Blue
The beige tones of the doctor’s office soothe my frazzled mind. I look towards the sound of keys being pushed, thinking I’d know that typing anywhere. And I’m met with a cool look from the bespectacled eyes of the receptionist, Ronnie. She looks me up and down, over the rim of her glasses, then looks pointedly towards a chair, never missing a key. Before I even have a chance to sit, the door to the inner office opens and Dr. Timlan comes out, surprise registering in her eyes at my appearance. “Ms. Patterson.” She nods, a smile in her eyes. “So nice to finally meet you.” Her smile is warm, her handshake firm.
I take a seat in the middle of the couch as she sidles around to her side of the desk, all business. She folds her hands before her on the desk. Another smile, this one saying, Let’s get down to business, shall we?
“How can I help you today, Sara? You sounded urgent on the phone.” She doesn’t fidget, no pencil is moving, no papers are being turned. I have her full attention, and for once in my life, I’m not shy to be in the spotlight.
I’m stiff, barely sitting on the edge of a cushion, using only the piping as support. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” I suck in a deep breath, owning up to my previous mistake. “I’m sorry about the whole Jessica thing.”
She nods, accepting the apology. “Yeah, what was that?” She waits, perplexed.
“I don’t even know where to start. Since I left you last, my life’s been turned inside out. I thought I was finally on the right track to happiness, only to have the rug pulled out from under me. Right now, I’ve been mandated to talk to someone, to, uh, get a mental health clearance.” I avoid the question in her eyes, instead rummaging through my clutch to find the papers the lawyer left. Without any further explanation, I hand her the whole manila folder, folded in half. From Javi’s doctor, our lawyer, my termination papers, the whole sheath is thrust onto her desk. There’s nothing I can hide if I want this woman’s help.
I lean back, grabbing a familiar beige pillow and hugging it to me, quiet, while she peruses my documents. She doesn’t look up, but I see an occasional eyebrow lift, a cock of the head, and when she finishes, a bright smile.
“So, what is it that I can I help you with, Ms. Patterson?”
I gesture toward the folded papers on her desk. “Well, that,” I say, puzzled.
Did she just skim them, or actually read them? My life is torn open in black and white in front of her, and she wants to know what I need help with? Do I have to quiz her to see if she even read them?
She smiles and sweeps a hand over the papers. “This is just one person’s opinion. Someone who’s never treated you. Has only had a very brief conversation with you, and surmised all of this. I highly doubt I’d be able to make a diagnosis of Stockholm syndrome from such a brief interaction.” She leans back, putting the ball in my court.
There it is. She wants a firm commitment from me. “How much of an interaction would you need with me to make an anti-diagnosis? Or whatever it’s called when I’m not crazy.”
She meets my eyes. “It’s hard to say. But I won’t be making any diagnosis on just today’s meeting.” She rubs the bridge of her nose before continuing, “Ms. Patterson, can I ask one question? When you came to me before, as Jessica, did you know what kind of victims I treat, or did you just pick me randomly out of the phone book?”
I blush. That’s exactly what I did. Russian roulette. Just flipped the page and wherever my finger landed, that’s who got my fifty bucks.
She catches my color change and nods. “I expected as much. I treat victims of rape. Maybe that’s why you kept my card after all this time. I don’t think you’re suffering from any present trauma. In fact, you’re positively glowing, but I think you’ve suffered plenty in the past. Childhood trauma is no joke. If and when you’re ready to fully commit and address past issues, then and only then will I consider this Stockholm syndrome nonsense.” Reaching into a bottom desk drawer, she pulls out a bottle of Evian water. No brown liquid comes out of that drawer.
I consider her words. She’s not gonna sign today. I’ve got to give a little to get a little. I nod. “When do you want to start?” I ask, my leg already beginning to shake against the wooden coffee table.
The tension she’d been feeling at the possibility of my just asking for a signature and disappearing again, maybe to show up in a few months from now with a different name, leaves her face. She finally leans back in her chair, hands folded across her middle. “Do you have anywhere to be right now?”
I shake my head, and for the next forty-five minutes we just talk woman to woman. I tell her about the extreme highs and lows I’ve been experiencing where Javi’s concerned. The friendships that are budding with the girls in the house. The line of work I’d been in up to my abrupt firing. The clients with their quirky peccadillos, never using names. Confidentiality in my business is just as important as it is in hers. I talk about the confidence that’s taken root within me and had just started to blossom before all of this happened.
Going out to restaurants when takeout used to be the order of the day. Wearing garters and dresses— “I haven’t gone out in public in sweats since the first night that I met Sasha!” Getting my hair done, bartering for my own services. Everything spills out of me. Up to the moment when it was all taken away. Yesterday. The day my world stopped turning.
There are a few notes taken, but no lengthy scribble sessions. She must remember I hated that as Jessica. No, mostly she nods in all the right places, smiles, and even outright laughs at some of Sasha’s antics, and offers her quiet support.
