RED NOTES AND KISSES-Chapter 15: FRIDA -

Frida stood outside the therapist's door, her hand hovering over the handle.

The hallway was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Her heart beat against her ribs, each thud a reminder of the vulnerability she was about to expose.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

The room greeted her with warmth, sunlight streaming in through large windows that cast soft, golden patterns on the wooden floor.

The scent of lavender lingered in the air, soothing yet unfamiliar. Her gaze landed on the woman sitting across the room.

She was friendly-looking, blonde hair framing her face in gentle waves, her smile soft and reassuring.

"Frida, right?" the woman said, standing to greet her.

Frida nodded, her throat tight.

"It's nice to meet you. Come in, make yourself comfortable," the therapist said, gesturing to the cushioned chair opposite her own.

Frida sat down hesitantly, her hands gripping the strap of her bag as though it were a lifeline.

But the therapist's presence was disarming. Her voice was calm, her demeanor open and inviting.

There was no judgment in her eyes, no impatience, just a quiet understanding that felt like a balm to Frida's frayed nerves.

Minutes passed in silence as they exchanged pleasantries.

Then, slowly, the woman began to draw her out, not with pressure, but with gentle questions that made Frida feel seen, heard. Safe.

The words came haltingly at first, snippets of her life she hadn't shared with anyone. The friends she kept at arm's length.

The nights she spent staring at the ceiling, her mind a battlefield of emotions she couldn't name.

The ache of wanting to be understood, yet fearing what that understanding might reveal.

And then, when the walls she'd so carefully built began to crumble, the deeper truths spilled out.

"There's a man," Frida said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The therapist tilted her head slightly, her expression curious but patient.

"A man?"

Frida's fingers tightened around the edge of her chair. Her pulse quickened as she nodded.

"I've never seen him," she admitted, her words tumbling out before she could stop them. She moistened her lips with her tongue.

"Not really. But he's... everywhere. Or at least it feels that way. He leaves these notes, red ones. They're cryptic, strange, but..." She paused, swallowing hard.

"But I can't stop thinking about him."

The therapist didn't interrupt, her silence encouraging Frida to continue.

"He terrifies me," Frida confessed, her voice trembling now. "But at the same time, he..." She trailed off, her cheeks burning with a flush she couldn't control.

"He excites you?" the therapist offered gently.

Frida looked up, startled by the accuracy of the observation. She nodded, her breathing unsteady.

"It's like he knows me," she said, her voice cracking with the weight of the admission.

"Not just who I am on the surface, but everything. My fears. My desires. The parts of me I don't even understand myself. And the worst part? I want him. God, I want him."

Her hands trembled as she buried her face in them, her voice muffled as she continued. "I don't know what's wrong with me. My friends...they'd never understand. They'd think I'm crazy, and maybe I am. But it's like he's in my head, and I can't get him out."

The therapist leaned forward slightly, her tone soft, grounding. "It sounds like this has been weighing on you for a long time, Frida."

"It has," she admitted, her words tinged with exhaustion.

"I've tried to ignore it, to pretend it doesn't matter. But it does. He's there in every quiet moment, every empty space. And when he disappeared..." Her voice broke, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"When he stopped leaving the notes, I thought I'd feel relief. But instead, I feel... lost."

The therapist let the silence stretch for a moment, letting Frida's words settle between them. "It's not uncommon to feel conflicted about something, or someone that has such a profound impact on your life," she said finally.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.

Frida looked up, her tear-filled eyes searching the therapist's face for answers she wasn't sure she wanted. "So what do I do?" she asked, her voice raw.

The therapist didn't answer right away. Instead, she held Frida's gaze, her expression kind but firm. "That depends," she said carefully. "Do you want to understand him? Or do you want to understand why you feel this way?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Frida wasn't sure she knew the answer.

But deep inside, beneath the fear and the uncertainty, one thing was clear.

She wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet.

Frida's cheeks burned as she stared down at her trembling hands, her pulse loud in her ears. The air in the room felt too thick, too warm.

"I want him to touch me," she blurted out, the words slipping past her lips before she could stop them.

Her therapist, Miss Barker, didn't flinch. Her expression remained calm, open, a steady presence against the storm raging inside Frida.

"I know it's crazy," Frida continued, her voice shaking. "But it's embarrassing to even say this. I've never... I'm a virgin. I've never done anything like that before."

Miss Barker nodded slowly, her tone gentle. "You've never touched yourself in a sexual way, and now he's awakened those desires in you."

The statement sent a jolt through Frida. It was the truth she'd been afraid to acknowledge, a part of her she'd buried under layers of fear and confusion.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Miss Barker reassured her. "It's okay to want sexual experiences, Frida. It's natural."

Frida's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to hold her body together. "It would have been... only I'm craving it from a man I don't even know," she whispered.

The therapist leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady and compassionate. "Are you sure you don't know this man?"

The question hit her like a slap. Frida gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head as if the denial could erase the seed of doubt Miss Barker had planted.

Miss Barker didn't press but tilted her head, her voice calm and measured. "For you to react this strongly to someone, to feel this depth of longing and connection, it's possible you've harbored some kind of fee..."

"No," Frida interrupted, her voice rising, sharp and defensive. "I don't know him."

But her breathlessness, the way her chest tightened, betrayed her. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thud of her heart.

The room felt too small, the walls pressing in on her. The truth she was avoiding sat heavy in the space between them.

Miss Barker watched her carefully, concern flickering across her face. "Frida..."

"I think I need to go," Frida said abruptly, rising from her seat. Her legs felt shaky, her palms clammy. "I can't... I'm sorry, Miss Barker."

"Frida, it's okay to take your time," Miss Barker said softly, not moving from her chair. "This is a safe space. We can stop here if you need to, but I hope you'll come back."

Frida nodded quickly, her throat too tight to respond. She grabbed her bag, avoiding the therapist's gaze as she moved toward the door.

As she stepped into the hallway, the cooler air hit her like a splash of water, but it didn't clear her head. Her mind was racing, her body still trembling with the intensity of what she'd just admitted.

She didn't know him. She couldn't know him.

But the way her heart clenched, the way her body ached with longing, whispered a truth she wasn't ready to face.