by LW Barefoot
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I want to scream ‘no’. I want to wave at him and jump up and down to announce my arrival back to the land of the living, unencumbered by modern medicine. I might be crazy, but I am who I am.
“Harper, he can’t be in here. It violates our doctor-patient confidentiality,” Dr. Karen snips.
“I trust Brad with my life… completely,” I say and ignore the pain of regret reflected in his light eyes when I squeeze his hand. “There’s nothing we could say that he doesn’t already know.”
Karen doesn’t like this at all. I need Brad to stay in here with me.
“Would you please tell my doctor that I took my pills like a good little girl last night?” I request with sarcasm coloring my voice.
“I stood there and watched her swallow them,” he confirms.
“Are you sure? There’s no way she should have experienced a cognitive dream enough to remember it upon waking,” the doctor persists.
“Guess what? The nightmare was so real it even woke me up,” I state in all honesty, and repeat what I’ve been telling her since I first took the pills. I tasted the Sculptor’s lips, felt the cruelty of his soft hands, and I died a little more upon waking.
Brad’s eyes cut to mine and now he knows why I yelled for him to back me up. This annoying and degrading dance takes place every day and that’s lasted for three long weeks. Before that, I either saw her in her office weekly or through video chat.
I speak before Brad has a chance to, throwing my hands up in defeat.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you perform a lobotomy and send me to bed with horse tranquilizers? I think that would finally do the trick,” I spit.
My prissy doctor acts like I just slapped her. If she were sitting any closer, I would entertain the idea. Brad smirks at my statement.
“I’m trying to help you, Harper,” she says in her false sincerity and overly honest annoyance.
“You can’t help me when you won’t even listen to me,” I respond.
“Now you’re just being unreasonable. Your anger is misdirected. You’re not angry with me,” she states.
“Yes, I am. You keep me drugged. You’re stealing me from myself and I’m sick and tired of it.”
“You’re angry with your attackers, Harper.”
“You’re not listening,” I exclaim exasperated.
I stand as Brad moves between us. His gaze shoots back and forth between the two of us.
“Harper, you’re not listening. Your boyfriend looks exactly like the man who recently hurt you. You’ve described your dreams with images of the Sculptor mingling with images of Evan Hawthorne. What do you make of that?”
“I’m not the shrink. But I’ll tell you, because of whatever pills you force down my throat, I can’t feel anything,” my tears of anger spill over down my cheeks.
I’ve missed their wretched human presence.
“Sit down, Harper. You’re getting too worked up. You’re going to hurt yourself,” she says.
My anger bubbles up and boils over more. The anti-depressants make me want to hurt myself and that scares me because I’ve already hurt myself willingly. I’ve already taken the easy way out and there’s nothing easy about it.
I take my seat. Brad sits down next to me and squeezes my hand tighter. His large shoulder presses against mine and I let out a deep breath of relief, calmed by his unwavering presence.
He’s stood outside those doors every day I’ve had a session with this doctor. I walk in as a zombie and feel even more dead inside when I leave.
Every blank canvas I’ve ever seen has my imagination swirling with ideas and images I need to put on it until recently. I hate sitting across the dining room table from people I love and feeling nothing, saying nothing.
Those pills she insists are helping me are slowly killing me. I forced myself to throw them up last night so I could have my wits about me this morning.
“You were never like this in your sessions back in New Orleans,” she insists.
“We are in a constant state of change,” I tell her because she refuses to hear anything else I say.
“And what would you like to change?”
“How everyone treats me like a victim. I’d change that first and foremost. You’re the worst and don’t think I haven’t seen you bat your eyes at my, what do you call him?”
It’s the truth, but I was so numb I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.
“Your boyfriend,” she admits with venomous reluctance.
“Yes, my devilishly sexy as hell boyfriend. I miss him. I miss my emotions. As of today, I’m no longer taking any of my medications,” I say calmly.
“You have to take your medicine, you’re still very sick.”
I stand up as Brad starts to protest her last statement.
“You’re no different than the Sculptor or Joe Hawthorne. You don’t fight fair. You use drugs to subdue me, just like they did.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Harper. I’m trying to help you,” she insists while digging in her bag. “I think that will be all for today, Harper. Since you’re already here, Brad, could you make yourself useful and hold her?”
If she were any good at her profession, she would have picked up on how helpful Brad’s presence is for me.
We both watch as she taps the syringe like she has every session before today. Brad hasn’t been in here to witness her administer more drugs directly in my veins. I stand up on the couch and back away. I’ve been too listless to care that she keeps me sedated, but not today.
“Harper, this is for your own good. It’s only antibiotics for your bruises,” she lies.
I lift the hem of my shirt up to show her that I don’t need any antibiotics because my skin is clear. I’m positive antibiotics aren’t used for treating bruises. Mae’s been giving me all-natural Arnica Montana for the bruising, no chemicals needed. The only scars I have are the old ones that no longer haunt me like they once did.
My therapist raises her eyebrows. The worst damage was the bruising across my ribs. I pull my shirt off to prove I don’t need any help healing. The evidence is almost completely gone.
