eating toaster waffles or something.

"It makes me feel like," I went to say, furrowing my brows as I tried to think, "Powerless I guess," I said, instantly regretting the honest words that I had spoken aloud to someone I just met, "But back to you. Do you ever have problems of your own?" I suddenly asked, trying to deflect away from me.

Dr. Leclair hummed softly, "I have plenty of my own problems. What matters is problem-solving rather than focusing on the problem itself," she briefly explained, somehow giving me the most vague answer still, "What does your mother say or do that makes you feel powerless, Liberty?"

I pursed my lips, realizing I did a terrible job at deflecting.

Dr. Leclair is also trained to deflect back at this point.

Kaia or Zion would've already been on an entirely different subject if I wanted them to be.

"Well, she..." I trailed off, trying to think of an example, "It feels like I'm always wrong—even before she's heard my side of things, it's like she's already determined herself as right and me as wrong."

Dr. Leclair nodded once, "That must make you feel invalidated. Maybe misunderstood," she said, her stare never wavering from me.

"Yeah, I guess. It feels like I could yell at her and she still wouldn't hear me," I mumbled, unconsciously glancing away from her stare, "But anyways..." I trailed off, unsure of what to change the subject to.

"You don't seem open to discussing this topic," Dr. Leclair suddenly stated, causing my attention to shift back to her.

She's right, I'm not open to any of this.

Who in their right mind would be?

"It doesn't feel, you know, like necessary to discuss this," I said, unconsciously stumbling over my words as I thought of a valid reason.

"It can be difficult when you feel like your perspective might not be heard," Dr. Leclair responded as she held my gaze, her tone calm and steady, "But I'm here for you, Liberty. Whatever you feel or believe is valid."

I remained silent for a moment, feeling a weird knot tie in my chest.

Whether I liked it or not, her words hit me fucking hard.

I really didn't want them to, but they did, especially with how bad things are between me and my mother.

Dr. Leclair doesn't feel like Kaia or Zion telling me I'm heard.

She feels different.

The one good thing my mother might've done here is get me to do therapy, but I can't let her feel the satisfaction of being right.

I also can't let this work, especially with Dr. Leclair.

I suddenly cleared my throat, "So Doc," I went to say, adjusting my posture, "Have you ever done anything with a patient?" I purposely asked, wanting to steer clear of our previous topic.

Hopefully, this time for good.

Dr. Leclair only held my gaze, unreadable as ever.

If my question had caught her off guard, she didn't show it.

"That would be a violation of ethics," she said, her voice composed and smooth, "I have a responsibility to maintain professional boundaries with my patients."

Her answer was clinical and professional.

The way she delivered it—the careful choice of phrasing—made it clear she wasn't just reciting a rule.

She was reinforcing it.

Still, she hadn't actually said no.

A slow smile grew on my lips, "That wasn't a no," I pointed out.

Dr. Leclair hummed, the sound soft in her throat, "Not every question warrants a yes or no, Liberty. Some require a deeper understanding of the implications," she explained, somehow keeping a professional tone even if her response was complete bullshit.

"So you always follow the rules?" I purposely asked since she didn't want to give a yes or no answer.

"Rules," Dr. Leclair spoke, her voice low and even, "They're there for a reason. They create structure, clarity, and control," she explained, but all I could pick up on was her emphasis on control, "Without them, things get messy."

"I like messy," I determined, my smile growing as I eyed her.

I watched her for a moment, but she didn't respond to my comment.

Instead, she gave a small nod, as if moving on from the topic entirely.

"Tell me about your routine. What does a typical day look like for you?" Dr. Leclair asked me, fully shifting away from our previous topic.

I sighed deeply, wishing we could stay on my topic.

It's much better.

"I don't really have a routine," I said with a small shrug, "I just go with the flow—the only thing with a set time is classes."

Dr. Leclair's eyes were steady on me as she absorbed my words, "A routine can be a really powerful tool, Liberty," she told me, and internally, I knew I wasn't about to create a list of things to follow throughout the day, "It's about creating structure in your life, a way to reclaim control over your time and energy, especially in situations where you feel powerless, like with your mother."

