Half Truths: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Rachael Brownell

  Daphne thinks it over for a minute, twisting her, blond strands around her finger as she contemplates what she wants to say. It’s the same color as her brother’s but a darker shade. Thick from what I can tell, it’s only a few inches longer than Alex’s resting delicately on her shoulders with a slight natural curl at the ends.

  Thinking about Alex has me remembering the dream I had about him last night. I let him kiss me in the kitchen while I was cooking dinner. Things got hot and heavy until the smoke alarm went off. In reality, it wasn’t the smoke alarm. It was my phone yelling at me to get up and stop dreaming about the sexy man who lives across the hall.

  When she finally speaks, pulling me from my thoughts, I’m not surprised by what she says.

  “You first.”

  “Okay. What do you want to know?” Every patient asks me to talk about myself. Some refuse to share anything with me until they’re satisfied I’ve given them a complete background on myself.

  A background I’ve made up of course. Some of it’s true but not all of it. I tell them a little about my mother so they understand I’ve been where they are in a way. I want them to feel the struggle I felt because of her addiction. To see that their decisions affect the people around them. And of course, it has a happily ever after.

  My mother is clean as far as they know. Living happily. She kicked her addiction, and life for everyone got better. The one thing I don’t tell them about is Phoenix. I leave him out of the story completely.

  “Where are you from?”

  Normally, I’d share the truth with her, but with Alex living across the hall from me, I feed her the lie I’ve made Phoenix memorize the last few years. The lie that I live every day to keep parts of my life a secret from everyone around me.

  “Oregon.”

  “Portland?”

  “Just outside the city.”

  “What’s it like there?”

  Thank God I did some research on the area before working it into my lie years ago. This question comes up more than I expected, and I like to keep my lies as authentic as possible.

  “It’s a lot like most big cities. Tall buildings. Tons of things to do. The weather’s not as nice as it is here, though.” Pausing, I wait for her to ask me another question but when she doesn’t, I jump in. “What’s Chicago like? I’ve never been there.”

  “Lots of people. Crazy traffic. Cold in the winter, nice in the summer.” Short, simple statements. No emotion behind them.

  “And where you grew up? The suburbs, right?” I already know the answer, but I want to see how she describes it.

  “A gated community. Tons of overpriced houses filled with families that didn’t give a shit about each other.” There’s a slight hint of annoyance in her voice.

  It’s not just her family she views as dysfunctional. It’s the society she grew up in as a whole. That’s not abnormal. No matter if a patient is rich or poor, their view on the social class they belong to is often skewed by their experience. They tend to reject what they know and blame their surroundings for their downfall.

  “And your parents? What were they like?”

  This isn’t normally as tricky of a question as it is with Daphne. I know I need to ask about them at some point. Dead or alive, they play a part in all of this.

  “Self-absorbed,” she states, her irritation with our conversation becoming apparent.

  “And your brother?”

  It feels wrong asking her about him. It shouldn’t. But the fact he lives across the hall and has my panties twisted up makes it seem like I’m overstepping. Maybe if I weren’t attracted to him. If I hadn’t dreamed about him last night.

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” she replies quickly, standing and moving to the window.

  “Okay. I know this is hard, Daphne. You’re past the withdrawal stage. I know you can see things clearly and reality sucks. So tell me, what you would like to talk about? Where is your head right now?”

  “You.” Her voice is strong. Stern. Like when a mother scolds you.

  “You’re thinking about me?”

  “No, I’m wondering why you think you know me so well.” Turning to face me, she crosses her arms over her chest as she waits for my reply.

  Honesty is going to get me further with her than lying will. She’s intuitive. She’ll be able to see right through my lies.

  “I know what your file says but that’s not much. There’s a lot of holes only you can fill in. How you ended up here and why. So, no, Daphne, I don’t know you. You won’t give me a chance to get to know you. I do understand how you feel, though.”

  “That’s not even possible,” she protests.

  Keeping my voice calm and collected, I reply, “It is. I’ve lived what you’re going through. I helped my mother get clean when I was a teenager. Helping her is what inspired me to go to college so I can help other people. So I can help you. I hated seeing her like that, watching her struggle, and I don’t want anyone else to feel the same way.”

  Daphne brushes off everything I said. She doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t care. Nothing will be good enough of an explanation for her.

  “And that makes you an expert on everyone who’s ever done drugs? I don’t think so.”

  “No, it doesn’t. What I went through has helped me help others, though.”

  “And your mom… you helped her overcome her demons? She’s all better now? Living a life you approve of?”

  No one else has ever challenged me like this before. They take me for my word and move on. Whether they believe me or not. Not Daphne. She needs answers. She won’t trust me unless she has them.

  Before I can answer her, she says, “I think I’m done.”

  “I was hoping we could talk a little longer,” I admit, watching her closely.

  “And I was hoping I could go home. We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  Daphne doesn’t even glance in my direction as she storms out my door.

