The Therapist
Different love stories begin differently. Some mature to wife and husband. Others end badly. Others end by distance, or silence, or they just grow apart just like that.
Some started with a lady seated on the long stool at the bar. Her cleavage and almost all her breasts popping out of a very short pink dress, with her right leg dangling in arcs or circles. She is holding a glass of wine. You're sipping on your beer, you move closer to her staggering with your red polo shirt, which for whatever reason, has lost one button and now you probably look like a beggar.
Some started in college, well most of them. Others at church or weddings, and all those social places. Yours didn't start that way.
She was your client. She needed help. You were her therapist. Nina was traumatised two months prior when she was gang-raped. Well, she isn't your first woman. You had Anne, then Rose, and many others. Maybe it's how you love your women. Broken and helpless. So that you can manipulate them the way you always do. It's how you lost your job at a very huge firm because you couldn't tame your testosterone. Your small man just refused to be calm in your trousers, driven by lust.
You remember her first session. That's why you have her in the first place, because you couldn't concentrate all along. Maybe it's her cleavage or her tempting lips, but you haven't felt such a strange brew of lust and compassion. You don't blame the gang for raping her, she's surely above normal. She's special. You told her to close her eyes and remember what had happened. You really couldn't help the situation, you were horny. It's her that you wanted. You struggled with the first session. Then the punishment of a boner forthree hours came again the following session. Then the next. Until you called her one night and told her you had something to tell her in person. You gave her your address. That's how it all started. With you closing the door behind her, you nuzzling along the line of her jaw your lips igniting volcanic heat over her skin and you saying something along the lines of "napenda boobs zako"
Then you heard her hiss "wait" as your hands kneaded her rear searching for her clit. "I am not ready for this, I haven't healed from the trauma yet." You take a step back, didn't bother to say sorry, she apologises instead. Maybe that's what you loved about her. Then here you are, with her on a sofa and you on your loveseat. She sure imprisoned you for life. You stopped going out for anything. If it's watching or drinking, you do it with her. Your patient. Your client. You're the doctor, her therapist. A man who wasn't professional from the word go, but she fell in love with you anyways. Your love story is simply a product of rape, based on gang-rape trauma.
Then she walks towards you. She leans in and kisses you. Slowly, deeply.
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Gloria Nyagaka is Kenyan and just completed her Bachelor's degree in Geology.
She has been a writer for six years now. Her manuscript is the biggest project she’s ever done, a modern romantic thriller, is in the hands of her literary agent. It is a book that expresses great female characters and the strength of a woman at large. She mostly campaigns against women violence and for freedom for women to choose. She also focuses on how great women have changed the world, Michelle Obama, Serena Williams, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and others. She is a swimmer, a swim coach, a Taekwondoka, hockey player, and a dancer.