Brad looks horrified at my doctor’s behavior and steps back between us.
“Harper’s doing well. She obviously doesn’t need what’s in that,” he says pointing to the needle.
“As her doctor, I insist.”
“You’re fired,” I say to her, but she stands up and walks to me.
My skin flushes angry splotches of red and my hands shake. I climb over the back of the couch and make my way out of the room, my eyes never leave hers.
“Harper, you’re overreacting. This is just a little precaution,” Karen says as she follows me out of the room, Brad’s right behind her.
“You are fired. Your services are no longer needed,” I all but scream at her but she’s completely unaffected by my words.
Our exchange draws attention. I don’t even care I don’t have my shirt on.
“Harper, you are not in the right mind to make that decision. Come back and let me help you.”
“You are not helping me. You are fired,” I punctuate every syllable.
Clearly she’s the one that’s hard of hearing.
“I have the authority to declare you insane,” she hisses tucking the syringe in her pocket and crossing her arms over her chest. Her thin lips lift in a smug smile.
“In a way, it would protect you if you think about it. Your scars could be considered self-inflicted and then you would be locked up so no one could get to you. Poor abandoned little foster girl with scars for attention. You wouldn’t be the first person to claim association with the Sculptor.”
My pulse falters with her words. Who is this person I’ve trusted and confided in? I didn’t start feeling unstable until after I came here straight from the hospital. She’s the reason I’m drugged and kept away from Evan. She claimed he would remind me of his father, but I know now in my sober mind that it’
s a lie. She enforced Jamie’s separation from me as well because he might be a trigger from my past assault. And now she’s saying things I can’t even imagine.
“Are you threatening me?” I ask.
“It’s a promise, Casey,” she smirks. Brittle lips push up higher in a triumphant smile.
“You fucking bitch,” I scream when she uses my long buried name.
She’s violating my privacy by uttering it out in the open. If she really means what she’s alluding to then my next move will be worth it. If she declares me insane then what’s the worst that could happen? I might as well take a few of her front teeth down with me. If she thinks her smug statement will stop me from punching her, she’s wrong.
An indignant huff escapes her chest as she reaches for the syringe in her pocket. Her attention is momentarily cast down and that’s when I hit her. She’s literally been taking cheap shots at me since she got here, so this should be considered payback. Three weeks, endless pills I’ve taken under her watchful eye, and the worst possible threat from someone like her. I think this makes us more than even.
My fist connects with her jaw with a satisfying crunch. An explosion of pain ricochets up my clenched fingers and in my wrist, but I choke back my exclamation of pain and swallow it so I can hear her wail of horror. She shrieks in stunned disbelief.
“You crazy cunt,” she yells and I laugh.
“See? When I’m not sedated, I’m a fighter. You didn’t learn anything about me after all this time.”
I feel arms around my waist, pulling me back from hitting her again. Brad’s grip is tight, but I don’t try to struggle out of his grasp. Footsteps pound down the stairs and Tom stands in front of us.
“What in God’s name is going on?” Tom insists.
“This fucking bitch is crazy,” Karen says, trying not to spit blood while she speaks.
I remain speechless and I hate that my eyes swim in tears. Hell, maybe I am crazy at this point. Once those pills burned up my throat, I’ve never felt more alive.
All my sensations have reawakened and come back full force. A humming anticipation has sent me reeling with the realization of what this doctor has been doing to me.
I wrap my discarded shirt around the pounding fist I punched my doctor with.
“Call me crazy one more time and I’ll knock another pearly white out,” I promise.
“See, she’s fucking nuts,” Karen spits.
I launch myself at her and manage to gain several feet before Brad pulls me back to him in a bear hug. He’s been watching the entire exchange. I look up to him because he saw for himself.
My heartbeat falters when Evan walks out of his office. He had to have heard the entire exchange. An avalanche of mixed emotions floods every sense I possess when our eyes meet. My clear sight swims with tears of blessed relief because I’m finally back to my old self. Those fluttering nerves I always have when in his presence set about in desperate need.
His gaze rakes me with worry etched in his features. Green depths move over every inch of me that’s only visible to him because he holds my heart. His jaw clenches and grinds as he turns his attention to my now-former therapist.
“How much is he paying you?” Evan asks her and I flinch from the fury in his tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” she spits, shocked by his question.
“How much?” he yells and the volume bounces off everything.
Angry Evan isn’t someone I would mess with. His tone works up my spine and gives me chills.
Karen doesn’t answer, just shakes her head holding her jaw, not meeting his eyes. Evan doesn’t wait for her response before turning to Tom.
“Joe’s been paying her off.”
“I see that now,” Tom admits.
“I should have caught on a couple of weeks ago when you brought up my old man,” he says to Karen and the fear she has of Evan is evident. “Someone please drag this filth off the grounds and make sure her bag stays. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” Evan threatens her.
“Evan, honey, you don’t mean that. This has worked out for both our benefit,” she pleads and her insinuations make me sick.
