Cougar

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PRESENT DAY
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“You good, homie?”

I snorted at Ally but hesitated to answer her and stared up at the large, depressing building in front of us. We sat parked in Ally’s ’66 Camaro out in the Miami Valley hospital’s parking lot. My heart began to pound in my chest. I was going to have to go in there and divulge everything to someone I haven’t seen in years.

What if he forgot everything I have ever told him and I have to recount absolutely everything? Every detail I made myself swear I’d never tell anyone ever again.

I mean, I’ve had to regale my life story to all of you. Isn’t that enough? I didn’t want to do it again.

But – I took in a deep breath and forgot to let it out – Griffin’s an…alright guy. Better than the bitch I stupidly let be my therapist before him.

A woman. She seemed very…understanding. At first. And then…New York trip and Vanessa came up.

She told me that women don’t rape men and that it was disgusting that I would lie about something like that before kicking me out. Swear to God. Grinded my gears.

Telling personal information about yourself to someone who you thought could help you and then having them call you a liar sucked major Hot Pockets.

But as long as Griffin was there. I’d be okay.

My eyes widened when Ally’s fingers were directly in front of my face as she snapped them. The breath I was holding heaved in from shock, but came out when I realised it was just Ally.

“Tyler, dude. You good?”

“I…” No. Not at all. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” She gripped her hand around mine, soft squeeze and then she patted my knee. Her hands went to push the car’s door open. I stayed put, even after she slammed the door shut.

This was going to be the worst experience of my life.

Well…bit of an exaggeration, considering…all the stuff.

Ally went over to the other side of the car after a laugh when she noticed I was taking several seconds to hop out and join her. “You’ll be fine,” she assured, pulling the car door open and gripping onto my hand. “You’ve already talked to this guy plenty times before, right? He already knows everything.” No response. She sighed. “Please, Tyler? For us?”

I finally met eyes with her.

“What if he suggests no sex for, like, years?”

“Oh, you little shit.” She bapped her hand against my shoulder, making me smile. She laughed, “Years – there’s no hope for us, then, and this was a big mistake. We won’t take his advice anyway.”

I chuckled and looked ahead at the hospital entrance and sighed.

“Alright, alright.” I swatted at her to move so I could climb out of the vehicle. She did a happy dance and hooked her hand around my forearm when I was fully out of the car.

I overdramatically dragged my feet like a child, which meant Ally had to yank me to the side door that had the words ‘PSYCHIATRIC CENTER’ marked above it and then through the main lobby. There was a woman sitting at the, uh, receptionist desk.

When we came into her view, she quickly pushed her iPhone out of her hands and onto her lap. She hastily pretended to be typing on the computer and smiled warmly at us.

“Hello.”

Ally supressed a laugh and pulled me to stand at her side. She draped her hands over my shoulders and said, “Hi. This guy here has an appointment. Say hi, Tyler.”

I didn’t.

“He doesn’t want to be here,” Ally explained. “Uh, Tyler Williams, that is. He should be on the list. I made an appointment last week.”

“I’ll check,” the lady said nicely. I read the name off her nametag and hoped it didn’t look like I was staring at her boobs.

Kara Sommers.

What kind of name is that? Eh. I related Kara to Cara Delevingne and felt a little better, for some reason.

“Ah, yes,” Kara said suddenly, bringing her smile to us. “Williams, Tyler. Looks like you’ve got an appointment with Dr. Cathleen Kasler. Her office is on the third floor.”

“Cathleen?” I said, feeling my stomach drop. Woman. Kara began to nod and I spoke again in protest. “What, what happened to Roger Griffin?”

“Whoa, where are you from?” she asked fascinated instead, then, perplexed, “Griffin?”

“Australia. Yes, Griffin. He was my old therapist. Where is he?”

“You mean Griffith?”

Oh. Right. I called him Griffin because it made me laugh.

I wound up rolling my eyes at her. “Yes, him. Where is he?” I asked again rudely. I didn’t mean to come off so cheeky, but…I couldn’t have a woman as a therapist. We’d be paying a hundred bucks for one session and one session only when she finds out about Vanessa or New York. I’d get banned from her office. This was a lost cause.

Ally tried to explain my behaviour in an embarrassed tone.

“I – he got very attached to Griffin, I think.”

“Griffith,” Kara corrected. Ally kept talking.

“Do you think we could possibly switch therapists?”

