"That’s a serious matter, Frida," the therapist said, her brow furrowed in concern. "If this continues, you might actually need to see a psychiatrist."
Frida shook her head firmly. "No, I can handle it," she insisted.
The therapist’s gaze sharpened. "You could hurt him..." she warned, scribbling notes in her folder. "Tell about her—your other personality."
Frida hesitated, the weight of her secrets pressing heavily on her chest. She couldn’t risk exposing Laz or the full truth. It was too dangerous. This wasn’t just therapy; it was like writing in a private diary, one ant to keep the therapist out of harm’s way.
"Her na is Shelly," Frida began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Laz and I... we buried her alive in a grave we dug in the backyard of our old house."
The therapist paused, pouring tea into a cup with slightly trembling hands.
"Shelly was..." Frida’s hands shook as she tried to steady herself. "The abused part of ," she confessed. "They didn’t hurt her directly—they used tools, experints, things I can’t even na. They did everything but leave a mark anyone else could see." Her laugh ca out nervous and hollow, an attempt to stave off the panic building inside her.
"And this Shelly," the therapist asked cautiously, "why does she want to hurt Laz?"
Frida exhaled deeply, her shoulders slumping. "Because she’s obsessed with him."
Frida hesitated before continuing. "When Laz moved away during our childhood, Shelly couldn’t handle it. Our parents—her parents—ostracized her, forbidding her from seeing him. She rebelled at school, turned to self-harm, and spiraled out of control."
"It got so bad they had to bring him back to her," Frida explained, her voice softening as she sipped her tea, trying to calm herself. "When he ca, he convinced Shelly to... disappear. I don’t know what he said to her, but the burial was his idea."
Frida’s fingers tightened around the cup. "He gave her the na Shelly. According to him, it ant she was a shell, soone who protected my deepest, darkest secrets. And she does. Shelly knows all my worst mories, everything I try to forget."
The therapist nodded, listening intently. "And now Shelly wants your body?"
"She wants my life," Frida corrected, trembling slightly. "I don’t know what to do."
Before the therapist could respond, Frida’s breath hitched as a subtle vibration buzzed to life inside her, sending shockwaves through her body. She nearly spat out her tea, coughing to cover the reaction.
"Sothing wrong?" the therapist asked, concerned.
"Just sipped wrong," Frida managed, her cheeks blazing as she crossed her legs tightly, attempting to stifle the sensation.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She quickly texted Laz: Stop it.
The therapist continued, oblivious. "Take note of any blank spaces in your mory, tis when you aren’t sure of your actions. That will help us track Shelly’s movents. Let’s monitor her for now, and we’ll et again next week."
Frida nodded awkwardly, biting her lip as the vibrator continued its rciless assault. The session ended, and she stumbled out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her heart racing, and there stood Laz, casually playing video gas as if nothing had happened.
"So, princess," he said, not looking up from the screen, "how was therapy?"
Frida glared at him, her pout deepening. "Don’t act like you don’t know what you did."
Laz smirked, putting the controller down as he stood and took her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Frida rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching upward. "You’re impossible."
"And you love it," Laz said, pulling her into a warm embrace.
"Let’s go Christmas shopping. We need a tree and decorations," Laz said with a grin.
Frida looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "We’re decorating your Airbnb for Christmas?" she asked, surprised.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. "Why not?"
"It’s huge! Like, ridiculously huge!" she exclaid in awe, spinning slightly to take in the scale of the place.
He chuckled, slipping his hand into hers as they stepped outside. "Well, we’d better get to shopping. Chop-chop," he teased. "I already called the housekeeper to clean up, so the place will be ready by the ti we’re back. Also," he added with a warm smile, "we should get you so new clothes for the winter."
Her cheeks flushed at his thoughtfulness, and she tried to suppress a shy smile. "You’re spoiling , Laz," she murmured.
"Always," he replied, giving her hand a squeeze as they walked into the crisp winter air.
"It’s not necessary. Just take to my dorm so I can grab so clothes," Frida protested.
Laz shook his head with a mischievous grin. "Nope. Let’s play dress-up instead."
She arched a brow at him, unimpressed. "What are you, five?"
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Maybe..." he teased, placing another kiss on her cheek for good asure.
"Laz!" she groaned, but the corner of her lips twitched upward despite herself.
He smirked, clearly pleased with her reaction. "Co on, it’ll be fun. Trust , Frida."
----
They were busy shopping for decorations—sparkling ornants, gift ideas, and festive food items. The holiday spirit seed to lift Frida’s mood, at least temporarily, until she overheard a group of giggling girls nearby, snapping pictures of Laz.
"Should I ask for his number?" one of them whispered.
"Do you think he’d give it to ?" her friend chid in eagerly.
Frida, who had been browsing the skincare aisle with little interest, perked up at their conversation. Turning sharply, she veered into the lipstick section, her fingers curling around a bright shade of pink.
As the girls continued, "He’s so handso, young, and famous! Let’s just go for it," Frida’s jaw tightened. They were just teenagers, but sothing territorial stirred within her.
Walking over to Laz with the lipstick in hand, she poked his chest playfully. "Hey, Laz," she called, pouting slightly. "Can I try this?"
Laz turned to her, first confused, then amused, his brow quirking in curiosity. Frida silently prayed he wouldn’t catch on to her jealous ploy—it would be too embarrassing.
"Sure," he said, holding out his hand. She tested the bright pink lipstick on the back of his hand, followed by a deep red, all while keeping an ear on the hushed whispers behind her.
"Is that his girlfriend?" one girl asked in a mix of awe and envy.
Frida, emboldened by their reactions, applied the lipstick to her lips and spun around dramatically. "Up’s?" she said, flashing Laz an innocent pout.
His pupils dilated slightly, and a soft smile curled on his lips, as he lifted her into his arms and she straddled him. "Oh, Frida," he said, his voice full of amusent, "you’re being extra cute today."
Without warning, he spun her around, making her giggle in surprise. "Can I try out my new lipstick?" she teased, holding back a smirk.
He nodded, playing along effortlessly.
Frida leaned in, pressing kisses on his cheek. Then the other cheek. Then his nose, neck, and forehead—every inch of his face, leaving him covered in pink lip prints.
When she pulled back, she gasped, realizing how ridiculous they both looked. The girls’ whispers grew louder, their jealousy evident.
"I’m... I’m so—" Frida stamred, her cheeks burning with embarrassnt.
But Laz silenced her with a kiss, his lips warm and reassuring. When he pulled away, his voice dropped to a low, intimate tone. "Don’t apologize. I like it. I want more."
The girls groaned in defeat, walking away muttering, "Ugh, she’s pretty, and she’s his girlfriend."
Frida buried her face in Laz’s chest to hide her smile. "You’re impossible," she whispered.
"And you’re adorable," he replied, wrapping an arm around her. "Now, let’s get back to shopping before you run out of lipstick."
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