I love you.

Three words. They look so small, and yet its impact is so enormous. When put together, these three little words create what many believe to be one of the most complex sentences in the English language.

I love you.

It's a simple phrase, but can be vastly complicated depending on where, when and how it's delivered. How someone responds to it, and even how fast or slow that response is, can be quickly perceived many different ways by the person who said it.

I love you.

Anyone who says that words are powerless hasn't heard that phrase said to them enough in their lifetime. To hear anyone say those words to you, whether it be your mother, a child, or even your lover, most of the time that simple sentence will bring a warm sensation to someone body. When someone takes the time to express love, most of the time you can feel that love. The look in someone's eyes, the smile on their face, and other gestures give the recipient signs that the statement is legitimate. It makes the moment that much more special if you appreciate who is making the endeavor.

I love you.

And then there are the other moments, when some people are not ready to hear that, and are caught off guard. They have that look on their face, like a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. They didn't expect to hear that particular sentence and are dumbfounded and at a loss for words. Someone could be lighting fireworks off in the background and that person will not even notice, and the world as they know it has stopped and slowed down to a crawl. Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion for both parties, and the next moment could be a moment of outright bliss, of a fucking train wreck.

I said I love you.

Unfortunately for Asher Jefferson, he was experiencing the kind of reaction that pretty much the aforementioned train wreck. There was a very beautiful woman sitting in front of him and saying those three words that should make everyone feel good inside, but he didn't feel that way. He was stunned and even at a loss for words, with a blank look on his face as he if his brain was suffering from a critical error. If his brain was a computer, it was currently showing the blue screen of death and badly needed to be restarted.

Did you hear me?

Jefferson could see the emotion in her tone, as the lady standing before him was starting to take offense to his response, or in particular this case the lack there of one. He covers his mouth for a moment, and took a deep breath. There were several possible responses popping into his head, and he had only seconds to pick one and hope that it didn't feel like he was dropping a grenade into the middle of the room without the pin in it. It was at this point, where Jefferson decided to mirror the lady for a moment and stall for time to think.

"Yes," he finally replied, "I heard you, Amanda. I've always heard you."

"Alright," Amanda said, deeply sighing herself. "And?"

"And what?" Jefferson asked, still trying to stall.

"And what?" Amanda repeated, "Are you going to respond to what I've just told you?"

"Honestly," Jefferson answered, "I don't know."

"No answer is still an answer," Amanda retorted.

"No answer is better than a bad answer," Jefferson argued.

"Touché," Amanda said, showing a little frustration. "Why does this feel like I'm pulling teeth?"

"This is complicated," Jefferson finally said, "What you're suggesting isn't appropriate. It's unprofessional."

"Unprofessional for whom?" she asked him.

"For everyone," Jefferson said, "What you're suggesting isn't allowed. I hate to use the word, but it's strictly forbidden."

"Are you accusing me of being unprofessional?" Amanda asked.

"No," Jefferson said, as he wasn't eager to dig his hole any deeper, "You are being honest with me, and that's what you're supposed to do. If I respond the wrong way, I would be the one that is being unprofessional."

"You don't believe me, do you?" she then suggested.

"I didn't say that," Jefferson corrected her, as he now felt like he was walking through a minefield without a map.

"All I said was that I loved you," Amanda repeated, "What is wrong with that?"

"There's a lot wrong with that," Jefferson said, as he needed to stand up for something that meant so much to him.

"Such as?" Amanda demanded, eager to defend her hill.

"You don't know me," Jefferson explained, "Up to this point, our interaction has be strictly professional. It's not possible to love me because you don't know me personally. You're in love with a perception of me that isn't true. Trust me, I am not worthy of your love."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"That's a terrible thing to say," Amanda said, "I think everyone is worthy of love."

"That might be true," Jefferson conceded, "But I'm not talking about love in general, I said your love."

"Why is that?" Amanda asked. "It's it our age difference?"

"God, no." Jefferson said, "Age is just a damn number. I've date women younger than you, but I've also dated women older than myself as well. Age doesn't dictate chemistry between people or how mature a person can be."

"Then why not?" Amanda asked, as she kept digging.

"Because I'm your therapist." Jefferson answered, "To accept your love is not only unprofessional, it's a breach of ethical standards."

"Says who?" Amanda said, frustrated by the direction their talk was taking.

"We could start with the APA," Jefferson started, "That's the American Psychological Association, as well as the medical licensing board that allows me to work in this state. It's actually a criminal offense, and I could go to prison for accepting your love."

"Are you serious?" Amanda asked.

"I'm afraid so," Jefferson said, trying his best to be sensitive and yet remain professional. "It's not uncommon for someone to develop feelings for the person who is helping them work through problems. You're sharing intimate details with us that most people normally wouldn't unless it was with a trusted partner. It's very easy for people to start to admire and even love someone they have that much trust and compassion for. You feel close to me, but that's not love. We know this and that's why we can't accept it."