“I doubt it,” she said bluntly. “I believe Dr. Griffith left the practice years ago. He got a job offer in Florida and took it. Or so I’ve heard. But I assure you, Dr. Kasler is a remarkable woman. She’s helped thousands of patients. I highly recommend her. Any issue you’ve got, she’ll listen and try to help as best as she can.”

Thousands of patients. I tried to calm myself. Some of those have to be men, men with the same issues as me. Not all women therapists are the same, I knew that. I just didn’t want a repeat of before.

“Will you be okay with a new therapist? Kara asked me seriously. “If you won’t, I understand and I’m sure she will too, but know you’re missing out on one of the best psychiatrists in the area. She really is wonderful.”

I glanced at Ally who was also waiting for my answer, then back at Kara with another sigh.

“Yeah. I, I guess I’ll be fine.”

Her smile was back. “Good. Her office is on the third floor, first door on the right. She doesn’t allow friends and family, though,” she added quickly. Ally frowned. So did I.

“Oh,” Ally mumbled, looking up at me.

“Yeah, it’s a rule here,” Kara said. “Patients tend to lie or not go into detail when they have someone else in the room whose not the therapist. It’s all for the best. You can take a seat outside the room, though, or stay down here.”

Ally hesitated, but shrugged. “Yeah, alright. I’ll walk with him up the office and then…decide from there. Do you guys have a gift shop?”

I glared at her indifferently while Kara laughed.

“We happen to. It’s right around that corner, right before you reach the elevator. Gonna take a gander?”

“I think I may,” Ally said with a big smile. She nudged my shoulder. “Reward this boy for the trouble I’m putting him through today.”

I’d rather have sex than a stuffed teddy bear with the words ‘Put the knife down! :)’ printed across its chest.

Actually…that’s sounds like an alright gift. Cute little trigger for me.

Speaking of, that’s how I felt as Ally and I boarded the lift. Triggered. Triggered for anything. Drugs, cigarettes, a razor blade, sex. Anything.

But looks like a chat is all I’m going to get for relief.

Reaching the third floor, Ally dragged me out of the lift with her. “You’ll be fine,” Ally told me again, getting on her tippy toes so she could pop a kiss on my cheek. “Go get ‘em, tiger. I’m going to buy you an inspirational book. We can laugh at the quotes when we get home. Now you have something to look forward to.”

I smiled at her. Ugh. She’s cool.

Ally made her way to the lift and pressed the call button as I slowly turned toward and stared down the long hall. The first door on the right was closed and about ten feet down a ways so it’s not like the doc was staring at us.

I heard the lift chime and looked to see the doors open. Ally stepped inside and turned around to face me. She made an over dramatic crying face and smiled when I flipped her off. The doors slowly closed in front of her and I was left alone.

I inhaled a deep breath, deciding to waste time by reading the list of words placed on a plaque right next to the lift.

FLOOR 1: Lobby, Gift Shop, and Cafeteria
FLOOR 2: Eating Disorder Care and Dr. Jennifer Rydell’s Office
FLOOR 3: Abuse/Addiction Care and Dr. Cathleen Kasler’s Office
FLOOR 4: Self-Harm Care and Dr. Spencer Andrew’s Office
FLOOR 5: Group Sessions

Maybe I should have came in for self-harm. At least then I’d get a male therapist. Or that could be a woman, too.

I don’t mean to be sounding so misogynistic. I just really don’t feel good about this woman.

I finally told myself to suck it up and heaved in a breath of air. I marched towards Kasler’s office and peered at the closed door. Sure enough, there her name was on the name plate.

I knocked on the door and, a moment later, it opened. I blinked at her. She was fab. Flawless skin, green eyes, thick and curly brown hair parted to down the middle to frame her face.

She looked a lot like…mummy.

My breath caught in my throat.

“You must be Tyler Williams.” Her voice was abrupt but not rude. Her tone lightened. “You look exactly like the picture in your file.” Herf (author: ahaha i meant her, but i'm not going to change it.) eyes grazed the side of my cheek and she repeated quietly, “Exactly.”

Uh. Okay.

She held her hand out for me, which I took and we shook them.

Stepping back, she motioned for me to enter the room.

“Take a seat.”

I walked into the office and looked around. There was the cliché sofa sitting in the centre of the room with a single chair placed in front of it. A small table with a lamp was right next to the chair.

I took her advice and slowly plunked down onto the long couch. I continued to check out the room as she spoke again.

