Page 8 of Love Starves

Goddess:You’re breaking rules, but you read my mind. Where?

A satisfied grin breaks out across my face, and I let it. This girl will be mine in every way. She just doesn’t know it yet.

"Are you ready to talk about your dates this week?" Dr. Geoff asks for the second time.

If he wasn't as old as dirt and a genuinely nice person, one might wonder if there were ulterior motives behind his persistence. However, there's no doubt in my mind his asking is simply part of my therapy. It doesn't stop the snark from popping into my tone.

"Why don't we talk about your sex life, doc, since you're so interested in mine?"

The only telling sign that my words have any effect on the man sitting across from me is the barely audible click of his pen. A thirty second staredown ensues, in which, I finally take pity on him for having to deal with my bitchiness and break the silence.

"Fine," I grind out, throwing my arms across my chest. "I was with Elliot a few days ago and Giovanni last night." They aren't dates, and he knows that. It would break one of the rules, and he knows that, too. Either he's just that freaking old or trying to keep it as professional as possible with our little sex talk.

"And how are the dynamics with everyone involved?" he asks.

"It's good. We're good," I reply too quickly.

Dr. Geoff lets out a short sigh. "Blythe, what have we said about lies? They hurt no one but yourself, remember? You looked away just now. Is there something we should talk about?"

Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I inwardly curse myself for slipping. "It's nothing of importance. One or two of the rules were broken this week, but it doesn't matter. Oh, and I met Giovanni's sister."

"How did that go?" he inquires gently, obviously noticing the uncomfortable shift of my shoulders.

I shrug as I tell him, "It was an accident. We kind of ran into each other, and being a civil savage, he introduced us. She's nice, but I didn't like knowing she probably grilled him about us."

"Does it bother you knowing that she was asking questions or that you weren't privy to his answers to them?"

Another shrug. "Both."

"I see," he says with a slight nod. "What about the rule breaking? Weren't those created so that everyone knows their place with this relationship?"

‘It's not a fucking relationship!’ I want to yell at him, but bite my tongue at the last second. Getting pissed off at him when he's simply trying to understand this situation won't solve anything. Not like I could successfully explain it to him anyway. The rules were set to keep anyone from getting attached. What does it say that we're letting little slips through? That I am? Powers that be, help us all if I'll ever speak aloud that I allowed the slips because I actually missed Elliot, or that seeing the way Giovanni's dress shirt flexed around his biceps when he moved, made me want to jump his bones right there in the middle of a crowded space with his sister standing by. Those count as feelings and they weren't supposed to be happening. Lightning strike me down for lying to an old man, but my expression drops into my best poker face, getting ready to do just that.

Surprisingly enough, he switches topics. I'd probably given enough away to the body language expert that he already had all the answers he needed for his notepad. "How is the diet coming along?"

Now, this is a safe subject even if my reply is about to piss him off. "It's doing better. I'm remembering to eat at least one good meal a day."

"That's good," he tells me, but his tone says otherwise. "I need you to bump that up to two a day or we'll have to start talking live-in programs."

Grinding my teeth a bit, I manage a curt nod instead of telling him to shove the rehab option where the sun doesn't shine. I'd leave the fucking country before allowing that to become an option. It's one thing to have to report on my eating habits, but another entirely to be force fed through their little tubes and shit. Stomach now churning, I drop my face into a neutral expression.

"Two meals a day."

"If you find yourself having trouble sticking to it, then you can use this app on your phone that will not only keep set alarms for you through the week, but it'll also help give me an insight into your routine," he offers, handing me a sheet of paper with the details written down.

For once, I don't have the urge to crumple it into a ball and toss it back into his face. I wasn't lying the first time we met, and I told him that I wanted to better myself and be healthy again. Before I can reply, he’s sticking out another paper for me to take. It's not as informational and boring as the app page. When I flip it right side up, I notice it's a flyer for a book club.

If looks don't lie, I'd say it's run by a bunch of old hags who could never land a husband and now come together to bitch about it. Why else name it the AntiLove Bookclub?

Contempt must be clear in my expression as Dr. Geoff takes the chance to explain, "I saw this on the community board the other day at one of my group sessions. Losing Farrah was hard on you, and it's rough trying to get back in with your friends. This will give you an opportunity to meet an entire new scene of people."

My snort brings a smile to his lips as he continues, "Besides, you've mentioned how much you love a good book, and it sounds like it might be right up your alley. Who knows? Maybe you'll go in there and teach them a thing or two and learn something new while you're at it."

"Is this voluntary like the app journal?" I ask, keeping my eyes trained on the poster in front of me.

A quiet falls between us again for a few seconds as though he's trying to figure out how to word his response. "Both are one hundred percent voluntary. However, I highly recommend both if your goals are still the same as when we first spoke. I bet you'll even be surprised at how much they help."

"Great," I mumble under my breath as the sound of his timer drowns me out. I'm sure it's all just going to be buckets of fun.

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