A whole day later, I'm still fuming. The shrink is a stupid bitch. Award-winning, high-ranking, or whatever the fuck she was in sex therapy, she doesn't know shit about love. Not that I do either, but that's not the fucking point. I am not in love with Remy. 

There were two things the bitch really didn't understand; the first being how obsessed Remy was and still is with my sister. He may try to hide the way he still feels about her, but she will forever consume him, she will forever be the standard to which he measures all other women. And how could I blame him? Z was damn near perfect.

The second thing the shrink didn't understand was that Remy and I almost tried the "more than family" thing before. As is true for anything with us, it was fucked up.

When Z died, Remy came back to town for the funeral. He was as inconsolable as me, and we clung to one another. He was the only other person there who saw her as more than a junkie who ended up where everyone expected her to be: in a grave.

I remember we sat outside in the backyard on the porch of the guesthouse where Z used to sleep. Probably where she used to sleep with him. I was anxiously gnawing on the bracelet she gave me the night before it happened, lost in the memories and the pain. He gave me his flask and let me finish off the rest. We sat on that cold, concrete patio and cried together for what seemed like hours while everyone else was inside smiling, laughing, and moving on.

I don't like to think about that night much -- the desperation I felt, the way we figured out Remy wasn't the only one that preferred to cover pain with pleasure. I was a bit shy of legal and quite a bit past tipsy, but somehow, I convinced him to come with me to the guesthouse bed. I wanted to go further -- so much further -- but Remy, drunk or not, had the wits about him enough to know that us being together was wrong in plenty of ways. Rather than giving in to my desperate attempt, he pinned me down and got me to bare it all in a different way. 

I spilled. I told him where the money was really coming from; what, and occasionally who, they sold to make it. I told him about what my father made Z do with his associates when she was younger, the way my mom encouraged her to keep quiet by guilting her and eventually feeding her addiction. I even told him how I sat by and watched, never saying a word. 

Then Remy told me he already knew.

He knew all of it, all along, but he hadn't said a word either. He knew every fucked up thing she had been through and still loved her, just like me. For the first time since she passed, I didn't feel alone.

That's when everything changed for us. That's when we became the brutally honest, no-filter level of close we are today, and there was no going back.

I wouldn't have it any either way now, but I know I had every intention of being with Remy that night, but when the morning, everything was different. Now, we don't talk about what almost happened. We only talk about the shit we did the next week to get my parents thrown in prison.

Sometimes, I wish we hadn't done that either.

"Ready to go?" Deven asks me, breaking me away from my thoughts and back into the clinic waiting room.

"Yes!" I say as I grab my purse. "Let's."

♡♡♡

We make it back to Dev's apartment and I get comfortable on one of the pillows on the floor. Leaning my back on the couch, I lay out my textbook on the ground and open my laptop on the little table. I've become too comfortable at his place and probably spend too much time here, but I think that's what friends do.

His apartment is small and cozy, not over-the-top like Daniel's. Rather than existing in the silence like I do there, here all we do is fill the spaces with laughter and delicious tea. It's a real friendship, something I haven't had in a long time. If anything, I wish we didn't have to hide it as much at school, but Dev seems quite comfortable with hiding. 

He comes over and sits next to me with a sigh. He hands me my tea and asks, "How is your life?"

"Full of dicks. How's yours?"

He laughs. "Much of the same."

"Still being as big a slut as I am?"

"How else would I fill my time?" He holds up his mug in cheers. I clink mine against his then take a sip. As Dev starts to read, I wiggle the muscle fibers in his slim arms and legs, both of us enjoying the company.

"So ... I went to therapy again today, right?" I begin to explain my random thought. "I was all ready to tell my therapist that I might be falling for my Sugar Daddy, and she said she thinks I've been in love with my brother this whole time," I tell him, unable to hide the annoyance from my tone. "It's fucking ludicrous."

Dev gives me a strange look. "Why is that ludicrous?"

I hesitate because I'm unsure of how much I should tell him. I trust him, oddly enough, but I like having my relationship with him stay new and separate from my past. "He was in love with my sister."

"You have a sister?"

Dammit. I sigh, not wanting to answer. "I did."

He frowns. "I am so sorry to hear that."

