Pacing back and forth in my room, I’m debating whether I should pour myself a glass of wine. I shouldn’t. My drinking only puts a Band Aid on the issue . . . my damn nightmares. I’m just so goddamn scared to close my eyes without its security.

My anxiety feels like an all-encompassing disease.

It coils inside me like a venomous serpent.

Its bitterness slowly infects me.

Until one day it takes over everything.

My hands start to sweat. My muscles start to tighten. Pure panic fills me fast. It feels as if every last breath has been extracted from my lungs. I grab at my arm, pressing my index finger to the pulse in my wrist. It beats erratically. Pain radiates down my left arm as all the muscles tense, and tears pour down my face. I grab my phone and call the number on Dr. Montgomery’s card.

Ring. Inhale.

Ring. Exhale.

Rin—

“Hello?”

My body stiffens at the sound of his voice. I didn’t expect him to answer, and now that he has I don’t know what to say.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

“Dr. Montgomery?”

“Eve, is that you?”

“Yes,” I squeak.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t think you would answer.”

“You’re not bothering me.”

I let out a chocked sob.

“Shh, you’re okay. Shh,” he coos in the phone. “Take a deep breath in. Now exhale. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” I whimper.

“What are you scared of?”

“Everything.”

“I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? Can you tell me what set you off tonight?”

“I’m afraid to fall asleep.” It sounds so ridiculous, even to my own ears. But the fear is real.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m sure you’re busy. I’m okay now.” I evade his question. Calling him was a mistake.

“Eve.” His voice is authoritative. “Please, speak to me.”

I can’t help but concede. “I have nightmares.” Once I purge the words I purposely withheld for so long, it feels as if a small weight that I carry in my heart is lifted.

“What are they about?” I let out an audible sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember your nightmares when you wake?”

“Not really.”

“Is there anything at all that sticks out?”

“The smell of blood.”

I hear the steady rhythm of his breathing through the line. “Do you want to meet me?”

“Meet you?” I look at the clock. It’s after nine pm.

“Yes, come to the diner.” He’s not asking me to meet him, he’s telling me, and something inside me stirs. The idea of seeing Dr. Montgomery again outside the office has my pulse racing, jumping out of my bed and searching for clothes.

“Okay, give me thirty minutes,” I reply

“See you then.” He hangs up, leaving me in a ball of nerves.

Shit.

I throw on a cute pair of leggings, an oversized button down, and my boots. Then I stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth, fix my hair and put on a light dusting of makeup. I want to appear as if I just rolled out of bed, not that I’m “trying.” Even though I am. I should probably find a new doctor, one who doesn’t have me running around like a crazy woman trying to look pretty for. But I can’t make myself do that. When I’m with him, I feel normal. I probably shouldn’t since I talk to him about my deep secrets and neuroses, but I do.

Grabbing my pea coat, I make my way to the elevator and then down to the lobby and into the frigid air. It’s a cold blast that has my teeth chattering as I walk to the corner of Thirty-Fifth and Third, but luck is on my side as it only takes me a few minutes to get there. Not seeing him, I step farther into the room and go to wait by the wall. After a few seconds, I sense a familiar presence beside me, and my heart hammers in my chest.

“Eve.” Slowly, I turn my face up and I meet shimmering blue eyes.

“Oh, hi. Have you been here long?” I ask.

“No. Just got here. Ready to sit?” I nod and the hostess leads us to an empty table in the corner. After we sit, Dr. Montgomery cocks his head to the side. Surveying.

“You okay?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares?” I was right. Before, he was hurt. Now, sitting across from him, it plays clearly over his features. His brows are knit, his teeth are biting his lower lip, but really it’s the eyes that give him away. They look hollow, sad, and concerned.

“I was embarrassed.” My cheeks grow warm from the admission.

“You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. I won’t judge you.” His statement is true. There isn’t an ounce of judgment in his voice. “Do you want to tell me about them now.”

I shake my head.

“I understand.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds. The waitress comes over and he orders a milkshake and a burger. When she turns to me, I reply that I’ll only have water.

“You have to get something.” Dr. Montgomery says as the waitress walks away.

“I already ate dinner.”

“So get dessert.” I’ll have you for dessert. Thank God he can’t hear the dirty thoughts playing through my mind.

“It’s too late to eat dessert.”

“It’s never too late for something sweet.” With that he smiles, and a part of me melts, right then and there at the table. His lips turn up a fraction and I blush.

“Why are you eating so late?” I blurt out, trying to right my improper thoughts.

“I went downtown to see a movie right after work.”

“Really? That’s cool that you got to go out after work. I have too much to do this week, but on Friday, Corner Bar here I come.”

“Yeah, normally I don’t go out during the work week, and on the weekends I go to Oak. But whenever a new foreign film comes out, I go to the afternoon or evening show on release day,” he admits and I can’t hold back the giggle that escapes. “Hey, are you making fun of me?” He pretends to pout.

