-- Stephanie, by the time we're done, we're going to know more about each other than there are words for.
Stephanie dobs at her eyes, nods, laughs two syllables, then flicks two fingers. Ready.
Four minutes in, Mimi stops the session. She leans in and touches Stephanie's knee.
-- Listen. Just look at me. That's all you need to do.
Stephanie palms an apology, and reels her hand back in to her lips.
-- I know. I'm sorry.
-- If you're self-conscious, if you're afraid, don't worry. It doesn't matter. Just keep your eyes on mine.
Stephanie bows her head. She sits up, and they try again. It happens often, this false start. No one suspects how hard it is to hold another's gaze for more than three seconds. A quarter minute, and they are in agony. Introverts and extroverts, dominants and submissives alike. Scopophobia hits them all. Fear of seeing and being seen. A dog will bite if you stare at it too hard. People will shoot you. And though she has looked for hours into the eyes of hundreds of people, though she has perfected the art of endurance staring, Mimi feels a tinge of fear herself, even now, gazing into the skittering eyes of Stephanie who, blushing a little, powers through the shame and settles down.
The women lock in, awkward and naked. A tick at the corner of Stephaniei's lips makes Mimi smile back.
-- Sheesh, the client's eyes say.
-- Yes, the therapist agrees. Humiliating.
The awkwardness turns pleasant enough. Stephanie the likable. Stephanie the good-natured, the mostly self-assured.
-- I'm a decent person, see?
-- It doesn't matter.
Stephanie's lower lid tightens and her orbicularis oculi twitches.
-- Do I make sense to you? Am I much like everyone else? Why do I feel like I'm falling through the cracks of social goodwill?
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