C.E.E (Corrective Emotional Experiences)

Chapter One

A corrective emotional experience is a strategy, often employed in therapy, in which the person reexperiences an old, unsettling conflict but with a new ending.

His body rocks from the force of the thrusts. He's silent, but his partner is loud, obnoxiously so as he grunts in Lux's ear. The room is hot, too hot, and he can't concentrate on anything else other than the beads of sweat that appear on the man's hairline. He's already mildly disgusted; sex is a bit of an issue for him. It has been since... no. He can't think about that. He won't think about that now. He needs to stay present.

Focus on how his body feels.

Focus on how when the clumsy man on top of him actually slows down a bit, it starts to feel good and not like someone is constantly jabbing him in the same spot over and over and over.

Focus on anything but the sweat that's beginning to roll down his partner's forehead to his cheek.

Fuck.

He can't focus on anything other than that; the fact that this man is sweaty, and the room is hot and he wants to feel good but he fucking can't.

"Stop, stop," Lux rushes out. He's going to be sick. He doesn't know if it's from the greasy dinner his date insisted on eating, the fact that he drank more wine than he normally does, or just the sex. "I'm going to be sick."

Lux scrambles to push the man off of him and lunges off the bed, stumbling in the dark room towards what he hopes is the bathroom. Fortunately, it was. Unfortunately, it's in complete and utter shambles, which doesn't help the overwhelming feeling of being dirty and disgusted with himself.

He has a bone breaking grip on the toothpaste caked sink, head lowered as soft lavender curls fall over his shoulders and just barely misses dragging in the filthy bowl. He's shaking, his body trembling as he struggles to catch his breath.

Breathe. You're okay. Breathe. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly counting to ten, then twenty, and relaxing as his ragged breath becomes even.

You're okay. Everything is fine. You're fine.

He turns on the tap, splashing cool water on his face in an attempt to calm his nerves. When he lifts his eyes, fear locks them in place. His reflection is there, only it's not. He's younger, maybe nineteen. Time seemed to bleed together when Lux was with him. His  hair is shorter, shoulder length and he loves it.

Loved.

He can feel the hand in his hair, the fingers tightening and causing little flashes of pain to prickle across his scalp. The shears open close to his ear, the sound of metal sliding against metal finally making him break. He cries. Or he thinks he does. Maybe Lux told him how much his hair means to him. Maybe Lux didn't fight him on it. He was tired of fighting after all. Lavender flutters around him, the ringlets drifting to his lap and sticking to his tear-stained palms.

"Much better. See how handsome you look? My gorgeous boy."

A loud knock on the bathroom door snaps Lux out of his stupor. He wipes the water from his face and gathers his hair to toss over his bare shoulder. His fingers grip the door handle, and he inhales a slow breath. He's leaving. He's not going to stay for pity sex. He doesn't have to. He's better than that. He doesn't owe this man anything.

That's what he tells himself as he opens the door. It repeats in his mind as his date grips his arm. It gets a little quieter when the man begs Lux to, "let me finish". He says no. Softly. But it was still loud enough for his date to insist as he's pushed to his knees.