I blinked a few times, processing her words that... actually made sense?

Dr. Leclair paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words to settle with me before continuing, "When we lack routine, everything feels chaotic and outside of our control. But setting boundaries, even small ones can really help."

I scrunched my nose up, "I'm not into following a set of rules daily," I mumbled in disapproval, hating this overall idea.

"A routine isn't about following rules or limiting your freedom," Dr. Leclair said, her stare still pinned on me, "Think about it as choosing what you can control. When you give yourself the power to manage certain aspects of your day, you're taking back ownership of your life."

I remained silent, unsure what to say to her words.

She made a really good point I guess.

Ugh, but do I have to admit that?

"Okay...?" I said, the word coming out as a hesitant question.

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

"Maybe it's not about overhauling your whole day, Liberty," she said, her tone soft and suggesting, "Maybe it's about choosing one small action to take control of. Something you can do every day, like a simple habit. It doesn't need to be big."

I nodded yet again, but no words came out.

All I could do was sit silently, wondering if she truly just changed my perspective.

"What's one thing that you could see yourself doing every day? Even something small to start," Dr. Leclair spoke again when I remained silent.

I pursed my lips, glancing away from her in thought.

I didn't want it to be anything big because there's no fucking way I'm committing to waking up at like five in the morning or something.

Or doing a morning run.

Fuck no.

"I guess uh... making my bed in the morning?" I said almost in question, wondering if that was decent enough.

I normally just make my bed whenever I feel like it.

I glanced back over as soon as I noticed her expression shift, the corners of her lips tilting up ever so slightly.

It made my stare shift down her face, acknowledging the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"I really like that idea, Liberty," Dr. Leclair said, her tone laced with a praise I hadn't quite heard from her.

It made me shift on the couch awkwardly, feeling the warmth beneath my face as her blue eyes remained locked with mine.

I don't know why her approval struck me.

Like I truly don't care.

"Making your bed first thing in the morning is a powerful step. It also sets a productive tone for your day," Dr. Leclair spoke again when I remained awkwardly silent, trying to figure out how I found myself here when I said I wouldn't do therapy.

I was supposed to be out of here long ago.

"How do you feel about acting on this idea?" Dr. Leclair suddenly asked me, her stare trailing my face for where I was mentally.

I shrugged, "I guess—" I quickly cleared my throat, adjusting my posture, "I guess I feel good about it."

Dr. Leclair nodded once in acknowledgment, "How about we try this out for the week? Start with something small, like making your bed every morning, and we can touch base on it during our next session," she suggested, making me purse my lips with a brief nod, "It'll give you a chance to see how it feels to commit to something simple and see how it affects the rest of your day."

"Okay," I decided to say, wondering if this theory of hers might actually work, "Did you want to help me make my bed? I wouldn't mind an extra set of hands," I purposely offered in a flirty tone, my lips twitching up as I eyed her.

Dr. Leclair didn't react, yet again, which wasn't surprising.

She only clasped her hands together in her lap, her actions calm but somehow authoritative.

"How do you feel about hypnotherapy, Liberty?" she asked me, her stare analyzing my face for the true answer.

"I'm open to anything with you doc," I said, smiling wider as I tilted my head slightly.

Dr. Leclair remained silent for a moment, her stare brushing across every inch of my face.

Until she finally said—

"This isn't a game, Liberty."

Her voice was smooth.

Almost like a warning wrapped in silk.

I smirked, tilting my head as I leaned back against the couch, "Everything is a game. You just don't like it when you're not the one making the rules," I pointed out, knowing she had previously emphasized control.

Dr. Leclair didn't react, but I caught the slight shift in her posture—the way her fingers curled just slightly where they rested on her knee.

"I don't play the game in general," she said, her tone still smooth and leveled.

I let my gaze drag over her, slow and deliberate, before meeting her eyes again, "That's a shame," I murmured, softening my tone, "I think you'd be good at it."

