ASHLEY
If I offer him s*x first, maybe it won’t count as losing. Maybe if I make it ugly, he won’t remember me softly. I don’t know why I keep testing how low I can go before he stops catching me.
“This is progress?” Dr. Linda asks gently.
I blink.
Shit.
Apparently, I’ve been talking.
“Sure,” I say, shifting just enough to remind myself I can still move. “If you say so.”
It’s been two years since I last sat on this couch, and it still smells like lemon sanitizer.
“Is it about him again?”
Dr. Linda does that therapist thing where she just breathes at me like I’m supposed to confess something instead of implode.
“I didn’t come here to talk about Beckett Langley,” I say, which is hilarious considering he’s the reason I haven’t slept in four nights.
“So why are you here?”
“I—”
