“Nope, no more hallucinations,” I answer, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs. I notice Dr Mercy watching me, and it makes me wonder if I turn her on in any way. I’d like to think so.
“Have you been laying off of the alcohol and drugs?”
I huff. “I’d hardly call it drugs. It’s only a bit of weed.” She gives me an unimpressed look. “Okay, have it your way. Yes, I have been laying off the booze and drugs.”
She squints one eye, surveying me. “Are you sure?”
“Fuck me, I know we’re in Spain, but I didn’t expect the fucking Spanish inquisition today.”
“Reece,” is all she says, warning me. My dick instantly hardens.
Why is it only her that can get my dick stirring?
“Yes, I’m sure.” I smirk, even though I’m lying. Just last night alone I downed three double whiskeys. Earlier today, I’d watched that tape of the doc giving Felicia a wank, had a wank myself, and then smoked a joint afterwards. Fucking fantastic.
“Your eyes look a little bloodshot.”
She’s like a fucking hawk!
“I’ve not been sleeping much.”
And that is true. I still dream of Scarlet. In it, she’s very much alive and running after me with a knife in her hand. She’s naked, blood is all over her, and there is a manic, almost demonic look on her face. Just at the point she’s about to plunge the knife in, I wake—normally covered in sweat—and strangely enough, it’s always with the hard-on of the century. A bit fucked up, but then that’s me all over.
“Why do you think that is?” she asks, glasses held at the end of her nose as she glances up at me from her writing pad.
God, she reminds me so much of Scarlet. I realise it must be all in my head, but it’s still there.
I shrug, looking away, and I know she can read me like a book. “Scarlet,” is all she says, making me cringe.
I don’t look at her when I answer. “Yes.”
I see movement out of the corner of my eye. She bends forward, lays her note pad and pen on her desk, takes her glasses off, and looks me in the eye. “Reece, we need to address this. You won’t be able to move on until we do. There’s something you’re not telling me. I don’t need to be a therapist to work that out.” When I don’t answer, and instead look away, she sighs. “Do you feel responsible for her death?” I snap my head back to her, my eyes widening. She smiles, almost triumphantly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You feel responsible, like it was you who killed her.”
I did kill her.
I don’t answer her, though. She waits for the response, but nothing comes out of my mouth.
“In one of our other sessions, you said that you blamed her for her death, and although I do feel that’s true—to an extent—I also believe you feel the tremendous burden of guilt, and until you start addressing it, you will never learn to heal.”
I fix her with my glare. “And what if I feel I don’t deserve to heal?”
Looking sad at my comment, her eyes are downcast for a second before sighing. “I think maybe that’s the first step towards healing. You first need to step up to what you feel you’ve done and learn to forgive yourself. Only when you do can you begin to heal.”
I shake my head on a laugh. “I’m not sure she would feel the same way.”
“Talk to me more about that.”
“About what?” I ask. “About the fact that she fell in love with someone else, and I refused to let her love another?”
“If you feel you need to, then yes. I want to know it all, Reece. How did finding that out make you feel? Be honest.”
I skit my eyes across the room at the numerous pens on her desk. I need to focus on something other than this gigantic fucking hole in my heart.
“I feel betrayed, beaten, pissed off, murderous—you name it.”
“You loved her. It’s only natural.”
I chuckle. “As natural as knowing that I’m fucking my own sister.”
“Well, technically, you weren’t related. You never had the same mother or father.”
“No, but she was brought up by the same scumbag of a father as I. He was supposed to be her father and ended up being the one who fucked her up the way she was.”
She frowns. “In what sense?”
“Even after all the rapes, all the beatings, and all the humiliation, she still ran to him when he clicked his fingers.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
Stretching my right leg out because it’s gone dead, I shake my head. “Fuck knows. He made her into this kinky bitch that got off on it in adulthood. She loved the fact that she knew he wasn’t her father, but yet made him believe she thought he was her real dad.”
“He never told her?” I hear the shock in her voice.
“No. She overheard her mum and dad talking after her aborting his baby went wrong.”
“It sounds as though Scarlet went through a hard time in her life.”
Upon hearing that, my feelings change—for the first time with regards to Scarlet—and instead of feeling the anger, betrayal, or guilt, I just feel sad. “She did.” Feeling a heavy heart, I close my eyes. “I wanted to make it all better. In fact, I was planning on escaping with her here until …” I stop myself before I reveal what I did to her.
“Before she died?” I nod my head. “Let’s cling onto that a moment, Reece. Tell me, what were your plans for Scarlet before she died? If she were here now, where do you think you’d be?”
“Probably married to her. And pregnant.”
“Did she want all those things?”
I smirk. “No, but I’m very persuasive. I would have made it happen. Scarlet and I were meant to be together. Nothing and no one could have stood in our way.”
“But it sounds as though she didn’t feel the same way. By your own admission, she fell in love with someone else.”
I grit my teeth. “That wasn’t love. It was some schoolgirl infatuation. She just wanted to live the youth she didn’t have for a little while. And, for a short time, I let her. I let her until I realised that she was looking at him the way she should have been looking at me.”
