Trained In Sin

Prologue

"So, how has this week been?" My therapist, Lena asked.
I stare at her, getting lost in her beauty.

There was a warmth her coppery brown hair bought to her features, a simple frame for that smile and eyes that held more love than she would ever admit to.

"Dylan? How did speaking to your parents go?" She questions me.
My parents. It is impossible to imagine a worse person than my parents.

Everything I did was always criticised by them.
As far as I was concerned, nothing I did was good enough.
They screamed bloody murder when I started therapy. I was also told I was making the biggest mistake of my life.

"I never spoke to them. I couldn't." I confessed.
Lena stared at me with her beautiful brown eyes.
Those eyes were the hues of every tree in the forest from early light to the sunset.

"I understand. It must be hard to speak to them after everything that happened." Lena spoke in the soothing tone I love.
I stare at her intently as she ran her fingers through her hair, tilting her head towards me.

"So, getting off the subject of your parents, have you been, ok?" She asked as she moved her hair, exposing her neck to me.
I subconsciously bite down on my lower lip, hoping she didn't notice.

I stopped biting my lip as soon as I realise what I was doing.
"Um, I've been ok. I think." I guessed.
I notice her smiling at me, not a casual smile, but a flirtatious smile.

"What do you mean by 'I think'?" Lena quizzed.
"I don't know. I guess, I don't know if I am ok or not. I'm just in the middle." I clarified, knowing my cheeks were flushed now.

"Ok. Well, I will end the session for this week. I want you to write your parents a letter telling them how you feel. Just to put it down on paper, not to send it. Bring it next week." She requested, placing a strand of hair behind her ear.
I nod as I get up and head towards the door.

As I was about to leave, Lena places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes it a little, keeping it there as she smiled.
"Well done for today, you did very well."
I smile back at her, leaving, I start to feel as if I am being watched.

When I get out in the fresh air, I take a deep breath and lean against the cold, hard brick wall.
My breath gets caught in my throat, making a lump that would not budge, no matter how many times I swallowed with my saliva.

I knew then that I was in love with my therapist.