Evan walks over to where Brad and I stand. His intense gaze sweeps over me and lifts my hand up with care. I shiver when his warm palm holds my elbow.
Brad moves around us and walks the doctor through the front doors with his grip around her arm. She fires off another round of vocal ammunition.
“Are you going to tell that crazy bitch about us?”
The dagger hits its intended target. The pendulum swing my emotions are on sway with the storm that just blew in.
I step away from Evan and walk to the kitchen.
“I hope he finds you, Casey, and finishes what he started, or maybe you’ll finish your suicide mission on your own,” she rants.
I push through the house and away from spectators. I know I look crazy with tears trailing down my face and my shirt wrapped around my hand but fuck it all. If anyone had any doubts about who I am, Karen just blasted that guarded information for everyone to hear.
The sound of Evan’s footsteps echo behind me and I luckily get far enough away from Karen’s loud voice to not to hear what else she has to say.
I go straight to the freezer and pull out a bag of oysters. That’s the only thing that could look like congealed clumps of mud and take up so much precious freezer space in Mae’s kitchen. I take the bag and throw it on the island, before gently nestling my right hand on top of the shellfish. My shirt helps take the bite out of the cold.
“Harper,” Evan says my name, but I can’t look at him.
“I understand, Evan. Really I do,” I choke back the disappointment in my tone.
“It was a long time ago. Before you and I ever met,” he tries to explain but he’s only making it worse.
“Don’t. Please,” I beg.
“I will never let her hurt you,” he swears.
But he’s made that empty promise before. It breaks me. I sniffle and then stop fighting the tears. They should reflect the rainbow of emotions that cause them.
“She threatened to have me committed,” I voice my greatest fear of all.
Seth moves to the island and shakes the contents of Karen’s bag out. Unused needles and bottles scatter out along with a burner phone. Tom makes his way to pick up one of the syringes. He lifts it up and cusses.
“She no longer has that power over you, Harper,” Tom says staring at the plastic and metal containing clear liquid.
“What makes you say that?” Evan asks.
“Because I have a pretty good idea where your father got the sedatives he used on Harper.”
My emotions travel down a winding path and I don’t trust myself right now. I stand up to leave and like every interaction I’ve had before now, everyone stops like I might topple over.
“Harper,” Tom stops me. “Please don’t worry about her. She doesn’t have any authority to threaten you. Okay?”
“She stole three weeks from me. I’m sick and tired of getting subdued and manipulated,” I counter and stop myself when Tom realizes this is one of many times I’m referring to.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“Don’t be. I’m going to look into this and see what I can find on her and her contacts,” Tom says, picking up the scattered contents. Seth follows behind him, leaving me alone with Evan.
Evan places a glass of orange juice in front of me and catches me staring at a bottle of champagne in the open refrigerator door. I don’t even have to ask for it. He pops the cork out and pours a tiny amount on top of the cloudy juice. I smile as bubbles sparkle in my glass and hiss when they meet air.
I lift the cup to my lips and savor the taste and fizz and sweetness mixed with tart deliciousness. I close my eyes and take it all in. I haven’t tasted anything in weeks. I let out a moan from the flood of sensations a simple drink causes. I look up and ignore the heat in Evan’s gaze, thankful that Seth and Tom left.
> “You don’t think I’m crazy do you?” I ask after taking another long pull from my glass that doesn’t even classify as a mimosa.
“Not at all,” Evan says, seeing me again for the first time or maybe seeing me finally as myself.
“Are you sure about that?” I persist.
“That’s the truth, Harper. Even though I wouldn’t blame you for not rolling with the punches anymore. Jesus, you’ve been through too much.”
Evan places a croissant in front of me. I pick up the crescent-shaped roll, peel away a flaky bite, and pop it in my mouth. He doesn’t speak right away, allowing me to taste, and process the buttery pastry. His focus is on my lips when I lick them.
“We all thought you were in shock and had no idea you were showing side effects from the drugs your doctor prescribed you. I’m fucking furious about her sedating you under my own roof. I’m sorry, Harper,” he offers.
“Yeah, me too,” I whisper.
I come around the island incapable of ruling over my actions. I’ve been staring at Evan’s full lips and his words sweetened my resolve to taste them. He doesn’t make a move to close the distance, but his body goes rigid when I lift up on my toes and cup his jaw in my hand. Sparkling bursts of electricity course through the touch of our skin.
It’s like our first kiss all over again. It’s definitely better the second time around. There’s nothing rushed about it. His touch, taste, tantalizing tongue are all too much. I stop myself from brushing up against the length of his tall body, no matter how much his kiss pulls me in.
I step back with over-awakened sensations and an insatiable desire that has to do with taste, but nothing to do with food. I turn on my heel, leaving him behind in the kitchen with thawing oysters and my cold shoulder.
I have to.
I barely made out the words he was saying because his lips held my attention. I avoided his eyes. Those are his best and worst assets. The forests locked away in those enchanting depths are my weakest spot. I unknowingly fall into them when I look too close. They’re a devious net I get captured in. I fall willingly into them, but not this time.
