“I wanted to make him angry… to make him lose control.” Blair glanced up at Laura, but saw no reaction in her face. “I wanted him to see me how I really am.”

“Is that how you see yourself, Blair? As a drug addict and prostitute?”

He swallowed hard. “I… it's what I was. What I could be again.”

“Possibly,” Laura smiled noncommittally, “but somehow I don't think you really see yourself that way.”

“Why not? Everybody else does. Even Jim, if he was honest about it.” The words escaped before he'd even been aware they were in his mind. Blair took in a deep, calming breath. It didn't help much. “He says he trusts me, admires me, but underneath, it's got to drive him crazy to know I had sex with all those guys for money.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Blair barely refrained from rolling his eyes. How many times had Laura asked him that question during their sessions? And what did it matter how he felt about it, anyway? His feelings weren't going to change anything. “It's not my problem.”

Laura smiled faintly. “All right. What happened next?”

He thought about telling her they'd had the best sex of his life, and blushed. Except that, really, the sex hadn't been that great – intense, scary, but not what he'd call good. Not any more. “I… kinda freaked out.”

“Tell me about it, Blair.”

“I remembered something.” His chest felt unaccountably tight. Why had he said that? He didn't want to talk about that. Not now, not ever. His leg twitched and he realised that he wanted to pull his knees up to his chest in a defensive curl. He forced his feet to stay on the floor where they belonged, forced himself to breathe slowly, evenly. It was a while before he was able to look up at Laura again.

She was watching him, face calmly compassionate. “You know you can say anything, Blair. I'm not going to judge you.”

Easy for her to say. Blair swallowed. “I guess you hear some pretty sick shit.”

The corner of her mouth twitched in the hint of a smile. “That would be making a judgement.”

“Yeah, I guess it would.” Somehow, he managed a weak grin. “Remember how I told you once I always knew if one of Naomi's boyfriends wanted me?”

Laura nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

“Sometimes… when I got older, and I knew… I'd kinda… push a little bit.” He wiped sweaty palms against his thighs. He felt cold and shaky and too warm all at the same time. “I'd touch them… you know, hug them, or sit real close on the couch. I'd walk around in my underwear, let them see me in the bathroom. Stuff like that. And I'd watch them, and sooner or later I'd see it in their eyes and I'd know they were going to do it.”

“You remembered this when you were fighting with Jim?”

Blair nodded miserably. “I remembered… how it felt when I saw that look. The feeling of power… of being in control… and I felt that same way when I made Jim angry. It felt good.”

“And that frightened you.” Laura tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Blair, you've been studying psychology at Rainier, haven't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?”

He shook his head. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he had no idea what it meant.

“In simple terms, it refers to the phenomenon where someone who has been abused identifies so strongly with their abuser that they will cooperate in, and even defend the abuse and the abuser.” Laura smiled a little. “You see where I'm going with this.”

Blair nodded, his mouth too dry for him to speak.

She folded her hands on her lap, and shifted smoothly into lecturing mode. “There are several theories about why this happens – the instinct for survival is so strong that the victim is forced to identify with the abuser. Another, that by provoking the abuse, the victim regains some measure of control over their life. It's also been suggested that the victim may be so desperate not to perceive him or herself as a victim that he excuses the behaviour or actively participates in it.”

“But…” he'd wanted it. Wanted it.

“Blair, what you're experiencing is not uncommon. It's a well documented condition.” Laura's voice seemed unnaturally calm to Blair. Couldn't she hear the thundering of his heart? “We can work on this.”

“No!” He blinked, startled by his own vehemence. “I don't… I can't…”

He couldn't go there, couldn't look at this. Who knew what would come out? He scrambled out of his chair and almost doubled over with nausea. It took every ounce of self-control not to spew into the trashcan by Laura's desk. “I don't want to do this.”

“Blair.” Laura's voice was soft and very close. Her hand touched his arm lightly, offering support, and he shied away.

“I'm sorry.” He scrubbed at his face, smearing unexpected wetness across his cheekbones. “I can't do this. Not now.”

“That's all right.” She took his arm again, and this time he allowed her to lead him back to the chair. “We don't have to do anything right now. Would you like some water?”

“Yeah.” He drank cautiously when the water arrived but couldn't raise his eyes to look at her. “Laura, I…”

“Perhaps we should finish here.” The quiet calm of her voice helped a little. “We're almost out of time, anyway. I've got a couple of appointments to arrange with Anna, so just sit here for a few minutes. Okay?”

He nodded, ashamed now of his outburst. “Okay. Thanks.”

“I want to see you again soon, Blair. I'm going to arrange another session on Friday.” She touched his shoulder briefly. “You will come?”

He would have promised anything at that moment, to be left alone. “Yeah, I'll come.”

“All right.” The carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps, but Blair heard the quiet click of the door closing.

The shakes started almost immediately. He'd been through some pretty tough stuff with Laura, but this was the worst. He'd never felt so destroyed inside, or so afraid. He'd wanted those guys to touch him, to fuck him. What if he'd been wrong and they hadn't been interested in him like that? What if he'd made them do it? If Jim ever found out… fuck… just thinking about it made him feel sick with fear. Jim freaked out enough about the johns he'd fucked; how would he feel about this?