Exposure Therapy 3

Olivia watches me. She studies me as we go about our day. She searches for signs of hidden avoidance, carefully reading my subtlest actions to see if I am evading my fear.

She says avoidance does not eliminate what we fear, it only makes our fear more powerful. She says I must engage in mindful awareness of my habits.

She tells me it's stuffy in the bedroom, she wants us to get some fresh air. She goes for the window. I focus on the sway of her bountiful booty as she flounces confidently for the double-hung egress.

Olivia follows my eye line. I look away, pretending to focus on my phone.

“Don't avoid,” she says. “Turn toward what scares joo, principito.”

I gaze at her assertive stance, the hand on her hip and the assured way that she flings her hair over her shoulder and, suddenly, I feel confident. Confident that I can look out that window and no harm will come to me.

“You make me feel strong,” I say. “You always have. I remember when I was going for that internship in high school. I was terrified of looking like a baby in front of veteran newspapermen. Night before I was supposed to start... couldn't sleep. I was throwing up I was so nervous.

“But you? You came into my room and you ran your fingers over my forehead and you said, 'Principito, they are all going to be hanging on your every word. Because you have what they covet: youth.' In a matter of what? Two, three seconds? You completely reframed the whole thing. And I... I walked into that paper feeling important, feeling vital. You made me strong.”

Olivia beams at me long and wide, then she blinks slowly.

“Okay, Señor Strongman. Joo come to mami.”

I stare at her for a beat, wondering if she will relent, but I recognize the expression on her face—that stony resolve that once earned her intimacy anorexia from my old man. The cowardly fuck was petrified of a strong woman.

She holds my gaze.

I can tell by her expression that she's not going to let this go. I let out a fleeting sigh, then I sit up and rise from the bed, crossing to Olivia's side. She stands by the curtains and draws them back.

“Don't look at me, principito. Look at the window.”

I turn and face the glass. From this vantage point, I can see birds perched on power lines alongside the roof of an industrial building. My mind immediately turns to electrocution. Then to lines snapping and crashing through the window. Decapitation. Asphyxiation. Electrical fire.

“What do joo see?” she asks.

“Birds.”

“Tell me more.”

“Birds on power lines. Ironic that they are attracted to power lines. Tens of millions of them are croaked by high voltage every year.”

“But joo see the birds are fine,” she says.

“Yeah...”

She flips the latch and presses her palms to the glass, opening the window just wide enough for a stiff breeze to enter, accompanied by the sound of cars passing. I take a deep breath and struggle to steady my shaking hands. I think of avian bird flu and bird shit and bacterial infections and Legionnaires.

“That's it,” she says. “Take a deep breath and drink in the day.”

Her hand goes to the front of my pants, fondling me through the denim fabric. My prick springs up in response, aching against my inseam.

“It is bright, it is calm, the world is awake and busy and joo are safe.”

I want to demand that she shut the window. I want to turn away and catch my breath. But Olivia's tepid palm has me frozen to the spot. I do not want her to let go.

“That's it,” she repeats. “Look out at the world. Accept that it is neutral. Joo are free from harm. Joo are safe and strong. It is bright, it is calm, the world is awake and busy and joo are safe.”