"This happens to you often?" Amanda asked.

"More often than I'd like to admit," Jefferson answered, "To the point were we have a name for it."

"What is it?" his patient asked.

"It's called transference," Jefferson explained, "Transference is when a patient redirects unconscious feelings to a new object, which in this case happens to be me. It's not uncommon for a patient to transfer feelings that are meant for someone else, such as a parent or partner, onto a therapist who the person is in a professional, therapeutic relationship with."

"What kind of feelings?" Amanda asked.

"Every feeling there is," Jefferson continued, "Transference isn't just about sexual feelings, as the feelings being transferred could sadness, anger and frustration. I once had a patient to transferred the anger he had towards his father to me because his father was dead and he had no other way to release the feelings and hostility that was burdening him."

"Does this mean this love is meant for someone else?" Amanda inquired. "That I'm in denial by transferring it to you?"

"I didn't say that," Jefferson said, trying to be gentle. "It could be as simple as mistaking your feelings and misinterpreting them."

"So you don't believe I'm in love?" Amanda asked.

"Probably not," Jefferson said, "You don't know me. The person you are having feelings for is not the man I am."

"What do you mean?" Amanda said.

"You know nothing about me, personally." Jefferson explained, "and if you did, you might run for the hills like so many have before."

"Is that so?" Amanda said, intrigued rather than disgusted. "You are not very kind to yourself."

"Perhaps I don't deserve kindness," Jefferson countered.

"There you go again, Amanda observed, "Saying you're unworthy of something that I think everyone should get."

"That doesn't make my statement less true," Jefferson said, enjoying their little banter. "Despite how good at my job I happen to be, I'm haven't been the best friend, husband or even farther. I'm a flawed man, and you don't get to see those flaws when sitting here. People often get an image that is cherry picked, and is an untrue image of the therapist who sits before them. You don't love me, because the man you think you love doesn't exist."

"Wow, that was pretty deep." Amanda said, "You are seriously tossing yourself under the bus to save my feelings?"

"I appreciate the thought," Jefferson said, "But you don't know me."

"Maybe I want to know you," Amanda declared.

"I won't let you," Jefferson countered, "I cannot do that because your therapy and healing is more important than what could be. I'm not willing to risk your progress and your mental health for something that isn't even allowed in the first place."

"Nice cop out," Amanda said, as she sat back into her chair. "Using professional standards to weasel out."

"It's not weaseling out," Jefferson disagreed, "These rules exist for a reason, and it's to protect you and even myself from mental and even physical harm. It's no different than a doctor taking advantage of you when you're in a vulnerable state. It's forbidden and unethical for a doctor to abuse their power like that. I have too much respect for my profession, for myself, and for you to even consider the idea. It's not happening, Amanda. I am not an option."

"That's pretty harsh," Amanda said.

"I apologize," Jefferson replied, "But it's a truth that needs to be made, a point that I have to be absolutely clear about.

"I feel like such an idiot," Amanda said, even tearing up.

"You shouldn't," Jefferson said, going into damage control. "Transference is completely normal, to the point where books have been written about it. It's discussed openly at school to make sure everyone is aware of what's expected of us when it occurs."

"I get it, transference is bad." Amanda said, feeling rejected.

"I didn't say that," Jefferson corrected her, "Many in my field believe transference is a actually a good sign depending on the feelings being transferred. If someone is feeling love, like you are, some suggest that means therapy is working and that trust has been greatly established. The more you trust someone, the more feelings will rise and that's completely normal. No one is going to judge you for having these feelings. We can talk about them, discuss why you feel this way and explore their source. We just cannot act on them."

"How do you feel about it?" Amanda asked.

"Honestly," Jefferson said, searching for the right words. "I'm flattered. It takes courage to even be able to say that to someone. Most people chicken out and never make their feelings clear to those they care about. I've been guilty of this myself, the fear to tell someone how you feel."

"Why didn't you?" Amanda asked, curious to know.

"I told you what the reason was; fear." Jefferson repeated, "I was afraid that she would reject me, and even humiliate me. I wasn't willing to take that risk, even if it meant never knowing how she felt about me. Today you were more brave than most people ever are. I appreciate that you feel that way, but I cannot accept it for the reasons I've already laid out."

"So you don't care about me?" Amanda asked.

"I didn't say that," Jefferson said, "I do care about you, but in a professional manner, as your therapist. I care about your therapy, about your progress and your mental health."

"Do you know what they say about forbidden love?" Amanda asked.

"I'm sure a lot has been said about the subject," Jefferson replied, "But I'm curious to hear what you've heard about it."

"Mark Twain said it has a charm about it," Amanda said, "And it's that charm that makes it undeniable."

"That's very interesting," Jefferson said, "But Miranda Kenneally once said unrequited love is the most expensive thing on the menu, and sometimes you have to settle for the daily special."

"Is that so?" Amanda asked.

"It is so." Jefferson confirmed, "Because our time is up."