When Opposites Collide Boxset

by Kathy Coopmans

I sit in the chair across from his empty desk, my impatience becoming thinner with each passing second. I start to wring my fingers together in my lap. I’d be lying if my next high wasn’t a priority in my thoughts. It would help me get through this. It’s all I think about. It’s the current thought in my head; it’s the next step I want to take. I need it. Crave it and have that consuming feeling I’d give anything up to feel numb again. I need help. God, I need so much of it that I don’t know where to begin.

  The pain fades into unforgiving thoughts. The sound of my torn flesh as my stepbrother rams himself into me must go mute. That’s why I need the high. The sounds need to be silenced. The feelings numbed, not me. I need to feel. To know that every second of every day means I’m living.

  I have a choice. I can do this.

  As long as there is oxygen in my lungs. I have a choice.

  A shadow appears in the doorway, snapping me out of my vicious vortex of thoughts. I peer up to Ronan McDaniels entering his own domain. He strides easily to his chair positioned behind his cleared-off desk without looking at me. He’s angry. Has every right to be. It’s then, with the tension in this room so thick I could get lost in it, when all my awful thoughts flood back in.

  I’m not only addicted to getting high. I’m highly addicted to sex. It’s the stepping stone to the gateway of freedom. My body needs not wants. It craves. My thighs rub together with a dampening happening in the apex of my thighs. It’s a chain reaction. I have to have the high and feel the numbing in my head while thinking sex is the highway to get there. It’s all one ball of fucked-up with me in the center.

  Ronan relaxes back in his chair, with an ink pen going between his sexy lips. Those eyes would admire me on my knees while I sucked his cock hard. No. They would not. He wants to help you. Let him.

  Choice, Amelia, you have a choice.

  The ache is real between my legs, my panties soaked, and it’s all written in that sunset behind him that I need his help. I refuse to leave here until I understand the true meaning to what, why, or how I’m here. Ronan stares at me, making it clear the ball is in my court. On a nervous reaction, I clear my throat and fight to clear my mind. It’s a struggle. The true fucking Merriam-Webster Dictionary type of definition. I bow my head. Unable to look at him. I’m so ashamed.

  “I need to say something.” Silence. So much of it that my fucked-up head has no idea what to do with it. I close my eyes. The sting of how quiet it is rings in my ears. It thumps.

  “You need to look me in the eye, Amelia. I won’t have a conversation with you about anything without eye contact.” Oh, God. Help me. Give me strength.

  I lift my head. My first thoughts battle with the shame of what I’ve done. The dimple in his chin fucking turns me on as he waits for my answer. My tongue would easily sweep into that crevice then down his chest until my lips were wrapped around his thick cock as I seek my prize to my next high. I root deep to an invisible anchor low in my belly. Please, help me.

  “I’m sorry, Ronan.” I need to say these words. I pause waiting for his reaction, but there is none. He’s blank.

  He rocks back and forth in his office chair with his pen now tapping that chin I could lick. I brush it all away. It’s time for Amelia. Time for me to stop thinking of hurting myself. Facing my fears and knocking down my weakness.

  “It was very wrong what I did. I’m in a bad mess. I…uh, I…uh…I’m an addict, and it’s not just drugs. I need help, and I’m so scared right now that if I don’t get the help I need, I’m going to die either by my hand or someone else’s.”

  The door creaks, causing me to stiffen and my stare to go directly to it. It’s till wide open. I hate hearing things. No door to my room is the only saving grace here that allows me to sleep at night. I screamed bloody murder when they first closed me in, convulsing in my bed. Begging them to take it off. I gaze at the sturdy door for long moments, waiting for someone or something to come in and rescue me. Nothing happens. No one is there. I swear someone is there waiting for me. I shake the crazy thoughts from my muddled mind. I’m losing it. Hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

  I turn back to Ronan, who is still staring at me in a way that further creeps out my mind. He doesn’t believe me, and it cuts me wide open and raw that a man who only wants to help me is a man who I threw myself at in order to ease my high. To erase the pain flowing through my veins if only for a little while. I’m a disgrace. I clear my throat. Bow my head and lift it up again.

