Finally, after what feels like an endless list of my credentials, I get Victor talking about his goals for the sessions use the opportunity to quietly freak out.
I put my hand over the phone’s receiver and turn my face away, breathing deeply as my mind spins, trying to figure out my next step. I should, of course, immediately end the call before Victor tells me anything real about his life, his relationships, his intimacies.
This is a textbook case of a conflict of interests. I definitely shouldn’t be Victor’s therapist because I’ve figured out his identity but he hasn’t figured out mine - it creates a power imbalance.
Oh, and because we’ve slept together, and because he’s trying to steal my children, just to name a few other reasons.
“s**t s**t s**t…” I mutter under
