“How is dredging up the past supposed to help?” I ask, frustration lacing my voice.
“You tell me, Eli.” Emily’s tone is calm but cutting. “It seems like you don’t think you have a problem anymore. You haven’t stalked anyone since starting therapy. You think your father doesn’t influence your present actions. So why are you here?”
What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?
I want to tell her the truth. I want to say:
I’m here because when I see you, the rest of the world disappears. Because your perfect face and those delicious curves consume me. Because I want you in my bed, marked by me, owned by me. I want to carve my name into your skin like a brand, so you’ll never forget me. I come here just to see you, even if this whole thing is a lie. The need buzzes under my skin like an addict desperate for a fix. I’m addicted to you, Emily Morgan—and I’ll never let go.
But… probably not the right words.
So instead, I offer a half-truth this time.
“I lied,” I blurt.
She arches a brow, waiting.
“Iamstalking someone.”
I see the flicker in her eyes—the question she’s too professional to ask.Is it her?
It would be so easy to say yes. To let her know. But I’m not quite ready.
“Another Jenny,” I add. And unless I’m imagining it, there’s a flicker of disappointment in her gaze.
“When did it start?”
Fuck.
“Last week?” I say, wincing at the question mark in my voice.
“Is that why you asked for another session?”
I nod, silent.
“You should have told me, Eli. I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.”
I don’twantyour help.
When I first walked in here, I thought I did. The cycle bored me—the endless loop of watching the same type of woman, never showing my hand. They were neverher, and that drove me mad. When they moved away or got boyfriends, I’d be almost relieved.
Ididwant help.
But now… now I know it wasn’t the watching I needed to be cured of. It was theemptiness. The cycle.
Emily broke it.
I’ve never been this obsessed. The thought of her leaving—of some other man touching what’s mine—makes my throat close up.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, eyes downcast. “I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see me differently. Didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed.”
I look up. Her gaze is steady. No pity, no revulsion. Just calm compassion.
She really is an angel.
Her smartwatch vibrates, signalling the end of the session.