Page 26 of Off the Grid

And the rare times that they are? It seems that’s when they can do the most damage.

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CHAPTER SIX

Camilla

“Tell me why you agreed to pick up and move.”

I stare at my therapist. Her blond hair and soft features look like they belong with the “everything neutral” theme of her office. Her voice is soft and her smile softer. She’s been my North Star through all of this. The only person who knows what happened.

What started out as weekly visits turned into monthly ones over time. Then we progressed to every few months.

Now I’m saying goodbye because I’m moving away.

My own smile matches hers because I’ve thought about this a lot over the past week that I’ve been home and packing up my life.

“If not now, then when, right? Maybe I want more time with my dad while he’s okay. Maybe I don’t want to let him down. Maybe I’m intrigued by the challenge. And maybe it’s a bit of all three.”

She nods in that stoic, I’m hearing you but not judging way. “And maybe you’re agreeing to be there at the expense of you. In an environment that could possibly trigger you.”

“The thought has crossed my mind. More times than it probably should have . . . but truth be told, maybe this is what I need to finally get over that final hurdle. Maybe it’s time to get my life back.”

“I thought you’d already done that.”

I nod. “In a sense. But I’m sick of living life scared. This is my chance not to.”

“Scared?” She muses. “I would never say you were living scared. I’d say it was more along the lines of living safely. We’ve worked on the mental aspect of what happened. You’ve had boyfriends since then. Taken lovers.”

“And we’ve talked about how that went.”

“Baby steps, Camilla. No one is allowed to steal your happiness or to tell you how you should act or how your body should feel.”

But what happens when it doesn’t feel at all?

“Mechanical. Cold. Numb. Should we continue with all the reasons I’ve been dumped?”

“And like I said, when the time is right, everything will fall into place, just like you said it did the other night. The guy might have been a jerk, but you said it was the first time someone has touched you that made you and your body feel alive. That’s nothing to trivialize. That’s huge.”

Our kisses live rent-free in my head. The ache that burned between my thighs even more so.

It’s been a sensation that only I could create for myself during the past six years. That is until I kissed the asshole from the bar and now, it’s front and center in my mind. The whole getting a drop of water in a desert metaphor seems a fitting description for how I’ve felt since then.

“It’s pathetic is what it is,” I joke.

“No. It’s a good sign if you ask me.”

“Not sure if I agree with that theory,” I say.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I tried to replicate the feeling, the situation . . . the moment, and nothing.”

“Tell me more.”

“Some of my coworkers wanted to send me off in style so they organized a farewell party of sorts at a club. I went out on the dance floor after I’d had a few drinks and my guard was down. There was a guy. He was cute. Nice. We flirted. He kissed me. Looking back, I think I openly wanted the kiss to happen to see if I could summon that feeling again—but nope. Nothing.”

“If you weren’t physically feeling anything, what were you thinking?”