Progress Journal

‘Dear Diary,’ I write the words in the blue leather diary, the pen trembling faintly in my grip. ‘I’ve come back to you once more to unload the secrets I can’t say aloud. The fears I can’t hand to anyone else.’

My eyes drift to the wall clock. Past midnight already. Somehow the hours always slip away from me like this, unnoticed until it’s too late. Then my gaze catches on the red hardcover diary sitting at the edge of my desk. Just looking at it makes something in my chest tighten.

I bite down on my bottom lip and lower my pen back to the page.

‘It’s been four days now,’ I write, ‘Four days and I still haven’t worked on the Progress Journal Dr. Skyle gave me. He wants me to write down everything, every task, every little thing I do each day. And I think I finally understand why he’s asking this of me now. He didn’t say anything, but I saw it in his eyes. That flicker of doubt whenever I tell him things are getting better. He doesn’t believe me.’

My left hand climbs into my shoulder-length, brown hair and closes into a fist as I press my elbow into the desk. The weight of my own head suddenly feels too much to hold up.

‘Does he not trust me anymore? Or has he simply learned to see through me? Because I haven’t exactly been truthful with him either, not for a while now. Every Sunday, same routine. He sits across from me on the couch and asks how my week went, and I hand him some story about all the little victories, the tasks I supposedly finished.’

‘It used to be enough, my verbal report. But clearly it’s not anymore…’

With a groan, I tug on my hair.

‘Obviously, he can tell when I’m lying to him. He’s not like the rest of them. But I can’t lose him too… Every psychiatrist before him eventually threw their hands up and walked away. He was the first one who didn’t look at me like I was something broken when I told him what’s wrong with me. He just smiled instead. His eyes carried that warmth, and he took my hand like he actually meant it when he told me he’d help me get better.’

My tongue slightly darts out to lick my bottom lip before I tuck it under my upper teeth.

‘And he has helped me… He’s the Only one who ever has. No one else managed it, not really. Even the last psychiatrist I paid to fix me turned out to be working against me the whole time. I didn’t need Dr. Skyle to confirm it either; I already knew. I could Feel it. Every single one of them wanted me to fail.’

‘But not him. Dr. Skyle is not like that. He doesn’t want to watch me crumble. That’s exactly why I can’t let him walk away from me.’

Lowering my pen, I turn back to the Progress Journal and frown. I reach out and open it. The first page stares back at me, already filled in.

Name: Neil O’Malley

Sex: Male

Age: 23

I flip through what comes after, page after page of blank space, and something cold settles low in my stomach.

‘He’s going to be disappointed in me. This time he’ll have real proof. Proof that I’ve been lying this whole time, that there’s no progress to speak of, that I’m slipping backward instead of moving forward.’

My right hand keeps moving across the page.

’I can’t stand the thought of disappointing him. That smile he gives me, the one that shows up whenever I tell him about all the things I never actually did, it does something to me. It warms something in my chest that’s been cold for so long I forgot it could feel anything else.’

‘So why can’t I just do it? It was never this hard before. Even before him, I could handle the smallest tasks without falling apart. So why not now? What changed?’

‘And what happens if he gets tired of me, if he decides I’m not worth the effort anymore? I can’t exactly chain him to me and force him to stay if he wants to go.’

My left leg starts bouncing beneath the desk restlessly.

’Dear Diary, what would I even do if he left me? What would my world look like without him lighting it up?’

’Every morning it takes everything in me just to drag myself out of bed, but knowing I’ll see him by the end of the week is what pulls me through. That face that steals the air from my lungs. That deep voice that curls down my spine like something alive. That presence of his that makes me feel wanted, feel cherished, in a way nothing else ever has.’

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I keep writing.

‘I know how this sounds. I know it’s wrong. I’m his patient, and he’s ten years older than me, but none of that changes what I feel. In just five months he’s become the most important person in my life.’

‘God, if I ever said that out loud, my parents would hate me even more than they already do.’

‘But they’re not here to hate me, are they? They’re off somewhere living exactly how they want, not sparing a single thought for what their only son is going through.’

I tug at my hair again.

‘Can I really put all the blame on my last psychiatrist? Maybe. He’s the one who found my private diary and handed its contents straight to my family instead of trying to understand me the way Dr. Skyle does. But my parents aren’t exactly innocent either. Instead of supporting me, they ran.’

’So fine! Good riddance to all of them! At least now there’s no one left to stop me from fantasizing about Dr. Skyle’s warm body pinning me down on the bed while he fucks me raw all night long!

My eyes widen the moment I realize what I’ve just written. Heat rushes to my cheeks, darker than before. My pen moves faster now.

‘Could that be it? Could that actually be why I haven’t finished a single task in two months? Why nothing feels exciting the way it used to?’

’Is it because my mind is full of him now, full of Dr. Skyle, leaving no room for anything else? Is that why my work doesn’t thrill me anymore? Because just imagining him touching and kissing every last inch of my body, just losing myself in thoughts of him drawing out his own name from my throat in raspy, needy moans, already feels like enough?

With my free hand, I hide the left side of my face while I keep writing, ignoring the insistent twitch in my pants and the blooming wet patch over my crotch.

‘Dear Diary, maybe I shouldn’t be telling you any of this…’

‘What if you betray me again, the way you did last time? What if somehow you ended up in his hands, and he read every filthy little thought I’ve had about him?’

‘He’d know then. He’d know exactly how deep this obsession runs, how madly, hopelessly in love with him I really am.’

His face flashes behind my eyes, every sharp, perfect line of it. Those light blue eyes that spark to life whenever I tell him about something I’ve supposedly achieved. That smirk, the one that tugs at the corner of his mouth right before he teases me, like he already knows exactly what it does to me.

‘Maybe…he already knows. Maybe he can sense this too, the same way he seems to sense everything else about me. And maybe, please, let it be true, maybe he feels it, too?’

‘That would explain it, wouldn’t it? Why he finds reasons to touch me?’

‘I keep count, you know. Every time his hand finds mine and just stays there, lingering far longer than it needs to. I notice because even that, even the barest brush of his skin against mine, sends my pulse racing straight down. It makes me want to guide his broad palm and press it right over my need. I could lean back and rut into his touch until he’s had enough and bends me over his lap, punishing me.’

I shudder in delight, a long moan escaping me. I subconsciously buck my hips in the air before grinding harder down against my chair. My eyes drift back to the red hardcover diary, and just like that, my stomach drops straight through the floor.

‘But he won’t love me if I fail him. All of this, the patience, the attention, it’s because he believes in me. He has so much faith that I can actually get better. He promised he’d watch over me through it, protect me while I grow.’

‘He’s willing to give me so much. I can’t repay that with more lies.’

Biting my bottom lip, I glance at the wall clock again, then back down at the Progress Journal. With a small nod, I pick it up in my left hand and look once more at the page I’ve been filling.

‘I’m sorry to cut this short, Dear Diary, but this one needs my attention now. And I refuse to fill it with lies. I’m going to give him something real, an honest record of real effort.’

‘Wish me luck, old friend.’

With that, I close my diary and tuck it into the top drawer of my study desk, locking it shut. A wide smile spreads across my face as I rise from my seat, ready to finally get to work.