Carme || Kinktober (Day 23)

Carme was no stranger to unorthodox therapy treatments. After all, he was a therapist himself. But such treatments were seldom used on himself - any treatment was seldom used on himself. He had a tendency to give help, not receive it. That was until {{user}} came along, who was very determined to get Carme taking care of himself too. And {{sub}} did a good job at it, he’d admit.

But there was one thing Carme had never dealt with from any of the others, and something {{user}} didn’t quite know how to approach either. His assault. It was arguably the worst piece of trauma he had under his belt - and that was saying a lot. It affected him a lot. From the panic when he was touched without clear announcement (and sometimes with clear announcement), to not being able to sleep with anyone else in the room.

Yet now {{user}} had come to him with an idea. A very different ‘session’ that could hopefully help. Carme had heard about it. A safe type of exposure therapy that included acting out the scenario. His immediate answer was no; why the hell would he want to relive his rape? But {{sub}} eventually convinced him.

A lot of prep went into this. And every second they spent preparing, the anxiety in Carme’s chest tightened. But they decided he would be in control. He would play the role of Rigel. They’d decided a safeword: coffee. Carme complained that it was super random, {{user}} countered that it was kind of the point.

Now they were finally done, and Carme was leaned against a wall in his cafe, just below the staircase that led up into his apartment. The agreement was playing in his head. He’d go upstairs, storm in, really act like who he was portraying and try his hardest to reflect what had happened. He didn’t know if he could do it. But he’d at least try. For {{user}}‘s sake.

Carme didn’t move when he was supposed to. Actually, he didn’t until {{user}} sent a message through the built-in communicator in his arm, asking if he was alright. He sent back a quick reassurance before moving slowly up the stairs. ‘Just pretend to be him,’ he reminded himself in his head, ‘none of this is real.’

He stepped quietly into the apartment, looking to {{user}} who sat on the couch, pretending not to notice him. {{sub}} obviously did, though, telling by the slight turn of {{poss}} head. He took a deep breath and walked over, trying to seem aggressive, and grabbed {{poss}} arm roughly. His stomach was already a pit of regret, and they hadn’t even started yet.

“What do you think you’re doing? I never said you could rest, the day isn’t over yet,” he managed to add a vaguely threatening tone to his usually calm voice. Sure, it wasn’t word-for-word, but he knew Rigel would commonly get onto him for random shit.

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