“Is that a new watch?” Dr. White asked casually, causing Dillon to frown in confusion.
She'd just unburdened herself, told her therapist she'd lied about the foundation of why she needed therapy, and Dr. White wanted to know about her watch?
“Nasa gave it to me in the truck before coming in. The watch is linked to his, and has a sensor that tracks my heartbeat and my GPS location.”
Dr. White made a sound of understanding. “I'm going to make an observation, and then ask you a question.”
“Shoot,” Dillon rasped, leaning her head back on the thick couch, focusing on the texture of the ceiling paint.
She couldn't cry. Once she started, she feared she might not stop. Dr. White wouldn't judge her, it certainly wouldn't have been the first time Dillon had a breakdown in her office, but today, Dillon couldn't let go of that final bit of control.
“Usually, you've got a constant hand on Elka, petting her, holding onto her collar, sitting on the floor with her plastered across you to keep you steady. We've been in here for almost two hours, and you've gone through some extremely disturbing memories.
“Today, Elka has laid across your feet and hasn't moved. Instead of reaching out to her as you normally do for comfort and reassurance, you've been rubbing your thumb back and forth across the band of the watch. Why do you think that is?”
Dillon immediately opened her mouth to say she didn't know, but despite nearly three whole years without a session, she knew answering in haste would mean extended discussions to delve deeper into the reason why.
“Honestly, I think I’m too worn out to have another panic attack. And I’m not worried about any of the things I’m usually worried about.
"Nasa noticed I was anxious about coming into unfamiliar territory, and he gave me the watch because said he wanted me to feel safe.”
“Do you?” Dr. White's voice was calm and pleasant, pitched to soothe.
Dillon nodded, not stopping herself when she reached to worry the band at her wrist again.
“Surprisingly, yeah. He saw me lose my fucking mind and still hasn't treated me like a nutjob or like I'm broken.
"He's conscious of my quirks, caters to them even, and he does this thing with his voice... I don't even know how to describe the tone, but several times now he's done it and stopped me from having a full-blown panic attack.”
The sound Dr. White made was relieved, and when Dillon lifted her head to look at her, it was to see the therapist smiling.
“I know exactly the tone you mean. Would it be fair to suggest wearing the watch feels like he still has a comforting hand on you?”
Dillon looked at the watch, at the vivid blue band and how snugly it fit around her wrist. Giving it some conscious attention, yeah, it did kind of feel as though Nasa was still holding her even though he wasn't with her.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“How do you feel when he uses that special tone of voice on you?” Dr. White watched Dillon intently, warmth in her expression, and a rather obvious eagerness to hear Dillon's answer.
“Grounded. Calm. Steady. Too distracted by his voice to focus on whatever it is that's triggering me. You're getting at something, and I'm too tired right now to put it together.”
Dr. White nodded, picking up the delicate cup and saucer to sip at the tea Dillon refused. Dillon waited, grinding her teeth with impatience, but Dr. White wasn't one to rush.
She took her time, chose her words with care, and as a result hit the nail on the head with stunning accuracy.
“I'm going to share some personal details with you that I wouldn't share with just any patient, because I feel you're at a positive turning point in your process despite your recent trauma.” Dr. White told her, the china of her cup clinking softly against the saucer, her pinkie extended.
“Alright.”
“I paid my way through college working as a professional dominant, and for several years after receiving my doctorate, I continued to supplement my income by taking clients of the BDSM variety.
“The vast majority of them were sexually repressed men, or men unable to live out their fantasies in real life with a romantic partner, and I worked with several female clients who used the structure, rules, and extreme communication of BDSM as a way to overcome traumatic psychological issues. During my time as a ProDomme, I met Nasa socially at a BDSM club about seven-ish years ago. I was there meeting a potential client.”
“A client... at a BDSM club?” Dillon repeated dubiously.
Dr. White's smile remained confident and open. “I know it sounds unconventional, probably even unethical.
"I never engaged in coitus with any of my clients, neither did I touch them in a sexual manner. The sessions were strictly cerebral in nature.
“I no longer act as a dominant in a professional manner, but it was extremely lucrative, and at the time, it was an outlet for my own frustrations, my own psychological issues, and my need to take control of a life I felt completely adrift in.
“It worked for me, and knowing what I know about you, there have been times I considered suggesting the structures within the world of dominance and submission to help you find a healthier, safer way for you to relinquish control.”
Dillon wanted to laugh. Three years ago, if Dr. White had suggested Dillon go to some sex club to watch people get tied up and smacked around, to let someone do that to her, she'd have found herself a new therapist.
“Every time I brought up the subject of your torture, you were extremely resistant and made it clear you weren't prepared to be vulnerable in that way.
"You needed a deeper connection, a level of trust not found in a casual relationship, and in order to find that,
