This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You. Thats all that occupies his mind, when he was supposed to be seeing you to get over Beck. Sitting on that couch three times a week in order to free himself of the mental torment that is Guinevere Beck.

These sessions began as Joe talking your ear off about the timeline of his fallen relationship. You were always so understanding, so considerate of his feelings. Maybe thats why he was so drawn to you. His Therapist.

The way you sat there. A torturous slither of your leg poking out beneath your summer dress. The way your delicate fingers fiddle with the soft tips of your hair. The way your gentle voice cascades over him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a pit in his stomach form.

He used to notice those things when with Beck, but after meeting you, the once tantalising details he always noticed about Beck, began to fade. His whole being consumed by you.

The hour long sessions three times a week slowly began to feel like torture. After he spent endless hours the night before researching you on every social media sight, and every search engine possible, he feels like merely being sat in the same room as you is… some twisted form of fate.