“How did she look at you?”
I huff. “As a means of escape. In all things. Sex, life, her family … her past.”
“It made you feel like a scapegoat?”
I laugh at the choice of word. “Yes, I guess so. I was her out. The person used as an exit from her shitty life.”
“So, if that was the case, do you really think you would have been the perfect match?”
I shrug. “I don’t care. I just know I had to have her, and when I want something, I get it.”
I can tell by her face that she’s unhappy with my answer. “Don’t you think that sounds a bit obsessive, Reece?”
I chuckle again. “I don’t care what it sounds like. That is how I felt.”
She picks up her pad and pen and starts writing again. “So, Scarlet was more of an object to you than a person?”
“Call it what you will. She was mine. Even when I allowed her to fuck others, she was still mine. Even when she was fucking my father, she was still mine. Do I need to go on?”
Crossing her legs, she looks up. “You sound angry.”
“Of course I’m fucking angry. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” I know my voice has raised a couple of octaves, but I don’t give a shit. When the thought of her rages war inside of my head, then I feel the instinct to battle.
“I’m going to be honest with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, this should be fun.”
“Your relationship was toxic.”
I laugh. “When you said that, why did I suddenly picture you in that Britney Spears stewardess getup singing her song, ‘Toxic?’”
“You’re using humour to hide how you really feel.”
“And how do I feel, Dr Mercy? You’re the expert here, so you tell me.”
She stills for a moment, watching me. “You’re hurt, confused, angry, and extremely bitter. You
feel tremendous guilt for her death—the reasons why I’ve yet to ascertain. And to top all of that off, you’re still mourning her loss as if it had happened yesterday. That wound, which was cut open all those months ago, is going to continue to fester until you acknowledge the way you feel.”
Without meaning to, I place my hand on my chest, gripping my heart like I’m trying to protect it. “I don’t need to acknowledge shit. I just need her out of my fucking head.” Closing my eyes, I rub my hands over my face.
“Reid,” I hear her whisper.
My eyes snap up to Dr Mercy, but she’s busy writing something down. “What did you say?”
She poises her pen, looking up. “I said that you won’t move forward unless you—”
“No, no, no. You said my name.”
She frowns. “What? Reece?”
Gritting my teeth, I say, “No,” but then I realise I can’t say what my name is. Not unless…
“Scarlet?” I ask her again, for probably the thousandth time in however many weeks.
She looks exasperated by me. Well, that makes two of us!
“Reece, how many times do we have to go over this? I’m not—”
And then it hits me. It’s her. It has to be. Getting up, I cut off whatever she has to say next and storm towards her. When she sees me coming, she gets up from her seat and edges up against the edge of her desk. Within seconds, I have my hand around her neck.
“I know it’s you, Scarlet. Remember this? Remember the feel of my hand around your neck all those months ago? Do you enjoy making me squirm, huh?” I see the fear in her eyes, and it should make me pull away, but instead I get angrier. “Why are you doing this to me?!” I scream, gripping harder.
“Reece!” she squeals, “Please … stop. You’re hurting me.”
Her words come, making my dick stiff. Her smell invades my nostrils, and I breathe it in like it’s my oxygen. I feel the contours of her body next to mine, and it sends my mind crazy. I have to have her.
I loosen my grip, but not enough to let her go. She’s shaking beneath me, but she doesn’t make a sound. Running my hand up her thigh, I lean in close and inhale the scent on her neck. “Fuck, Scarlet, I’ve missed you.” It’s almost as if I’m in a dream. I should shake her and ask questions, but all I can focus on right now is that she’s here … with me.
And I need her.
With a firm grip, I run my hand up her legs, and that’s when she fights me. “Reece, get off me now, or I’ll scream.”
I don’t listen. Instead, I kiss her neck, nibbling and biting her as my hand travels up higher and higher until…
She screams, surprising me enough that I don’t realise she’s pushing me off her. When I do, I rush to get back between her legs when she raises her knee and kicks me in the fucking nuts.
Blinding pain. That’s all I feel is blinding fucking awful pain.
It robs me of sight, and at first, it robs me of my hearing. But then, I hear a commotion, and it finally registers that I’m being picked up and dragged out the door by two security guards when I see Dr Mercy in the distance, sitting on the edge of her desk. Her hair is all dishevelled, and she’s crying on the shoulder of her receptionist.
Shit.
What have I done?
Scarlet
It’s a Sunday afternoon when it all happens.
I’m sitting on the sofa flicking through the channels when I hear glass shattering in David’s office. I’m about to get up and find out if he’s okay when he suddenly bursts the door open.
“I’m going out,” he says, anger written all over his face. His body is rigid, and his teeth are gritted so tightly together that I almost think he’s going to break them.
Before I can even ask, he’s grabbing his coat along with his car keys, and he’s out the door.
As the silence becomes deafening, I stand there for a few seconds, wondering what the hell has happened. I look across to his study door and notice it’s still open.
Walking—or rather waddling—towards his office, I step through only to find shards of glass on the floor by his desk. Amber liquid coats the area where the glass is scattered. As I scan the area further, I notice a crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor near the debris.