  “I was hurt when I was younger. It made me into the person I am today.” God, each word that slips from tongue is devastating, harsh, and cruel. It’s a living nightmare. No matter how tight my insides are squeezing until I can barely breathe, or how much I think I honestly love how the old Amelia lived, I push on. I have oxygen and a choice. “My stepfather and his son raped me nightly. I fell pregnant at the age of fourteen. They became so angry. Fighting and yelling over the fact that one of them had fucked up. They took me into my stepfather’s office for an abortion. I tried. I really did try to get the words out to the nurse who helped my stepfather take the baby. I couldn’t get them to come out. I was frightened out of my mind. My mother knew and turned a blind eye to it all.” Still, there’s silence. He’s testing me. I can see the push for me to go on in his eyes. I swallow that lump that wants to stop me from talking. It does not belong there. Not today. Not ever.

  “I’d count numbers in my head. Picking multiples that were hard to memorize. I’d chant out the numbers over and over in my head to try and ignore what was happening to my body. What they were doing to me. Numbers were my game that made the pain disappear. Then one night, I snapped and ran. Survival was my game. My sanity the only victor. Only I didn’t survive, and my sanity became a loss. I found meth and the ways in how to get it. Everything became a blank slate. Didn’t matter how I got the drugs. I needed them so bad to clear my head. Those men could fuck me however they wanted as long as I was numb. When I came down from the high, I hated myself. I didn't want to let them do the things they did or see their pleasured expression as they got off on me. I needed to be numb, Ronan.”

  Silence fills the suffocating office more than ever now. Ronan continues rocking in his chair.

  “Tell me more, Amelia.”

  I don’t hesitate or stutter once the floodgates are flushed wide open. I’m not sure what he wants me to say, but it all comes rushing out. “My stepfather. He’s a surgeon. I learned at a young age that power and money trump all. I’m sterile, Ronan. Once he and his partners ripped out my insides, they made me fair game. Their seed endlessly coated my insides. Throat and vagina. I was their prey and they were the predator. I ran. Found the high. Sex, cock, and meth fuel me.

  “You fucking turned me on, Ronan. I was wrong the other day when I came on to you. The need for a release and to forget is so strong it consumes me. I wanted you to fuck me to produce a high. That was wrong, and I’m… I’m so ashamed. So incredibly sorry, and you have every right not to believe me. Just don’t give up on me. I need your help. I need you to help me get my life back. The rest of it I’m determined to do on my own. I don’t want any more pills to calm my anxiety. I just need someone to talk to. To tell me I’m going to be all right and to show me the right path to walk on.”

  I pause to catch my breath. That’s the most talking I have done all at once in years. I feel a lone tear trickle down my face. I swipe at it knowing it’s bullshit and real feelings are foreign to me. They exist, and they hurt in ways I’m not able to comprehend yet. I continue talking, letting more of my story escape.

  “My body is addicted to escaping the pain of my past. I don’t know how to stop it or even begin to heal. Honestly, Ronan, I don’t think I deserve it. When I’m high, it feels so good, like I’m in a different life. More than the drugs, more than the fucking, I hate my old self and her beauty people say I have. She makes me cringe and want to die. I can’t look at her. I want someone to love me for me. Not my looks. Not my body. Me.”

  He con
tinues rocking in his chair with a stone-cold look on his face morphing more into an understanding one the longer he stares. Frankly, him not speaking is making me nervous, but if I don’t do this now, I may never do it. I may go back to my room and take care of the craving for a high myself and the part of me that sees my life for what it is. The part on the inside that has scabs I continue to pick depriving me of healing is what’s keeping me firmly planted in this chair.

  I inhale deeply, let it out slowly, and continue on bearing out my bottomless soul. “I know I have oxygen in my lungs and the choice to make decisions, but how do I do it? How do I breathe? How do I get what they did to me out of my head and learn to like myself? I’m an addict, Ronan. I want more than anything to help myself. To find the lost person inside of me. I’m afraid I’ll die if I don’t and…” I sigh, my heart pounding up against my ribs. My words stuck, clawing up my throat and lying flat on my tongue to escape. “I really don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to know who the real Amelia is, and I’m asking you to help me.”