"It's ..." I want to say fine, but it's not. "It is what it is. I don't think there will ever be a day when we don't miss her and look at each other like family because of their relationship. Plus, we're way too close in some really fucked up ways."

He grins and I give him a curious look. "Do you realize you never said you don't love him?"

A creeping feeling crawls up my spine. "Well, I don't," I say. "I can't feel that way about him. He is very important to me, but I could never love him like that."

"Like what exactly?"

"Like ... romantically."

He looks me over as if questioning the validity of my response. "Are you aware of the Greek definitions of love?"

The what? "Are you aware that you've been in school too long?"

He smiles. "I will be in school forever if you want to be technical about it." He sets down his tea and crawls over to a pile of books that set at the base of a small bookshelf. I enjoy the view of his perfect, little ass while he searches through it. He pulls out a small book, sits back next to me, and opens it to a tabbed page. "Tell me if I become too much, but this explains what I was referring to."

He hands me the book and I read it as a psychology text supplement; a list of words in Greek, each with a paragraph of definition below them. "What is this?"

"These all mean 'love'," he says. I give him a quizzical expression. "Many Greek philosophers understood that emotion, love especially, was a significant part of being human. Experiencing love, Plato once explained, was the ultimate way to know whether someone had fully experienced life."

I feel myself start to sneer. "That sounds too mushy for Plato. And how the fuck do you know that, scientist?"

He tuts at me the way he does when I give him sass. "I know many things," he answers with a furl of his hand and a cheeky grin. "This," he gestures back to the book, "defines seven types of love."

He drapes his arm around my shoulder and leans in to point at the page. I try to ignore the sudden warmth that covers my body, along with the ache that starts between my legs. Flirty little fucker.

"If you disregard Storge, the love between a parent and child, and Agape, the love of the public or giving back to one's society, the other four can be considered romantic in nature." I look over at him. My mind stays on his words, but my eyes trace the expression on his face; the relaxed, subtle happiness that shines from within him when he teaches. Stop drooling, Mags. "Ludus is a playful relationship or adoration. In adults, it is a type of ... um ... non-romantic ..."

"Platonic?"

"Yes! A platonic type of enjoyment between friends." He smiles at me. "I would say that is what we have, no?"

"Yeah. But only because you'll never let me fuck you," I joke.

He laughs but doesn't dignify me with a response. "Eros is the most well-known. The lust we feel for someone, the longing we have that lingers past sexual encounters. The erotic form of love. Do you think that could be what you are feeling towards Daniel?"

My eyes leave his face, and I picture Daniel's instead. The way his expression changes as his eyes trace over my body. The hint of a smile he gets when I make him happy. My body warms at the thought. Lust definitely isn't love. "Probably," I admit. "Definitely a little, at least."

Dev nods. "Philia is the love that comes from a friendship that is balanced, caring, trusting. Loving. That is most likely what you have with the brother that is not your brother."

I glare at him. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean I want to fuck him or marry him."

He smiles as if he caught me in a lie. "Philia is a very strong form of love in many marriages. The trust and confidence you have in another person through friendship often translates well into a long-term, romantic relationship. What is better than partners who are each other's best friend?"

What the fuck is wrong with everyone today? I stare at him, lost somewhere between my anger and fear.

He smiles and turns back to the book. "Pragma is what most consider true love. It is the love of long-term lovers, of married elders, of people who feel they fall in love with their significant other over and over every single day." He leans up to accentuate his point. "Whether you believe you have Ludus, Eros, Philia, or any combination with the people in your life, figuring who you can find Pragma with will show you who you truly love."

My chest starts to hurt, and I place my hand over it. Under my palm, I feel my heart beating rapidly, but I can't pin down exactly why it's doing that. Romance is not something I want or need in my life right now. Neither is love. People need to stop fucking mentioning it.

"Deven," I sigh. I don't want to figure out what I'm feeling, so I decide to make a joke. "Why can't you be attracted to women, too? You're making me feel a little pragma-tic right now."

"Maggie," he says with a smile. "I never said I was not attracted to women."

I stare at him trying to decide if he actually said the words, or if the throbbing between my thighs made me hallucinate them. "Excuse me?"

_____

A/N: Yes, I'm stirring the pot. In my white shirt. 

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