3PM Therapy

I was shown to his office by the very attractive secretary who smelt amazing. It was a mixture of something I could remember if I wanted to but I just couldn't focus enough. What I could say is that it definitely had a very feminine name. The perfume not the secretary. Probably something like "Summer's Bliss" or "Spring's Love" unlike the deodorants we men used. Half of that stuff sounds like I came out of a Michael Bay film, but I digress.

I sat down on a sofa that reminded me of the one my grandmother owned. It felt comforting. Nostalgic. That's how I knew I chose the right therapist. One minute in his office and I felt like I wanted to tell him about how my first girlfriend broke my heart and redefined what love meant to me.

The office itself felt like it was out of a movie scene. Bookshelves lined every wall, stacked with volumes that made my home library look like a joke. I stood up and wandered to one of the shelves beside a three-foot-tall bonsai. I wondered how he had managed to get it through the door, or where it got enough light to grow so tall.

But the tree wasn't my reason for escaping the groove my posterior had embedded onto one of the sofa cushions. No, it was for a book. Specifically, "The Lucifer Effect" by Philip Zimbardo that talked about the "Lucifer Effect" that talks about how under the right circumstances even the purest of angels can be corrupted.

I grabbed the book and opened it. Something about reading a new book always made me excited, I never knew why though. I walked around book in hand preparing to be lost in the world of paper and ink when I heard the door open.

"You crease it you buy it." Said the man who walked in.

"You know I have the same book at home. I can bring you mine if anything happens to yours." I said easing back into the sofa, secretly looking for the groove I had earlier imprinted.

So," he said, settling behind the large desk, "what brings you to my office? And before you ask—Layla has a fiancé. Don't flirt with her."

That's when I started wondering how the desk even fit through the door. Did they build office with the desk already in it? Or did they build the walls first then put the desk in.

"If you're wondering how the table fit through the door, don't," he said "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"So, you do know."

"Yes, I do. You still haven't answered my question, what do you want?"

"Is that how you talk to your patient?" I teased.

"I don't have patients, I have clients. Clients with appointments, you don't have one." He flipped open a small book on his desk.

"Layla told me you didn't have any clients today, and to be honest I wanted to talk about something."

"You sound serious. Then does this mean this is official? Because if it is I'll have to charge you accordingly."

"Nineteen years we've known each other and you treat me like I'm one of your clients? For shame Levi, for shame."

"I treat my clients very well. If you were a client, you would be eating macaroons right now but you're right we've known each other for 19 years, right Jake." He said grinning.

"Nice one, but I'm serious I really need to talk to somebody so I figured showing up during your work hours would make take it seriously… and keep it private."

"Sure, anything for you," he closed his book and adjusted his posture. He sat upright, arms rested on the table all while maintaining eye contact. He was good and I knew it. "So, what's wrong?" I knew I could trust him and so I decided to let my guard down, to the only man who had seen me at my worst.

"I think I'm ready to give up on love."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like I idealize it way too much. I keep on learning that it's not beautiful, that it's messy, rotten and ugly and still I hope for beauty."

"What brought this on?"

"I keep loving the wrong person. Or is it that I choose to? Honestly at this point I can't tell the difference. I've been hurt so many times that it's started to mess up my vision, everything used to be black and white but now it's all gray and I can't seem to find a way."

"What makes you think you're lost?"

"Because I keep making the same mistake. I keep coming back to the same person. Always searching for something I know I won't find"

"What are you trying to find?"

"Love or a feeling close to it."

"Why?"

"Because I feel incomplete without it."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't love myself enough. I keep trying to fill that void through someone else. I thought my soulmate would complete me. So, every time I get the chance, I go looking for her."

 "It could also be a him." Levi said smirking.

I laughed. That's why it had to be him. It's hard for men to open up—especially to other men—but I always felt safe with Levi. No judgment. No shame.

"So," he asked "have you found her yet, your missing piece?"

"Not yet. But I'm starting to think that what I'm looking for... isn't in someone else. It's inside me."

"What made you realize that?"

"Six failed relationships in three months. That'll do it. I was desperate to fill the hole Amy left—the piece of me I thought she took with her. But now I think that piece never left. Maybe it just took Amy leaving for me to find it."

"Although not instantly, Six relationships in three months... I still can't believe that. So, what now?"

"Take a step back. Learn how to love myself before I love someone else. Maybe start writing again, I need to find a way to channel my emotions, and then maybe start dating again."

"I thought you gave up on love?"

"Yes, I have, I've given up on loving without being loved."

"Loving without being loved," he repeated "I like that. May you one day find a love that reciprocates."

"Amen to that." I exhaled; a weight lifted. I felt lighter, at peace. Ready to face whatever came next.

Well then," Levi said, flipping his book open again. "Let's talk about your bill."

"Seriously. Okay then, I want my macaroons."

"You're not getting macaroons"

"Then you're not getting your money, but I will buy the drinks."

"Who drinks at 3 pm on a Wednesday?"

"We do. Now grab your jacket, Doctor Levi."

"I'm not a doctor I'm a therapist."

"Whatever, as long as you fix people, you're a doctor in my books."

We left his office. It hadn't been a long conversation, but it was a meaningful one—and one I'll never forget. I guess all I had to do was talk about it.