The question hangs between us.

I could lie. Could say I want to get better, to work through my issues, to be a good patient.

But I'm so tired of lying.

"You," I say simply. "I want you."

He closes his eyes, jaw clenching. "You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your therapist."

"Then stop being my therapist."

"It's not that simple—"

"Yes it is," I insist. "Refer me to someone else. Tell me you can't treat me anymore. And then—"

"And then what?" he asks, opening his eyes. "We just... what? Date? Pretend this all started normally?"

"Why not?"

"Because it didn't," he says. "Because there's a power imbalance. Because...