  35

  Zeke

  I run my hand over my slick, shaved head in frustration, wondering why in the hell Ronan isn’t saying a fucking word when Amelia had up and poured out her soul. I’m fucking livid, but even in this gray state of life I know I can’t burst in there and ask to let me help her. I’m not familiar with how all this works. All I know for sure is, every fiber in my body wants to take her in my arms and tell her that what they did to her isn’t because she’s beautiful, which she clearly is. It’s because they are sick and twisted and fucked up. They deserve to die, and one way or another I’m going to find out who they are and they will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.

  Amelia is wrong, completely wrong, because she’s not sterile. Not even close to it. I would be the man to know going over and over her records with a fine-tooth comb. I left no stone unturned making sure she was healthy and would have every single chance to live a happy life with only her internal scars left for her to battle.

  She’s lost. The things she allowed those men to do to her she didn’t do on her own. She did them because of what happened to her. It was her only way to survive.

  I grind my teeth; my need to burst through this doorframe once again assaults me with a vengeance. I trust this guy; he came highly recommended, and I need to trust my gut that he knows what the hell he’s doing.

  All of this is a swift sidekick to my temple. I shouldn’t even be standing outside of his office door. I’m glad I am, though, because even though I know it’s wrong of me, I’m asking Katch to kill those two sons of bitches who damaged her soul. Stole her innocence and screwed her head up into believing what she’s saying.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  My knuckles grow white, my mind fucking explodes, and the haze of death consumes me.

  Saxon’s words of encouragement float back in. I pull my cell phone from my suit jacket and text in the favor to both him and Katch. The two motherfuckers will pay. Pay with blood and pain. Amelia will never again have to worry about the sick bastards who hurt her again.

  She needed help, and that’s my professional duty, but with her, there’s more. And the black and white picture of my life has just been colored by Amelia Moore. The murky gray areas are turning into vibrant shades giving my life meaning.

  “Dr. Hartley.”

  I turn to see the woman from the front desk heading my way.

  I clear my throat, straighten up, and meet her down the hall thanking God that Amelia and Ronan didn’t catch me.

  “Ronan must still be in session. I’m sorry, but I really must ask you to wait in the reception area.”

  I reach down to adjust my watch on my wrist knowing it’s taking everything in me not rush in there and save her. It’s the way I tick. The shit I imagined doing for my sister but never had the chance. I steady my thoughts then force myself to smile.

  “I’ll come back at another time. If you’ll let him know I stopped by, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course.”

  No good would come of me storming into that office and taking care of her problems. Amelia is safe here and at least from the sounds of it beginning to heal. She needs to be here, I keep reminding myself as I walk toward the waiting area and out the door with a silent promise to both Amelia and myself to return tomorrow.

  I do not return until two months later.

  She’s sitting at a table all by herself studying the other patients and their families. The scene freezes me in place. Agony and longing are clearly written all over her face. She’s lonely, broken, and figuring out how to move on. I know I’m about to not only blur the line of ethics. I’m about to Goddamn obliterate them.

  I called Ronan shortly after I left here holding back the urge to rip his non-existent tongue out of his mouth for not comforting her. I shut up quickly when he told me he knows what the hell he’s doing and just because I’m the one footing the bill for her to be here that it doesn’t give me the right to call the shots.

  Well, frankly, he put me in my place by telling me her treatment is his expertise and not mine. He also informed me that he didn’t think it was wise for me to visit, but that hasn’t stopped me from calling daily to check on her progress. So, I’ve been busting my ass at work. Digging my heels into this charity function and going out of my ever-loving mind trying to help Saxon and Katch find her family. It’s a dead end. She said it was her stepfather and his son. But who in the hell are they?

  Just because she was found in an alley in LA doesn’t mean this is where she lived, nor does it mean that Laguna Beach, the town she was born in, is where she resided. There are thousands of surgeons in LA. Hell, it could be anyone of them, and I won’t rest until the one who destroyed her is buried and rotting in hell right along with his son.