“May I get you some water or juice? Anything to make you feel more comfortable. I know how difficult it must be to attend a therapy session for the first time in years.”

I shot down her offer.

“No, no thanks. I’m fine.” Behind the chair was a bookshelf lined with, you guessed it, books. Psychology books. Handwriting Analysis. Sex and Your Brain. History of Self-Harm. Abuse for Dummies. Things like that.

To the left of the couch was a big oak desk. Stacks of file folders rested on its surface. She had a computer but the screen was black.

Dr. Kasler crouched to grab a manila folder with my name printed on it from a filing cabinet behind her desk. She seated herself in the chair across from me and crossed her legs, smiling politely.

“Well, so far there’s nothing in this file.” She let the folder fall open. All that was in there was a sheet of laminated paper glued to the binder’s inner fold. There was a dreadful picture of myself and some scribbled information throughout it. Medical, I think.

“Where’d all my information go?” I asked.

“To Florida with Dr. Griffith. I assume he took them as a keepsake. It’s like that for nearly all of his former patients. So,” – she grabbed a notebook from her side table and flicked it open, taking the pen from it the spiral that kept it together – “We’re starting fresh. But before we get down to business, you need to know that anything and everything you share with me in this office is one-hundred percent between us. The only times I’ll break that confidentiality is when I feel it is absolutely necessary, in case of life-threatening emergency, if you are an imminent suicide risk, or for some court-related things that most likely won't happen to you. Are we at an understanding?”

Suicide risk. Errgh. There’s was no doubt in my mind she might soon label me as that.

I still nodded. After a smile, she said, “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

“What do you want to know?”

“The basics. Where are you from, for example?”

“Melbourne, Australia.”

“Oh, how interesting. When did you move to America?”

“Uh.” I had to think about it, doing the mental math in my head. “Moved to Oregon when I was about fourteen, then here when I was nearly seventeen. I think I was sixteen then.”

“Reasons for the move?” she asked, scribbling down the information.

I hesitated, but knew I had to tell her at some point.

“We moved to Oregon because there’s where my Dad’s girlfriend was living and then to here…because…” The explanation was hard to get out. I cleared my throat and focused on the ground, praying my voice wouldn’t crack when I spoke. “We left after my mum committed suicide. It just wasn’t a place we could hang around anymore.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been very difficult for you. Were you and your mother close?”

“Extremely,” I said and felt my throat get heavy. I swallowed, adding, “It hurt…a lot when she did that, but…she wasn’t happy, so.”

She nodded, jotting down a few notes. “Did she give any explanation for her actions?”

“No, but…she had a hard life. That has to be why.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked. “What did she go through?”

It was odd, how easily I found it to start giving her all this information. A lot easier than what I thought it would be.

“My dad,” I said slowly. “He…wasn’t the best.”

“He was abusive?” she assumed. I took a second but nodded. “Was he to you?”

Pause. I nodded.

“And how has her death affected you?” she inquired, switching back to the last topic. “Have you felt dejected or guilt-stricken?”

“A bit.”

“Have you felt like she must’ve? Has your father ever made you feel that way?”

“Suicidal?” There was something about that word…something I didn’t want to admit. I shook my head, though I almost said yes. “No.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you have.”

“Sometimes.”

She nodded yet again, scribbling once more. “Have you ever attempted?”

Oh, God. How many times have I attempted just during this story? I think I’ve tried at least three times when I was a teenager.

I'm a sad sap.

“Yeah. I have.”

“When was the first?”

Pause. “I was about…twelve, I think. I tried to hang myself. It didn’t work – obviously. My mum ran in and got me down.”

Dr. Kasler gave me a firm look before asking, “Last?”

I decided to tell her of when I had a real, proper attempt. It involved a train.

“I was about sixteen. Ah, I tried to get hit by a train.” Was that the right way to word it? I don’t think so.

Scribble, scribble. “And you’re twenty-one now, so. That’s a good gap of living and thinking healthily,” she said ignorantly. “Have you felt suicidal since or had the thoughts? When was the last you felt suicidal?”

“Last night.”

“What brought on those feelings?”

I shrugged. “I think too much.”

“Do you ever think about your mother? Or your childhood?”

“I try not to,” I said honestly. “It…hurts to. But…lately, I have.”

“Any reason why you’ve started thinking about your past?”

“I found a box of all my old writings I had to write for a class. They just got me thinking again.” I felt dumb saying that. I literally brought it all on myself…by reading.

