More Than a Hotline Fling

-41-

Damian's POV

"Any more episodes, Juneau?" Dr. Schaeffer's blue eyes were magnified by the glasses she wore today. Her pen was poised, aligned and ready.

At my side, June deflated. Her shoulder slumped into mine. A soft creak of cracked leather groaned as her hips shifted.

"Yeah..." she whispered. "A couple."

Both of us sat, hips to knees pushed together, my arm over her shoulders. My other hand's fingers interlocked with June's, our joined hands resting on my thigh.

In the past three weeks, June had made amazing progress. She still locked away parts of the experience and the crippling anxiety attacks that rendered her motionless also embarrassed her.

We hadn't identified any triggers, other than when June was alone. Dr. Schaeffer assured us in every session, three per week, that was positive news. June hadn't associated conditions or circumstances with her capture, but we also hadn't physically been anywhere near our apartment or June's work.

I've made sure of that, for both our sakes. Not taking a ride through Brooklyn to test that theory.

I hated that both former places of home for June were tainted so that the comforts and happiness she got from them were destroyed.

"Juneau." Dr. Schaeffer's eyes widened. "Recovering from trauma isn't an on-off switch, and it's not linear progress. Bumps, dips, and setbacks are normal and healthy. Your brain is trying to rebalance itself."

"I know," June grumbled, her teeth clenching until a crease appeared on her cheek. "That's the thing, I wish I could just... wipe it all out of my mind. Clean slate, move forward... You don't offer hypnosis, do you?"

A flash of amusement appeared in Dr. Schaeffer's eyes, and then vanished in a blink. "No."

Since I didn't know June had any anxiety attacks since we were last here two days ago, I made assumptions about when they might occur. "When did you have them?"

Pink filled her cheeks, spread up into her forehead, and flushed down her neck. "One in the shower, another when you left. Bullet sat with me."

Ever since we got Bullet back, he had become glued to June's side. Laying against her shin or on her feet, he needed to be touching her. While I was glad that they had each other, I worried he experienced anxiety as well.

"And I hate that," June's words echoed my own sentiments, redirected from her perspective. "I hate that saying this would make Damian feel like he can't leave to pick up food, or return to work again... Or that I can't step foot into work..."

June paused and drew a slow breath. "Because that's what normal people do."

My chest squeezed with the same constriction that choked my throat. June never ceased to amaze me with how openly she expressed herself in these sessions. She even spoke about my own thoughts and concerns, which I wasn't surprised about because I was fucking exhausted from masking them.

And she's tired of me treating her like a broken eggshell, in her words.

Fortunately, with each step forward, I didn't have to hold back. Little by little, June came back to me. She became comfortable enough around me that she initiated conversations and physical contact, still clinging to me whenever we slept.

After weeks of awkward uncertainty, I loved seeing June's warmth return. Our physical intimacy was shot to shit, but we stayed inside. I cooked in lieu of takeout. We watched each movie to its end. Slowly, June inched closer on the sofa until she rested her head on my shoulder and I wrapped her under a blanket.