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“Have you heard of the concept called _compartamentalization_?” asked Kat.

Her therapist, Dr Williams, looked up from his notebook. “…yes…” he said. It was an unusual question, but then again, Kat was an unusually intelligent patient.

“_Compartamentalization_…” he said, with his voice taking on a slightly academic tone, “…is a defense technique. Sometimes, a person will have thoughts or actions that are inconsistent with that person’s self image. Instead of reconciling those inconsitencies, a person will take a part of themselves and file it away and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Kat nodded. “So like, having two different personalities?”

“In a way” said the therapist. “Why do you ask?”

_Kat played with her fingernails as her mind flashed back to last wednesday night. She could see the stranger’s pillow and sheets in front of her. She could feel the cheap JC Penny cotton sheets under her nails. She remembered grunting as Matt—or was it Mike?—fucked her from behind. She loved the sounds he was making. He sounded grateful. Surprised. Shocked. Of *course* he was. 3 hours earlier he’d been having a quiet drink at his neighborhood dive, and now he’s screwing this some incredibly hot chick?! This sort of stuff didn’t happen to him._

_and that’s why Kat had chosen him. Because she craved that feeling of being utterly desired. Of fulfilling a guy’s fantasies. Of being fucked. Of living in a guy’s head rent free._

_she grunted in sync with his thrusts. ugh. ugh. ugh. ugh._

“Kat?” said the therapist. “Are you ok?”

Kat snapped back to reality. “Yeah, sorry Dr Williams” she said. “I was just distracted.”

“I was saying, why do you ask about compartamentalization?”

“Oh,” she said. Her voice sounded relaxed. Comfortable. Nonchalant. “I was asked about it by a friend. We must have seen it on TV or something.”

“Right.” said Dr Williams. “Do you feel like _you_ compartamentalize some of your behavior?” he asked.

_Flashback: Kat was sitting, drunk, in the back seat of an uber. She texted her boyfriend “I’m about 15 minutes away. Just left Natalie at her place.” She felt cum dripping down her thigh. For a second she was afraid the guy she’d just been with would text her. But of course he wouldn’t—she’d given him a fake number._

“Me? No… I don’t think so” said Kat. “I mean, I guess I like to pretend that I work out and do arts and crafts and read all weekend, instead of vegging out out and watching netflix.” she laughed, and Dr Williams laughed too.

Truth be told, Dr Williams enjoyed Kat’s visits. She was clever, and funny, and often shockingly insightful. He just…didn’t know _why_ she came to weekly therapy. Of all his patients, Kat was by far the best adjusted. She’d recently graduated from a great college, had a good job downtown, a great relationship with her parents, a steady boyfriend. She’d told him that she felt _everyone_ should get weekly therapy—and although he agreed with the concept, he had a nagging feeling that Kat was wasting her time.

She’d lay on his couch and they’d talk, and she’d ask questions about therapy, or psychology, or Jung or Freud or whatever. Her questions were often good—almost too good—and Dr Williams had on more than one occasion suggested to Kat that if she ever desired a career change, he’d gladly welcome her into his profession.

“I guess I see the appeal of it” she said. “Who _wouldn’t_ like to have multiple personalities on tap. The freedom to do whatever one wanted, with no consequences. Just boom, do whatever, and compartamentalize it away.”

“Ah” said Dr Williams. “But the person still lives in _this_ world. His or her actions have real-world consequences, and those consequences inevitably come back to bite them, their un-compartamentalized self, no matter how much they ignore that part of them.”

_Flashback: Kat, laying in her bed in back in parent’s house, during that magical summer between high college an school. “Is everything ok?” she texted. The reply came back almost immediately: “Please, Kat, never message me again. My marriage, my life, is on the line. Nobody can find out about this. What happened was a mistake.”_

_Kat hadn’t told anyone. But even so, Cheryl–Kat’s best friend–had suspected. I mean, she hadn’s suspected that Kat had fucked her dad…that was crazy! But she suspected that something was…off. And she’d stopped talking to Kat, and they’d grown distant. Consequences._

“Yeah, I guess so.” Said Kat. “That makes sense. So what should a person do then, if they find that they are compartamentalizing away? That they are living a double life?”

“Good question” said Dr Williams. “Ultimately, our job as therapists is to help a person be comfortable with who they are. To acknowledge their behaviors, and decide if those behaviors are problematic. If they are not, to be comfortable with that, and if they _are_ problematic, to learn how to avoid doing them.”

“But surely there are some behaviors that are _so_ bad, _so_ extreme, that any reasonable person would choose to not acknowledge them? Behaviors _so_ wrong that acknowledging them would break a person in two, would cause more damage?”

“Like what?” asked Dr Williams.

_Kat remembered hazily. “God, I can’t believe she’s letting us do that” one of the guys had said. She had no idea which one. She was drunk, naked on some frat bed at a college she didn’t attend. Three guys (wait, or was it four?) around her. Fondling her. She didn’t remember much from that night, but she remembered that she only had one of her heels on, the other had fallen a long time ago. She remembered a guy kneeling next to her face. Pressing a hard dick against her lips. She remembered turning her head to the side, to face him. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, and feeling the cock slide between her lips. She felt two hands spread her thighs open and a guy nestle in between them. But what made her feel worst (best?) was the phrase she remembered hearing, one cock in her mouth, one between her legs, and hands all over her body: “What did she say her name was?”_

“Oh, I don’t know. Murder, or something worse. Stuff like that. Something that is just _too_ bad.”

“Well, it is a tenent of psycotherapy that there is no such thing. Our goal is to help a person come to grips with the person that they are, so that they can become the person that they want to be.”

“Well, that sounds nice” said Kat. “Anyway, I think our time is over. See you next week Dr Williams, thanks for the education.”

“You’re welcome. It’s always a pleasure talking to you Kat.”

***

Kat wrapped her scarf around her neck and walked out into the big city cold, snowflakes flurrying around her face. Her glasses started to steam up as she walked down to the train stop. _God, I’m such a mess_ she wondered. _No, that’s not me. I can stop at any time._

***

That night Kat cuddled with her boyfriend in front of the television. “How was therapy, by the way?” he asked. “Fine” she answered. He really loved Kat. She was perfect in almost every way: charming, intelligent, nerdy, and impossibly sweet. If he could change anything about her…it was that maybe, perhaps she was too much of a prude. I mean, it wasn’t like he had _tried_ to do anything kinky or naughty with her, but like…of course she’d say no. She wasn’t that type of girl, right? But whatever. He loved her anyway.

NSFW: yes

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