She asked, “Are you thinking of attempting suicide any time soon – or in the late future, really?”

“No.” Lie. “I’m over it now. I’ll think it, but…I don’t think I’ll go through with it ever again.” Because I don’t seem to be able to. “Because I know life will get better.”

“But in the times of suicidal thoughts – and even not,” she said after noting down some more words, “have you ever thought of harming yourself?”

I felt my arms tense, like every scar and wound was becoming self-conscious of her mentioning them.

‘Thought?’ I wanted to scoff. ‘I have.’

“I did self-harm.”

“You have?” Her brows rose and she looked at me concerned. “Do you still?”

No. Just say no. I didn’t like her tone. I didn’t like how she looked at me. Pity. I hated it. I wanted to leave.

But I had to be honest with her. She needed me to trust her, so she could help me. I knew she could use it against me, though. I could say something that took it too far and she could ship me off to a psych ward. Plus, I didn’t understand why we were talking about all this when I was here for sex addiction therapy.

I asked abruptly, “What does this have to do with why I’m here today?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Let’s talk about why I’m here today,” I suggested, pulling my sleeves down over my fists. I let myself sit back to lean up against the couch. I knew I was being way to obvious. I would tell her. Later. I will. I didn’t want to talk about suicide and self-harm. That’s not why I’m here.

“I just needed information about you, Tyler,” she said explanatorily. “You’re a new patient for me. These questions are something I have to ask every new patient. If you’re suicidal and self-harm, I need to know, so I can give you the appropriate help. I understand how difficult this problem must be for you. Some of my patients with similar problems and symptoms have told me that they have thought about ending their life. If you’re at that point, I need to do something.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I snapped. “And I’m sure you can already guess the answer, so can we please talk about something else? Anything.”

Dr. Kas eyed me sceptically, but slowly nodded. “That scar,” she observed, gazing at my face closely. “How did that happen?”

“My dad,” I told her. “He has anger issues, as you can guess. Took it out on me. Different topic,” I said curtly. I wanted to get as far away from the word ‘scar’ as I could.

“Alright. What brings you here today?”

Great. I didn’t know how to start this conversation, either.

I began to bit at my nails, trying to word myself.

“Lately…I’ve been having…bad thoughts.”

“What kind of bad thoughts?”

“Dirty ones, like…sexual.”

“Sexual thoughts and urges are quite normal,” she said, “Especially for a male in his twenties. What makes you think they’re serious?”

“I’m a teacher,” I said.

“Oh. And you’re having these sexual thoughts…about…?”

“A student.”

Her eyes widened marginally and she inhaled a sharp breath. She mumbled, “That is bad.” Seeing her jot that information down made me cringe. It was going to live in her notebook now. “Tell me about this student.”

“She’s new,” I began casually. “From Brazil, so she doesn’t speak English very well. Uhm, always suggests I should tutor her. She’s in three of my classes. I seriously can’t get away from her. I’m not sure if I’ll do anything, but I’m scared I might. I’d lose my job, my relationship, and…everything would crash and burn. I don’t know if I could mentally handle it.”

“You think you’d get suicidal thoughts again?” It was more like a statement than a question, but I still answered her.

“Yeah.”

“Have you considered moving her out of your classes?”

Again, I nodded. “Thing is…I don’t really…want her out of my classes. I, I like seeing her. Maybe I’m just in the wrong line of work.”

“You thought about quitting your job?” When I nodded, she lowered her voice and changed her tone. “How close have you gotten to acting out your urges?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten close,” I told her in all honesty. “I’ve thought about it, but again, it takes a lot for me to act my thoughts out. Sometimes.” I wanted to tell her what I’ve been branded as since I was fourteen.

Sex addict.

I knew she’d scoff that I’d even consider being a teacher when I was addicted to sex. But during the time I aimed my focus on that career, I was recovering. I didn’t have those…disgusting thoughts. It was seriously a thing of the past.

Then the past just couldn’t stay in the past.

She spoke again.

“Was this a topic you discussed with Dr. Griffith?”

“A little,” I said. “It wasn’t as serious then. I was recovering.”

“Recovering?” Kasler asked confused. “From what?”

Danggit.

“Ah.” I could feel my words starting to huddle at the back of my mind, building to form the two words. I cleared my thought, preparing myself to say it, ready for her criticism. “When I was fourteen,” I started to say hesitantly, “I was diagnosed as a…as a sex addict.”