Dr. Leclair exhaled quietly, watching me in the way someone might watch a wild animal—calm and patient, almost waiting for the inevitable.

"You push people," Dr. Leclair said finally, her stare not wavering from mine, "You test limits to see how far you can go before they pull away."

I raised a brow, not finding offense in her words, "And?" I said, my smile growing.

"And I'm not pulling away."

I paused, my smile slowly dimming whether I could help it or not.

Her words were unexpected and laced with seriousness.

The expression on her face proved she meant every word she just said.

I was silenced for once as she verged back over to the topic of my daily routines, discussing them more thoroughly with me.

It wasn't terrible, but I definitely kept looking over at the clock, counting down the minutes of our session.

I tried my best not to look often since it only made time move slower, so I focused on Dr. Leclair instead, or even the city behind her when I zoned out for seconds at a time.

"Let's discuss what your schedule looks like next week," Dr. Leclair suddenly said, rolling her shoulders back.

I naturally glanced over to the clock, noticing our session was over now.

Thank God.

"My classes start Monday, so I'm very busy doc," I purposely told her, smiling as I leaned against the couch.

"Tuesday," Dr. Leclair said despite my words, now reaching into her pocket and calmly retrieving her sleek black iPhone, "We could do morning, afternoon, or evening. Whatever works best for you, Liberty."

I rolled my eyes, hating the idea of being back here in only three days' time.

"I think another Friday session would work best for me," I said, openly going against her previous words.

Dr. Leclair's stare snapped up from her phone, clearly displeased by my response.

"We're at a beginning stage Liberty. Ideally, two sessions a week is optimal," she calmly explained, lowering her phone as her attention remained placed on me.

I shook my head at the idea of two sessions per week.

Absolutely not.

I'm not fucking coming here twice a week.

Once is already more than enough.

"That's not going to work for me," I said, attitude clear in my tone as I shrugged in disapproval.

"It will," Dr. Leclair had the nerve to say, her eyes trailing my face, "One session a week is exactly what won't work for you at this current stage."

"Or you just really want to see me," I suggested as I shrugged again, "But I'm still not doing it," I said almost childishly.

I don't care, my mother said therapy, but she never included that I would have to do numerous sessions a week.

"Liberty," Dr. Leclair said calmly, my name rolling off her tongue as her gaze held mine.

It was silent between us for a moment, our stares challenging one another.

Until she calmly set her phone on her thigh, letting it rest there as she clasped her hands together.

"It's our protocol for the first few weeks. An hour a week is not ideal for numerous factors—like trust and building knowledge," Dr. Leclair explained, her stare still on me, "So I need you to meet me halfway here and compromise."

I remained silent, my jaw tightening ever so slightly.

I didn't want to compromise.

I didn't want to do therapy twice a week, but somehow it felt like this was a non-negotiable.

I could tell by how Dr. Leclair was looking at me.

"Fine," I suddenly sighed, the word drawn out and dramatic.

Dr. Leclair nodded once, now picking her phone up, which naturally made my gaze lower to her hands.

She wore one silver ring on her middle finger, her nails short and coated in a nude polish.

"What time works best for you?" she asked me again, and this time I genuinely gave it thought.

I only have two classes this semester, and they're hybrid, so they only meet in person on Monday and Wednesday mornings.

The rest is online.

"The evening," I decided to say, even if I had nothing to do that day, "I normally have classes on Monday and Wednesdays so I guess this works."

Scheduling it later in the day meant postponing this as much as possible.

"Does five work?" she asked me, briefly glancing away from her phone.

I shrugged, "I guess," I mumbled, clearly irritated by this outcome.

I really didn't expect to be roped into therapy to begin with.

Fuck.

"And what about Thursday? Does five work that day as well?" she asked me, typing briefly on her phone.

I hummed tightly, "Sure," I said, keeping a short tone with her with hopes that it would press her nerves.

Even if it didn't affect her in the slightest.

Dr. Leclair only nodded, typing on her phone for another moment before she locked it and calmly slid it back into the pocket of her dress pants.

