2

Alfred's POV.

"Where have you been for two days?" I asked, tossing in my bed, biting my lip as I tried to stay calm.

"You missed me, huh?" he teased, pulling the sheets off me. His eyes scanned my body slowly, from my hair to my toes, his fingers moving in deliberate, tantalizing motions. First vertically, then horizontally. A shiver ran down my spine as I let out a soft, involuntary sound.

"Yes... I missed you," I admitted, sighing under my breath. He licked his lips and smirked at me, giving me a look that made my skin tingle. "I see," he said. "And you’re ready, aren’t you? You’ve taken off your clothes, lying here naked, waiting for me."

I nodded, pulling him closer. My arms wrapped around his neck as I whispered, "Yes... because I missed you."

"You know the rules," he said, his voice dropping low as he traced his finger down my neck. "No one else can touch you—not a man, not a woman. It’s me, or I disappear from your life forever." His intense gaze burned into mine, and my heart raced.

Suddenly, the snap of fingers pulled me out of my thoughts. I blinked, my body jerking as I realized I wasn’t in bed anymore. I was back in the therapist’s office, lying on the couch. The alienist—my therapist—was staring at me, waiting for me to speak.

I rubbed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. "It’s always the same dream," I admitted, my voice low. "It’s so vivid, it feels real. It’s overwhelming, like I’m drowning in it. Sometimes, I wake up thinking it actually happened. My body feels... affected, like I’ve been touched for real." My fingers ran through my hair nervously as I tried to explain. I still couldn’t shake the dream from my mind—it haunted me.

The therapist frowned and adjusted his posture, clearly intrigued. "That sounds like a nightmare," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "It’s not a nightmare. It’s... amazing. It’s the kind of dream that fills my day with energy. It makes me feel alive, happy, like I’m glowing from the inside out. It’s like... he’s real. Like a ghost or a spirit has possessed me, leaving me with feelings I can’t control and signals I don’t understand. I wake up wanting more."

The therapist leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Tell me more about this dream," he said, his tone calm but probing. I could tell he was analyzing everything—my words, my expressions, even my body language. That’s why I was here, after all, to talk about the things I couldn’t tell anyone else.

I sighed deeply and confessed, "In the dream... I’m with a man. We’re together. Intimately." A small, embarrassed smile crept onto my face, but I pushed on.

The therapist nodded, his expression neutral. "That’s not unusual," he said. "Dreams like that often reflect your mind’s desires. Maybe you want to be with this man."

I frowned, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "But I’ve never met him," I said firmly. "I’ve never seen him in real life. How could I want someone I don’t even know?"

"Perhaps you have met him," the therapist suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe your brain has stored an image of him somewhere deep in your subconscious, even if you don’t remember it."

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "I’ve never met him. I’d remember." I sat up straight on the couch, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag, trying to calm myself.

"Do you remember his face?" the therapist asked, leaning forward slightly, studying me closely. His eyes were sharp, as if he was trying to peel back the layers of my thoughts to see the truth beneath.

"Yes," I said without hesitation, my voice steady. "It’s burned into my mind. I could describe every detail of him, down to the smallest thing. His eyes, his jawline, the way his lips curve when he smiles—it’s all there, clear as day." I paused, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion swelling inside me. "But that’s not the problem," I added, scrunching my nose as I glanced at him, annoyed that he wasn’t understanding the bigger picture.

The therapist tilted his head slightly, his curiosity deepening. "Then what is the problem?" he asked, crossing his arms. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on me, waiting patiently.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "The problem," I said, my voice tinged with disbelief, "is that I’m straight." I emphasized the word, trying to make it clear. "I’m not gay. I’ve never been attracted to a man before in my life. But after this dream..." I trailed off, my hands gesturing helplessly as I tried to find the right words. "I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like he’s stuck in my head, and I can’t get him out."

I paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I keep looking for him everywhere I go, in crowds, on the street, even in places I know he couldn’t possibly be. And even when I wake up..." I hesitated, my voice dropping as I stared at the floor. "It’s like I can still smell him. His scent—it lingers in my nose, like it’s real. Like he was actually there with me." I laughed again, but this time it was hollow, more out of disbelief than humor. My mind felt like it was spiraling, and I couldn’t stop it.

The therapist nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I see," he said, his voice calm as he processed what I had just told him. "That explains why you keep scrunching your nose like that. It’s a subconscious reaction to the memory of his scent. But you’re not dreaming of him right now, are you?" He stood up from his chair and walked a few steps closer to me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to read my mind.

"No," I said, shaking my head firmly. "But I can’t forget him. I don’t think I ever will." My voice wavered as I admitted this, my chest tightening at the thought. "I can still feel him, you know? The way his arms held me, the way his hands touched me..." My voice softened, and I placed a hand over my chest as if to steady myself. "The way he kissed my neck." I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "The way he dominated me..." I trailed off, my words hanging in the air. I clenched my chest as if trying to hold onto something tangible, but there was nothing there except the ghost of a memory. "I sound crazy, don’t I?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The therapist tilted his head, considering my words carefully. "Not crazy," he said thoughtfully. "It could be something like déjà vu. You’ve heard of that, right?" His tone was calm, but there was a hint of curiosity in his voice. "It’s that strange feeling that something has happened before, even though it hasn’t. It’s normal. It’s called impressionability—your brain creating an impression of something that feels real, even if it isn’t."

I frowned, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Doctor," I said, my voice sharper now, "how can you say that? I came here for help, not for vague theories about déjà vu." I ran my hands through my hair, my fingers gripping tightly as I tried to calm myself. "I’m losing my mind!" My voice rose with each word, the frustration and helplessness spilling out. "I need a solution, not just words."

The therapist remained calm, his expression unchanging as he leaned in slightly. "Do you really want to stop having these dreams?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

I hesitated, my mind racing. Did I want them to stop? The dreams were confusing and overwhelming, but they also felt... important. Like they were trying to tell me something. I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice. "No," I admitted quietly. "But if I start losing control completely, then yes. I’ll need your help."

The therapist smirked slightly, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Then tell me something," he said, his tone shifting, almost playful. "Would you like to date me?"

"What?!" I gasped, my eyes widening in shock. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said.

"I’m serious," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as if this were a normal suggestion. "Maybe if we had sex right here, right now, you’d forget him entirely. Your dreams would stop."

I stared at him, horrified. My mind reeled at the audacity of his words. "Are you insane?" I shouted, standing up from the couch. My hands waved in the air as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. "No! I would never let anyone else touch me. It’s him or no one!"

The therapist chuckled softly, stepping back and raising his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. "That’s what I was trying to tell you," he said, his voice calm and even. "You only dream of him because he’s your destiny. You’re not crazy. Sooner or later, you’ll find him. And when you do..." He paused, his eyes locking onto mine. "You’ll give him everything. Your most precious thing. Your virginity."

He placed his hands gently on my shoulders, his gaze piercing as he spoke. His words sent a chill down my spine, and for the first time, I wondered if he might be right. Could this man from my dreams really be out there, waiting for me? Or was I just chasing a fantasy that would never come true?