  I clutch the two coffees in my hand hoping they’ll work similar to stress relief balls. The only piece of comfort I have right now is knowing the fact Saxon and the club won’t give up. They didn’t even blink twice about helping me out. Their loyalty is priceless.

  “This seat taken?”

  Amelia peers up at me with confusion covering face. Her forehead creased in concentration as if she’s trying to place who I am.

  “Um, no. But I thought today was a free day with no counseling.” Her voice has lost all of the bitterness and anger. It’s soft and tender, in stark opposite of the last time I heard her speak. I look down at my scrubs. She has no clue who I am.

  “I just wanted to visit you, Amelia.” I slide one of the coffees over to her, take a seat, and study her.

  She truly is beautiful. That’s not why I’m here, though. I’ve stayed away from her too long. The urge to get to know the real Amelia is lodged in me deep.

  She looks good. Healthy. And she’s gained weight. A long blond braid rests across her shoulder; the makeup on her face is subtle and suits her. I’m mesmerized.

  She stares at the coffee cup for a long time, then those eyes that remind me of the color of a bluebird hit mine. Intensely. My insides rattle and her expression changes to try and figure out where she knows me from.

  The woman was so sedated with all sorts of medicine, which is why I can see the reason she wouldn’t. It sucks, because I know so much more about her than she does me. But if things go according to the way I hope, we will get to know one another. Professionally, that is.

  “I found you in the alleyway.” I recoil at my own words. Jesus, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But the one thing I’ve learned while studying up more about addiction is, in order to heal they have to be honest with themselves and those around them have to be just as honest. If not more so.

  “Oh.” Her face flushes as she shifts her eyes away from mine. Then they dart down to the watch on my wrist. “You’re the man who would eat across the street frequently.”

  “Yes.” I nod. Happy she’s remembering. “I’m also a doctor and worked on you in the hospital.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell h
er everything. It weighs heavily in the back of my throat, but letting her in on my plans for her stepdad wouldn’t be beneficial in the healing process.

  She tilts her head examining my face. “You look familiar, but honestly, everything about that day seems to be a cloudy haze.”

  “That’s okay.” I glide my palm over my shaved head. “I used to have hair.”

  That gets a small and quick smile from her. “What’s your name?”

  “Zeke,” I reply.

  “And, of course, you know mine.” She pauses sinking back into a nervous shell. “And probably more than you’d ever like to know about me.” Not even close.

  I’m losing her. I see it happening right before my eyes. I’m breaking her.

  “Amelia.” I place both my palms on the table in a gentle manner. “I’m here as a friend, not a doctor. I really hope that you can accept that.”

  She wraps her arms around her middle, continuing to close herself off.

  “I don’t do friends.”

  “Well, you have one now.” I push her cup closer to her. “We’ll drink coffee together and don’t even have to talk.”

  She remains silent staring at the coffee cup with daggers. It takes long moments for her to soften up, but it feels like forever. “It’s been years since I’ve had good coffee and never one from Starbucks. I used to walk past them every day.” She picks up her cup, smells it first, then takes a tentative sip.

  “Now, you’re bringing on the pressure.” I smirk.

  “Oh, wow. That’s the best thing I’ve tasted.”

  “It’s a vanilla latte.” I guessed at what she might like.

  It seems my guess paid off when she takes another long swig then sets the cup back down and peers at the people around us.

  “I like to sit here and listen to the others chat with their families. I feel like I’m learning how it all works. You know, the healthy, social interactions.”

  I nod. It’s hell to remain quiet. Amelia’s made it clear she doesn’t want me here, and I’m not going to ruin it. I relax back in my chair, spreading my legs out in front of me. My shoe hits hers, but she doesn’t move or even acknowledge it. In fact, she keeps her train on the people around her, not once looking back over to me. I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t sting. It does. I’ve got to ease into this friendship on her terms. I’m not giving up. I refuse to allow her to shelter herself and push me away.