Walking as gently across the room as possible, I scoot down to retrieve the piece of paper with my finger tips. A lot of it is wet from the scotch he’s spilt, so I’m hoping it’s not completely ruined. Whatever’s in there was enough to piss him off so much that he’s just disappeared to God knows where.
As I carefully rise back up using the edge of David’s desk for support, I lay the piece of paper on the table and smooth it out as much as I can. It’s the paternity results. I scan my eyes down to the most crucial point when they land on the results.
I gasp.
My waters break.
“Fuck!” I scream, realising I’m in labour. “Of all the fucking times!” My head spins, I stumble, but luckily I catch myself before I fall. “David,” I whisper, now knowing why he must be mad. He should have stayed. He should have told me. Now he’s out there all alone and upset. There’s no telling what he’s going to do.
As I stumble towards the door to fetch my phone, a surge of pain shoots through me. It’s so bad that I have to use the doorframe for support. Gripping onto it, I let the contraction ride itself out before taking another deep breath, and gently walk towards the coffee table where my phone is. I quickly light it, dialling David’s number, but as I expected, it goes to voicemail. I leave a message to let him know the baby’s coming, and then I dial my midwife. I don’t want to go to hospital. I hate hospitals. If I can avoid it at all costs, then I will.
Thankfully, I have better luck getting through to my midwife, Janet, than I do David. She delightfully tells me to hang on in there and that she’ll only be twenty minutes.
Twenty fucking minutes.
I think I’ll die of this pain in twenty minutes.
“Fucking hell!” I screech as another contraction robs me of sight. Why the fuck do women have these things if they cause so much pain?
I’m all alone.
And I’m scared.
So fucking scared.
I need David, and that thought makes me angry inside. I don’t normally need anyone, but right now I need him more than the air I breathe. Between the contractions, I try dialling his number again, but again, it goes to voicemail. I’m so angry that I fling the phone across the room and watch as it smashes into two pieces.
And then another contraction comes.
“Shiiiiitt!” I scream as I use the edge of the coffee table to help ride out the pain. I’m gripping onto the fucking thing so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. I watch that as I remember what my midwife told me. I have to breathe through it. A bit hard to do when I’m in so much agony. How can such a little being cause so much pain?
I don’t know how much minutes go by, but it feels like hours when the doorbell finally rings, and I answer to find my midwife at the ready with all her bags and equipment.
She takes a peak around. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s out. I’ve tried to call him, but it keeps going to voicemail.”
She quickly finds the offending phone on the floor and smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m here now. I’m sure Daddy won’t be long once he realises he’s becoming a father for the first time.”
I have no time to answer as pain shoots up my back. I scream again—more loudly this time as I grip the edge of the door.
Janet springs into action, dropping her things and gently rubbing my back. “Remember to breathe. Copy my breathing, honey. That’s it.” She carries on rubbing my back as I try to keep up her steady breathing. “When this one’s over I’ll check to see how much you’re dilated, okay?” I nod my head because that’s all I can do. I’m in too much fucking agony to say anything.
Although I have a few choice words for David.
As I start to calm, Janet bends over to face me. “It’s easing off n
ow, yes?” I nod my head. “Okay, good. Let’s get you comfortable. Have a seat on the sofa for me and I’ll take a look.” She leads me to the sofa where I lie flat. “Right, let’s just raise your skirt a little.” I scoot up, and that’s when another contraction starts. I scream out in agony.
Janet’s eyes widen. “Oh, boy. We have no time to get you anywhere. You’re fully dilated.”
Now it’s my turn to widen my eyes. “What?!” I screech. “But David’s not here yet.” I’m going to kill him when I see him.
“Your baby’s ready to be born, honey. I’m sorry.”
She offers me a sympathetic stare, but it’s the last thing on my mind as another contraction rips through me. I can feel it. The urge to push like I’m dying to get a large turd out.
“I’m not ready to be a mother,” I whine. I knew I wasn’t ready, but now that I know the baby’s coming, I’m even more convinced.
“You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll be. You don’t know how many times I’ve heard the exact same words come out of a mother’s mouth. Now, scoot up. I need to place some towels underneath you.”
Raising my hip, she scoots a few towels underneath my hips. I’ve barely placed them back down when another contraction comes. “Shit, I want to push.”
“Well, push!” Janet shouts, squeezing my knee.
Just as I start pushing, a loud bang sounds alerting me to David’s return. “Scarlet!” he shouts, panic in his voice.
“She’s in here, Dad. Come quick, you’re about to meet your son or daughter.”
My contraction subsides as David strolls in. He looks harassed. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are panicked. He runs over by my side and kneels down to grab my hand. In an instant, he’s stroking my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, guilt written all over his face.
“You’re here now,” I reply.
He smiles, but then it quickly disappears. He looks across at Janet. “Isn’t she too early to be having the baby? She has another three weeks yet.”
Janet glances my way before answering. “As long as the baby’s past thirty-six weeks, it’s fine. The last weigh-in showed the baby to be a healthy six pounder.” She beams.
My Valentine Page 14
