Sarah set me up.
"You need to get out more," she'd said over coffee. "Meet normal people. Remember what healthy relationships look like."
She didn't know about the ninety-minute session. About how I'd stayed late just to keep talking to Zachary. About the fact that I thought about him constantly.
So when she suggested her colleague David, I agreed.
I needed to prove I wasn't falling for my psychopath patient.
David picked me up Friday at seven. He was handsome in a conventional way. Blonde hair, friendly smile, wore a sweater vest unironically.
"You look beautiful," he said, handing me flowers.
Zachary had never given me flowers. Would probably analyze the gesture as performative romance without authentic emotional content.
I pushed the thought away.
"Thank you. These are lovely."
We went to an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. Soft lighting, checkered tablecloths, couples talking quietly around us.
"So Sarah tells me you're a therapist?" David smiled across the table.
"Yes. I have a small practice in Queens."
"That must be rewarding. Helping people every day."
"It is." My phone buzzed in my purse. I ignored it.
"I'm an accountant. Not as exciting as therapy, but it pays the bills." He laughed. "Though I guess everyone needs a good accountant, right?"
"Right."
He was nice. Stable. Normal. Everything I should want.
And I was bored.
"What kind of therapy do you specialize in?" he asked, twirling pasta on his fork.
"Criminal psychology, mostly. Court-mandated cases."
"Wow. That sounds intense. Ever treat anyone dangerous?"
Zachary's face flashed through my mind. Empty eyes. Perfect control. The way he'd looked at me during our last session, actually engaged, actually present.
"A few."
"I don't know how you do it. Being around criminals all day." David shook his head. "I'd be terrified."
I thought about Zachary saying he appreciated that I didn't pretend I wasn't afraid. About how he'd noticed when I was exhausted before I'd said anything. About philosophical debates that made hours disappear.
"You get used to it."
David talked about his work. Something about tax codes and quarterly reports. His voice was pleasant. Enthusiastic.
Zachary would have been analyzing the restaurant. Predicting which couples would stay together. Explaining the psychology behind menu pricing. Making observations that were unsettling and brilliant.
"Nina? You okay?"
I blinked. "Sorry. Long week. What were you saying?"
"I was asking if you wanted dessert?"
"Sure."
We ordered tiramisu. David told a story about his cat. I smiled at the right moments.
But I kept comparing him to Zachary.
David was kind. Zachary was calculating.
David was safe. Zachary was dangerous.
David made me feel comfortable. Zachary made me feel alive.
"I really like you," David said as we walked to his car. "I'd love to see you again."
"That would be nice." The lie came easily.
He walked me to my apartment building. Stopped at the door, his hand on my arm.
"I had a great time tonight."
"Me too." Another lie.
He leaned in to kiss me.
I let him.
His lips were soft. Gentle. Appropriate.
And I felt absolutely nothing.
No spark. No electricity. No desire to lean closer or pull him into my apartment or do anything except politely extract myself.
When he pulled back, he was smiling.
"I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Sure."
He left. I watched his car pull away.
Then I pulled out my phone.
Seven missed texts from my mother about my father's recovery. Three work emails. One text from an unknown number.
I opened it.
'Hope your evening was pleasant.'
My blood went cold.
Zachary.
How did he know I was out tonight? How did he know I was on a date?
I typed back immediately.
'How do you know where I am?'
Three dots appeared.
'I don't. But you haven't responded to my email from this afternoon, which is unusual. And it's Friday night. I made an educated guess that you were otherwise occupied.'
I scrolled to my email. There was a message from him, sent at 4 PM. An article about moral philosophy he thought I'd find interesting.
'What email?'
'The one about Kantian ethics versus consequentialism. Did you read it?'
I hadn't. I'd been getting ready for my date, trying to convince myself I was excited about it.
'Not yet.'
'Because you were on a date?'
My hands tightened on my phone.
'That's none of your business.'
'You're right. I apologize. A pause. Then: 'Was it good?'
I should have stopped responding. Should have blocked the number. Should have maintained boundaries.
Instead, I told the truth.
'No.'
'Why not?'
I stared at the message.
'Because he wasn't you.
Because he didn't challenge me or see through me or make me feel like every conversation mattered.
Because you've ruined normal men for me.'
I typed and deleted five different responses.
Finally: 'He was nice. Just not... interesting.'
'Interesting is subjective. What makes someone interesting to you?'
I leaned against my building's door, phone in hand.
'Someone who argues with me. Who challenges what I think. Who makes me defend my positions instead of just agreeing.'
'Someone who sees patterns others miss.'
'Someone who doesn't pretend to be something they're not.'
I sent the messages before I could stop myself.
His response came quickly.
'That sounds exhausting to date.'
Despite everything, I smiled.
'Probably.'
'But less boring than someone who talks about tax codes and cats?'
I laughed out loud in the empty street.
'How do you know he talked about tax codes and cats?'
'Lucky guess. Nice, stable men always talk about their work and their pets. It's the safest conversational territory. Reveals nothing about who they actually are.'
He was right. I'd learned nothing real about David tonight. Just surface details. Safe facts.
'You're impossible'
'I'm observant.' Another message came through. 'Did he kiss you?'
My breath caught.
'That's definitely none of your business.'
'You're right again. But I'm curious anyway. Did he?'
I shouldn't answer. This was crossing every professional line.
'Yes.'
The three dots appeared and disappeared three times before his response came.
'And?'
I closed my eyes.
'And nothing.'
Several seconds passed.
'Nothing?'
'I felt nothing. No chemistry. No spark. Nothing.'
I don't know why I told him. Maybe because it was dark and I was alone and David had been so nice and I'd felt absolutely nothing.
Maybe because I wanted Zachary to know.
His response took longer this time.
'That's unfortunate. For him.'
'Why for him?'
'Because he went on a date with you and you felt nothing. That means the problem isn't your capacity to feel. It means he didn't engage you properly.'
My heart pounded.
'And you think you could?'
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
'I think we've been engaging each other for weeks now. The question is whether you're ready to admit it.'
I stood on the dark street, staring at my phone.
He was right.
Every session, we engaged. Argued. Connected. Pushed each other intellectually and emotionally.
David had been perfectly nice. But he hadn't made me feel anything close to what I felt during those ninety minutes with Zachary.
That was terrifying.
'I should go. It's late.'
'Of course. Sleep well, Nina.'
I started to put my phone away. Then another message came through.
'For what it's worth, I'm glad you felt nothing with him. It would have complicated things if you had.'
I typed back before I could think.
'Complicated what?'
His response was immediate.
'Whatever this is becoming between us.'
I stared at the message, my chest tight.
This. Whatever this was.
I knew what it was. Or what it was becoming.
I was developing feelings for my patient. The diagnosed psychopath. The man who'd beaten someone nearly to death.
And he was developing something for me too. Maybe not feelings in the conventional sense. But something.
I should have shut it down. Should have sent a professional response about maintaining boundaries.
Instead, I wrote:
'Goodnight, Zachary.'
His final message came through as I reached my apartment door.
'Goodnight, Nina. Thank you for being honest with me. It's rare. You're rare.'
I went inside, turned off the lights, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
David would call tomorrow. Ask me on a second date.
And I'd say no.
Because Zachary was right.
He'd ruined normal men for me.
And I had no idea what to do about that.
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