“Sorry, that just slipped out. I totally didn’t expect that. Once again, you caught me off guard. Sledding, foreign films—you’re the most interesting person I know.” Did I just say that out loud? “So. Um. How did you get into watching them?”

“So, I went to NYU. Well, at the time my girlfriend and I were both film majors. She loved foreign films, every time a new movie came out, we had a tradition to see it on opening day during the afternoon to avoid the crowds.”

“And you still keep this tradition?”

“Yeah.”

“And does she?”

“She’s dead.”

My mouth drops open at this information. “Oh.”

“A new film came out today so I went.”

Running my hands through my hair, I try to come up with any response. “Okay, cool.” God, I’m lame. He tells me his ex-girlfriend is dead and all I can say is, “Okay, cool.” I study him for a minute. “Actually, you do seem like the type to watch foreign films.”

“And what type is that?”

“The deep, dark, and brooding type.”

“Wait, do I really seem that way?” He grimaces.

“Kind of. You’re pretty serious all the time.”

He looks down at his hands on the table, then lifts his eyes to meet mine. His usual pale blues appear flat and lifeless. “I’m only that way with you.” His tone is low and he sounds apologetic.

I don’t speak for a moment, trying to absorb what he just said. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Uncomfortable, I shuffle in my seat. “How did you mean it?”

“You’re my patient. I have to act that way.”

“But why? We’re just two people drinking coffee and having a conversation.”

“No matter where we are, we’ll never be just friends having a cup of coffee.”

“I-I don’t understand.” My voice rises louder than I intended and he peers around the room before leaning into the table and answering me in a whisper.

“As your psychologist, there is a trust level we have to have. Our relationship is about you. If it starts to be about me, then lines have been crossed.”

My chest hurts. I hate this. “I don’t think it’s that black and white.”

“It has to be. This . . . Me eating with you . . . Even this is frowned upon.”

“Then, why are you here?”

He shakes his head and bites his lip. “I needed to see you. Make sure you were okay. I guess I can’t stay away.” A muscle in his jaw twitches and I know he wants to say more but doesn’t.

“I don’t want you to. I feel comfortable with you, and I don’t normally—” My voice shakes as my lips tremble.

“You shouldn’t feel comfortable with me. Being friends . . . We’re asking for trouble.”

“I don’t care, so why should you?”

He looks down and lets out a sigh. His gaze lifts again. “It’s not me who cares. It’s the APA.” My eyebrow lifts in confusion. “The American Psychological Association. They care,” he clarifies.

The thought rips me apart.

I want to continue to argue that it’s okay, but I know he won’t concede. I don’t want to lose this, so I release an exhale and put on a fake smile. “So, tell me about this film,” I say, essentially changing the conversation. If this is all I get, I refuse to waste it talking about why we can’t be friends.

Once we’re done and Dr. Montgomery pays the bill, we both get up to exit the restaurant. As we approach the door, he holds it open and allows me to exit first. When I pass through, he places his hand on the small of my back, and my body tenses as electric currents tingle from where he touches me. Reality starts to blend with this fantasy bubble of two friends having a late night bite together in the city.

“My place is this way.” I gesture in the direction of my apartment.

“I’m in the opposite direction, but I’ll walk you back.” He shifts his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet and I think he’s not ready to part ways, either. “You’re on Thirty-Third, right?”

“Yeah, the high-rise on the corner. But you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He becomes quiet as his eyes roam over me. They’re beautiful. Were they always so clear? What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get out of here. I need air and distance from this man who’s clouding my better judgment, because right now I don’t give a damn about the APA or whatever it’s called. All I want is to have him stare into my eyes and smile.

“When you get home, I want you to practice your breathing and visualization. I would also suggest running a bath.”

“Okay,” I squeak. The idea of him knowing I’ll be lying naked in a bath has my cheeks going warm.

“Okay, great. I think that should really help tonight, but if it doesn’t you can call me, and we can talk through it before we meet on Friday.”

Neither of us speaks the rest of the way to my apartment. When we get to my high rise, I turn to face him and accidently lose my footing. My body lurches forward. I’m about to collide with the cement when two strong arms catch me. He pulls me toward him and holds me in his arms.

Looking up, our eyes lock. I get lost in his mesmerizing blues, never wanting to leave the comfort of his strength, but then I see his cheeks pale and a curse pours from his lips. He presses his lids closed for a moment before reopening them and pulling away from me. I don’t know what to do or how to make the moment right, so I reach forward and my hand touches his.

Gently . . .

Softly . . .

I hear his inhale of oxygen as the pads of my fingers press against his skin.

“Thank you, Dr. Montgomery.”

He exhales.

“Please, call me Preston. After waffles, late night calls and saving you from falling. We can be on a first name basis.” He laughs to make light of the situation, but it makes my whole body warm.

“Goodnight, Preston.” His name rolls off my tongue like a dirty secret. Like forbidden fruit. Like something I want to say over and over again but shouldn’t.

“Goodnight, Eve.”