  She’s not ready for visitors. Far from it. Still, I’m hopeful seeing Alex will help her, and that’s what I plan to tell Vivian when I give my assessment to her later. Daphne needs someone to lean on, and although she doesn’t trust Alex right now and she’s still angry with him, he’s all she has and she knows it.

  Talking about Alex has me thinking about him. He consumes my thoughts for the rest of the day, knowing he’s going to be visiting her tomorrow. It also makes me wonder if I’m going to see him tonight when I get home. There’s no avoiding him. Not with him living across the hall and Phoenix taking a liking to him already. And not as long as his sister is a patient here.

  My patient.

  Whose therapy needs to come first. Before my own needs.

  Needs Alex could fulfill, I have no doubt. But I can’t let him. I can’t go there. And I need to stop thinking about him. I already need to change my panties. I’m meeting with him tomorrow, here, in my office. To discuss his sister. Nothing more. I need to keep my thoughts professional and dig that line in the sand a little deeper.

  7

  Alex

  * * *

  I want your pleasure.

  Of course, I didn’t say it loud enough for her to hear me. That would have shaken her in a way I’m not sure she would have been able to rebound from.

  She was already fighting a losing battle. I saw the way she reacted when I touched her. There’s a war raging inside her that mimics my own. One we both want to fight for but are afraid we’d lose too much even if we won in the end.

  For me, I can’t risk her finding out the one thing that’s holding my entire life together right now. The lie I created. Daphne needs to finish rehab. She needs to find her way back to who she once was. Before the drugs took over her life. Before everything turned dark.

  Still, there’s this growing need inside me, and every time I lay eyes on Harley, it’s compounded. It strengthens, drawing me close to her. Closer to wanting to risk it all for a little taste of heaven.

  My lack of control
over my actions speaks volumes. I’ve never had this strong of a reaction to any woman in my life. The last time I wanted anyone even close to this much was in college. My freshman year. Heather.

  She was a beauty, sure. Sexy as hell. Available. And I had her, but I wasn’t the only one. Everyone had a taste. She slept with more of my friends than I care to admit. When I found out, I wanted to blame them for seducing her, but it was the other way around.

  Drunk college boys aren’t that hard to get in bed.

  All you have to do is offer, and most of them jump at the chance.

  So that’s what she did. Over and over again. And no one said a word to me. I had to walk in on her riding a guy from my dorm, on the washer in the campus laundry room for anyone to see. She had no shame. Didn’t even stop when she saw me walk in.

  I should have known she wasn’t worth it. I barely had to put in any effort. She slept with me on our first date. She invited herself back to my dorm room. Didn’t care that my roommate was fast asleep in the twin-sized bed only a few feet away. At least, for the first twenty minutes, he was.

  Heather wasn’t quiet. She lacked a filter. It was as if she wanted the entire dorm to know she fucked me for hours. Found out the hard way there was a reason for that.

  There was no chase, no thrill in being with her.

  For her, it was all about sex. She wanted to get her rocks off, and anyone willing to help her was welcome. She wasn’t even ashamed of her actions. You could almost say she was proud. She bagged Cambridge men. Men who were highly regarded.

  I’m not sure why. Most of the guys I went to school with were assholes and idiots. Sure, there were a few of us that had been accepted to the Ivies, came from prestigious families, and the likes. Not all of us, though. That didn’t seem to matter to her. In her mind, we were men who were making something of ourselves and going places. The fact that we were enrolled at Cambridge made her feel like a queen among her peasants.

  It wasn’t long after we broke up that I found out more about her. About where she came from. Who she really was. It helped me to understand her a little better. She was from a poor, urban neighborhood. Regarded as white trash. I’m sure she assumed none of us would want anything to do with her if we knew her truth.

  The thing is, she didn’t even give us a chance to get to know her.

  I couldn’t give a shit less where she came from. We’re all ashamed of our families or our past at some point in time. It’s what we do to change our situation that matters. It’s what we make of ourselves in the process.

  We need to learn from our mistakes so we don’t repeat them.

  Well, I’m not only learning from mine but from my parents’.

  My father truly believes he has everything that matters in this life. Money. Respect in the community. He’s at the top of his profession.

  Fame and fortune mean nothing if you have no one to share it with, though.

  And my mother doesn’t count as ‘sharing’ his life. She lives on a different planet most days. The only thing she shares is a bank account, and I’m sure she doesn’t have access to all of the money. My father may be many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He loves his money enough to protect it.

  So when I look at Harley, knowing she’s hiding something, it makes me wonder what type of woman she is. Is she like Heather? Trying to be someone she’s not? Or is it something else?

  I worry someone’s already destroyed her in a way that’s beyond repair. A man. Maybe Phoenix’s father. And if that’s the case, the challenge of helping her repair her broken heart is tempting.

  Which is why I want her in my bed.

  Beneath me.

  So I can show her what it feels like to be treated the way a woman deserves. To be ravaged with respect. To experience pleasure.

  Before that can happen, I’m going to have to get her worked up. Make her want me. Tease her to a point she comes to me ready and willing. Make it so the only way she can get release is to be with me.

  In a sense, I’m going to have to break her.

  So that’s what I plan to do.