Her brows were raised.

“That young? Wow. How do you think you got that way?”

I was pleased by her response. She didn’t seem like she was judging me as she wrote it down in her notepad. It was almost like it was any other topic.

“Well,” I heaved out another sigh. “My dad,” I said simply.

“Was he a sex addict, too?”

“Yeah. That’s why he and my mum weren’t together anymore – one of the reasons. He cheated on her.”

“Where is he now?”

“Prison." I tried to hide the smile in my voice. "Everything he had ever done finally caught up with him, the abuse, drugs. Everything.”

“So do you think that growing up in the same house as a sex addict drove you to go down that path?”

“Basically. The only time he was ever genuinely proud of me was when I did something idiotic - drugs, girls, got expelled. Anything that wasn’t good. But…there is more to it.”

She caught the hint in my voice, the hint that I was ready to divulge a secret to her.

“What else?”

“My dad’s girlfriend at the time, the one who’s the reason we moved to Oregon. She…well, they both…” There was that concrete thought that once I told her, she would scream at me to get out, but I let it out anyway. “When I younger…I was sexually abused, quite a lot.”

“By his girlfriend?” She sounded stunned, but not mocking.

“And him,” I said, nodding briefly.

“When did at all start?”

“For him, it’s been since I was really young, ten-ish. And her, when I was about thirteen.” Before she asked, I answered in a stream of thought. If I stopped and thought about what I was going to say, I knew it would never come out.

“It was like he was giving me this…love, like this was how he decided to tell me. But then he’d go and tell me I was worthless and that I needed to die. It was confusing and it took me forever to understand he didn’t love me at all. With her, though, she’d always say how much she loved me and needed me afterwards. It’s was like my mind decided that this was what I needed to do in order to be loved and accepted, and then as I got older, it just evolved into what I did when I was feeling unsure or not loved or upset.” Realising I hadn’t said what I wanted to say, I quickly added, “And it’s definitely not like I enjoyed it when either of them did that to me; it was the worst feeling in the entire world to have someone break you down like that and ignore you when you scream at them to stop.”

I waited for her to belittle me, but she never did. She continued to give me a hard, sympathetic look.

“And where is she now?”

“His girlfriend? She died a couple years ago from a drug overdose.”

“You said that he had starting abusing you when you were around ten. Was any of that the reason you attempted suicide when you were twelve?”

Nod. “Mmhmm. It really messed with my head that he had such conflicting feelings about me.”

Again, she nodded understandably, scribbling down notes. “Now back to earlier, when you engage in sex, what’s going through your head? Talk to me about your feelings. Has sex lost its flame, so to speak?”

“It’s almost like it’s not enough anymore,” I confirmed with a nod. “And, I don’t know, sometimes I think – I feel – like I need to…”

“Raise the stakes,” she finished the sentence for me.

“Yeah, which I think explains my strong attraction towards Rebeca – that’s the student. Before her, I would have to tell myself to get over it and get over it until I couldn’t hold back anymore. I think I’m getting to that point again.”

“Then it’s a good thing you came here at the time you did, isn’t it?” She suddenly look up at me. “You’re in a relationship?” I remembered I had mentioned it when I was talking about Rebeca.

“Yup. She brought me here.”

“Oh, she’s here? Is it okay if I bring your girlfriend in, then?” she asked, slightly hopeful. “To go over the treatment I think you’ll need since it affects both of you?”

“For the sex?” I checked. If it was for depression, I didn’t want Ally to know I was feeling that way again. “Uh, yeah, that’s fine.” I started to pull my phone from my pocket. “She went down to the gift shop,” I explained, jingling my phone in the air for her to see. “I’ll text her to come up here.”

After sending the message, we sat in silence until a light knock came from the other side of the office’s door. I guess she had closed it. I hadn’t noticed.

Dr. Kasler said loudly, “Come in, dear. It’s open.”

Ally stepped warily into the room and smiled at me and then at the doctor.

“Hi.”

“Hello, darling. Sit,” Dr. Kas insisted, motioning to the empty spot next to me. Ally slowly did, pulling the door shut behind her.

I eyed her empty hands. I thought I’d see a souvenir from the gift shop.

Dr. Kasler’s voice was loud. “Now,”- she paused to clear her throat and tipped her nose down momentarily to the page of notes in front of her. “Tyler told me everything, regarding the situation. The urges and thoughts he’s been having. I’ve come to the conclusion that what you two need to be doing – yes, both of you – is work together on this. I’m thinking what you need to do is go on abstinence. Slowly,” she specified at my cautious face. “Starting this week, for instance – how often you are engaging in sex?”