"We're finished for today then," Dr. Leclair determined, smoothly uncrossing her legs to rise from her chair to her tall height.

I nodded once, deciding to remain silent for once as I stood from the couch.

Dr. Leclair grabbed something from her side table as I walked past the couch to leave.

"Here, Liberty," she said, extending a small card out to me.

I furrowed my brows as I halted my steps, reaching out to take the card from her grasp as I purposely grazed my fingers over hers.

She didn't react in the slightest.

If anything, my attempt to draw a reaction from her only left my fingers tingling—trying to remain unaffected instead.

"My personal number and email if you ever need to speak with me urgently," Dr. Leclair explained as I looked over the business card.

"Define urgently," I said, my lips twitching up as I glanced away from the card to meet her stare.

"You define it," she calmly repeated back to me, staring down at me, "And contact me if it's ever on your terms of urgent."

I pursed my lips together when my smile threatened to grow, "I might have a lot of urgent instances, doc," I murmured, tilting my head at her.

"There are boundaries to this, Liberty," Dr. Leclair quickly corrected me, "Nothing inappropriate," she added, her tone firmer and her eyes holding mine.

I quickly nodded, "Of course doc," I didn't hesitate to say, even if I knew I would definitely be testing the limits of this.

Dr. Leclair nodded once, her blue eyes holding mine as she reached up—

And placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

The sensation was subtle, yet somehow it sent a jolt through me.

A warmth—it was unexpected and quick, spread through my body and radiated from the spot where her fingers rested on my covered shoulder.

I couldn't breathe properly for a moment.

"I'm proud of you for staying today. Whether you were forced here or not," Dr. Leclair said, her soft voice lowered between us, almost intimate.

But all I could focus on was the way her touch lingered, light but so heavy at the same time.

It was fucking maddening.

Why am I reacting like this?

It should have been nothing.

But it wasn't.

I fought to keep my face neutral, trying to push the wave of warmth away—trying to pretend I wasn't affected by the smallest thing.

"Thanks, doc," I said, flashing what I hoped was a carefree smile, even if the effect of her touch still buzzed through my veins.

"I'll see you Tuesday," she determined, sliding her hand across my shoulder as she withdrew.

I swallowed hard, drawing in a breath I didn't know I needed.

"Tuesday," I said, clearing my throat as I nodded once.

Dr. Leclair nodded, reaching past me to open the tall door so I could exit her office.

I immediately noticed a taller woman approaching the doorway—her dark hair tucked into a low bun as she wore black dress pants and a matching blouse.

"Dr. Kincaid," I heard Dr. Leclair address her from behind me, naturally making me eye the woman curiously.

She's who I would've been with if I let Dr. Leclair refer me... and I don't think I would've minded it.

"I had some files to go over with you," Dr. Kincaid told her, motioning to the files in her hands as her dark eyes subtly shifted to me.

"Liberty," I decided to introduce myself first, extending a hand.

Dr. Kincaid smiled in response, flashing her white teeth.

Damn, is everybody attractive here?

"It's nice to meet you, Liberty," the woman named Dr. Kincaid said, reaching up to lightly shake my hand, "Dr. Celia Kincaid," she introduced herself, her dark eyes holding mine.

I don't know what it is with them and eye contact.

"I have ten minutes before my next session," I heard Dr. Leclair suddenly tell her, cutting into our conversation, "I'll see you Tuesday, Liberty. Good job again today."

I unconsciously glanced over to Dr. Leclair as I processed her sudden dismissal.

It was smooth and one hundred percent calculated.

Everything about her felt calculated.

I suddenly forced a nod, "Thanks," I briefly said to Dr. Leclair, walking past Dr. Kincaid as I flashed her one more smile that she reciprocated.

After that I exited the office, briefly waving when the receptionists, Sienna and Reagan, told me goodbye.

My therapy session stuck with me even as I took the elevator down to the first level, exiting the building to my car.

I honestly didn't expect this outcome.

I just thought somehow some way, I would've found a way to get out of it.

Now I'm stuck doing this until I can finally separate myself from my mother.

Until then I might as well have a little fun.