  I’ve memorized the lies I’ve told. I’ll stick to my story, and everything will be fine. I have to keep telling myself that because the idea that this could turn out any other way is unacceptable.

  “Daph,” I call as I knock on her door.

  Room 113.

  I wrote it down on my hand when I couldn’t find a piece of paper this morning. I’m in the right place. I’m sure of it.

  “Hello,” I say a little louder, jiggling the handle.

  “She’s not in there,” I hear someone say behind me. When I turn, I find Vivian standing in an open doorway. “She’s in Ms. Anderson’s office.”

  Ah, the beautiful Harley Anderson. I knew I was going to get to see her today. I’ve been looking forward to it since the other night. This meeting is on her turf, though. I feel at a disadvantage.

  Vivian walks me to Harley’s office, updating me on Daphne’s progress. She’s impressed with the strides she’s been making. She had her first group session the other day and then met with Harley yesterday for her first one-on-one. According to Vivian, it was short but Harley was able to get her to talk enough to pinpoint a few things she would like to focus on with Daphne.

  Me being one of those things.

  The thought of Daph and Harley discussing me makes me nervous. It’s going to happen no matter how I feel about it, so I’ll have to see how it plays out.

  Vivian’s also afraid that Daphne’s moving through the program at a rate that’s sure to cause her to have a late-stage setback. According to her, Daph is saying and doing all things by the book. As if she’s rehearsed what she needs to say.

  Which probably is because some of her story is rehearsed.

  Normally, patients are still reeling from being here. Isolate themselves. Don’t talk to anyone, especially their counselor. We’re at the end of week two, and she believes Daph is at least a week ahead of where she should be. It’s both good and bad news.

  Meaning, if she doesn’t slow down, she’s sure to have to repeat the program. Her twelve weeks would start over. From the very beginning. I’d be here longer than planned, giving my parents a better chance of finding us.

  Shouting reaches us from down the hall. It gets louder, and I soon recognize Daphne’s voice. I look to Vivian for guidance, and she motions me over to a set of chairs against the opposite wall.

  We wait, in silence, for the situation to pass. Staring at the nameplate on Harley’s door, I try to will Daphne to calm down. To take a breath. To stop yelling, compose herself, and speak clearly. We were working on those very steps before we came here.

  Nothing is ever resolved from yelling. I tried to explain it to her, but judging by the fact she’s fired up, causing Harley’s door to shake, I don’t think she took my advice to heart.

  Ten minutes later, the hall goes silent. It’s not the kind of calm silence one appreciates while sitting on the beach, watching the waves as the wind blows through their hair.

  This was an eerie, spooky kind of silence. The kind where you know it’s not over, you know something is still lurking around the corner, yet all you can do is wait.

  The calm before the storm. That storm being my little sister.

  Then it happens.

  Harley’s door bursts open, and Daphne stomps off down the hall. I move to stand and go after her, but Vivian places her hand on my arm. Looking over my shoulder at her, she gently shakes her head and nods in the direction of Harley’s open door.

  “Talk to Ms. Anderson first and let Daphne calm down. Something triggered her outburst. If you know what it is, you’ll be able to understand better how to help her moving forward, and that includes the next few hours.“

  Stepping inside Harley’s office, I’m surprised to find it in complete disarray. There are files stacked on top of her cabinet. Papers strewn about. Binders piled up on the floor. It appears to be organized chaos.

  That’s when I
notice Harley on her knees, gathering loose papers.

  Her office is a product of hurricane Daphne.

  “Please tell me my sister isn’t the cause of all this mess,” I state, reaching down and gathering two folders that lay on the floor at my feet.

  “Some of it I can blame on her. The rest on the patient before her,” Harley states without sparing me a glance.

  Working in silence, I help Harley pick up her office. She’s putting the last binder on her shelf when I notice the diploma hanging behind her is crooked. Reaching over her shoulder, I straighten it, invading every inch of her personal space in the process. On purpose.

  Her body goes rigid. She barely breathes as I continue to fuck with the frame long after it’s perfectly aligned. When I realize she’s holding her breath, I take a step back.

  Slowly exhaling, she takes a seat and motions for me to do so as well. On the other side of her desk. Putting space between us.

  “Let me start by saying that your sister has been a model patient until now. So much so that we knew this would happen. We weren’t sure when, but it was inevitable. She was progressing much too fast, and at that rate, patients begin to spiral downward.

  “It’s actually great that it happened this soon. That tells us a lot about her. Mainly that she’s determined to get out of here. She’s pushing herself that much. It also tells us that she’s not taking the program seriously. She thinks she can work the system.”

  “Work the system how?” I ask, interrupting her. She’s been staring down at an open file the entire time she’s been talking, but my interruption grabs her attention, giving me a look into her hypnotic blue eyes.

  “She thinks she can do and say all the right things and she’ll be able to go home. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to leave on her own. We have her on watch right now. Once she’s in her room, the door locks behind her. That angered her, of course, which was a big part of our fight just now. She feels like a prisoner. Her main focus is getting her cell phone back.”