Oh, what the hell. I knew this was going to happen.

Ally’s eyes grew wide, taken back for a second then she shrugged, looking at me.

“Well, normally, I guess it’s…several times a week, like…I’d say every other day, but lately, well, I…” She struggled to say it. “I recently had a miscarriage and it’s lessened. Actually, we’ve probably done it…a few times since.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dr. Kas said considerately. “Really. It must be difficult. Uh, how long ago was the miscarriage?”

Ally shrugged again. “About a week or two ago? We were planning on trying again soon.”
Have we really only had sex, like, twice in two weeks? How did I manage that? I decided to blame the drugs. I found another way to distract myself.

“Well, I would say,” Kas started, “Branch from that: try sex every other day, like normal and then bring it down from there. Sex once or twice a week and then once a month until Tyler feels finally at peace. This way, each time you have sex with each other, it’ll be more satisfying for you. You’ll fulfil that urge for more risky sex. If you’re planning on having a baby, we need to be sure this relationship is stable enough. Use protection until you’re sure about each other. Do either of you have any protests?”

I did, but I kept quiet. She seemed like she knew what she was talking about. I was willing to take her advice. If it was going to help, I was going to try.

At the sight of Ally and I shaking our heads, she had smiled widely.

“Good.” She stood, making us follow suit seconds later. She stuck her hand out for Ally and then me. We shook them individually, one after the other. “I’ll be sure to keep in touch with you guys. Maybe next week this time, we’ll have another appointment to discuss the results and, of course, Tyler’s conditions. Okay?”

We nodded in unison, causing her smile.

“Fantastic.” She made her way to the door, opening it. Ally and I joined her, stepping out of the room. “I’m looking forward to next week’s session.”

Ally and I pretended to be excited too. We said our goodbyes and headed towards the lift.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Ally said snobbishly, grinning up at me as she pressed the call button.

“It’d be better if I had a teddy bear,” I sneered at her. She instantly gasped.

“Oh, right!” She let go of my arm to sprinted back towards Kas’ office. She dunked down to grab something from one of the chairs placed on either side of the door. I focused to see it was a stuffed tiger with a little pink shirt on it, which, can I just say, clashed horribly with the orange fur.

I smiled when she skipped over to me and twisted it in the air at me.

“Look how cute – and fierce. ‘Go get ‘em, tiger!’” she read the shirt with a big grin. She pushed it into my hands and tapped her finger on its nose. “Sound familiar?” she asked me.

She had said that earlier before ditching me for the gift shop.

“Cute,” I approved, spinning it around to look at its face. “I’ll keep it forever.”

“You better,” she ‘threatened’ just as the lift’s doors opened. We strolled in and she gushed over the plush toy.

I made progress today, I think. This is good, definitely. Covered a lot of ground.

Plus, I got a ‘bad ass’ (as Ally called it) tiger out of it that I now feel obligated to never get rid of.

When we got home, I set it on my bedside table and had to snap at Baby to not eat it.

“A new addition to our family,” Ally said laughing, plopping down on our bed. “Our experimental baby.”

I hope I don’t have to tell my dog not to eat a real baby. That’d be sad.

“What’s the plan if we finally do have a baby?” I asked, flopping down next to Ally. “Like, are you moving in or what? Or is this going to be like we’re divorced and just ship it back and forth?”

“I like the second option.”

“Me too. But seriously.”

She scrunched her nose and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I never really thought it through. Probably move in. Is that cool?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Logical.”

“Conventional,” she agreed.

We laid there and talked baby things for a while before trying to watch a few more episodes of Asylum, got through it, then fell asleep…after banging.

Yeah, so that was our once for today.

It was…average, but good, because sex.

uhhh. Is it bad that I was secretly hoping we’d have to go to the week break? Maybe then it’d be superb.

I ended up blatantly getting out my Ziploc bag of heroin, suggesting that we should do some. She jumped on the offer and then we the sex.

And that was fantastic.

But ughhh. It sucked to feel like we had to start relying on it.

And, something odd happened that night. Like, really odd. After we had finally gone to bed, I had the weirdest dream ever. I had - oh, I can’t believe myself.

I had….a sex dream…about Rebeca. And I.

I’m sorry.