A year later...
“I went on a date last night.”
Frank black eyes peer at me through blurry oval lenses. “And?”
I bite my bottom lip, chipping at the red nail polish I had painted on for an outing I shouldn’t have attended. “He was...nice. Name’s Grayson. Chef. Twenty four.” When those eyes keep piercing into me, waiting for my next words, I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t think I’m getting any better, Doc. I...I wanted him to hurt me when he kissed me. Bite me. Hit me.”
A nod. A long silence filled with the sound of scribbling on paper. At this point, I wonder what else she has to note that she hasn’t already in the last seven months.
Light lashes flutter before her eyes return to mine. “And did you communicate your...preferences this time?”
I drop my hand in my lap. “