I pour a cup of complimentary water and sit back, wrung out.
“Thank you for your honesty, Ms., uh, sorry, can I call you Sara?” I give her a smile, and she returns one of her own. “And Please, just call me Melissa. Or Doc, if you prefer. If we continue with an open line of communication, you should pass through with flying colors.”
I give a little baby cheer, but it’s cautious. Fist held only at shoulder height, the volume turned wayyy down on the woo. I feel that big bad but coming.
She smiles and nods. “Communication and homework.”
“Boo,” I say, feigning a pout.
She holds up her thumb and index finger, an inch separating them. “A little bit of homework, and since it looks like you’re a,” she shuffles through my papers on her desk, “a millionaire four times over?” Her eyebrows go up as she peers at my shocked expression over her glasses. I hadn’t even read through my own papers. What? “And currently unemployed. It looks like you’ve got the time and the funds to put into this.”
My mind is reeling. Why did he give me so much? Is this his idea of penance?
She notices my furrowed brow. “There. What were you thinking of right there? Just now, you made a face.”
I purse my lips and think. “I guess I was wondering what the hell the four million dollars is for. A month’s worth of work?” I shake my head. “Uh-uh, no way. I feel like someone’s brainwashed him into thinking he owes me compensation for some imaginary wrong that was perpetrated against me when I couldn’t even get the guy to have sex with me.”
“That will be part of your homework. Call this lawyer—Ted—and ask what the money is for. If it’s for retribution, you need to know. Whatever the reason, it should be crystal clear to you. That’s one.”
She pulls out her pad, making a list for me. “Number two, I want you to reconnect with someone you knew who doesn’t live in the Chubby House. Get a drink, go to a movie, have a chat. Anything. But it has to be someone who’s never set foot in the house. Capisce?”
Yes, I capisce. “But why can’t it be Sasha? She’s not a bad person, Doc.”
She waves a hand. “I don’t believe she is. I just don’t want her to be your only attachment to Javi. Your lifeline to your forbidden lover. That’s not very fair to her, is it?”
I grimace, thinking about the doc’s words. “No, I guess you’re right. I don’t want her to think the only re
ason I call or see her is to find out about Javi. I’d never use Sasha like that.”
She nods once. “And I’d never think you would. Let’s not let her think that either, shall we? Alright, time’s up. I’ve worked through lunch and am feeling my blood sugar dropping as we speak.”
I feel bad for muscling in on her time, but she holds up a hand. “I wanted to, Sara. It was my pleasure. Since time is of the essence in your case, I’ll expect you back here in two days, homework complete, and ready to delve a little deeper.” She rips the sheet off and hands it to me, along with my other documents on the way out. “Good luck, Sara, and I hope you’re here in two days.” I see by the sincere look in her eyes that she means it.
With ten minutes to spare before I’m to meet the car, I head into the sandwich shop in the lobby, ordering a tuna on wheat bread, Funyons, and a Diet Coke to go. Two days isn’t much time. The lawyer’s easy. The friend outside the Chubby House? Not so much.
Javi
I don’t know how she did it, but Sasha’s here, and her smile warms my frigid soul! My grin is so wide as she walks into the room, I feel the corners of my mouth crack. “Sasha!” I stand and walk to her quickly, grabbing all of her in a big hug. “I’m just so damn glad you’re here. That you haven’t given up on me,” I say into her red curls. It’s amazing how a little time in absolute solitude can change your feelings.
She hugs me back. “Javi, my boy. How the hell did you get yourself into this mess?” We part but keep our arms around each other. Ted, our lawyer, stands to the side, looking over our shoulder out the windows. Sasha smirks at him. “Ted, don’t get all shy now! Your legal expertise is the only reason I’m here. Found a legal loophole. It’s unconstitutional to keep you locked up without visitors.” She turns to me. “Let’s walk. They said you haven’t been out of your room in days. How ’bout a little free air with your old pal, Sash?” She winks, and I want to eat her up.
I nod. Everything’s sore from lying in that damn bed. We head towards the exit, and for a minute, I don’t think they’re going to let me out. Panic starts to set in, but the doors open before it gets a firm grasp on me, and we head out into the gardens to talk.
As we walk, I keep my good hand on Sasha’s arm, still unable to believe she’s really here. “Javi,” she says with a bit of reproach. “What’s this I hear that you’re refusing to eat?” Her green eyes bite into me, opening me, searching for the truth. I let go of her long enough to run my hand through my hair. “And you’re not showering, not working out, not going to therapy, or meeting with your doctor? Do you really like it here that much? Don’t you ever want to come home?” The pain in her eyes at the abuse I’m putting myself through is evident.
“Sash…” I begin, but she just plows ahead, holding my casted hand up, causing me to wince in the process. Her voice drops to a hiss. “And what. The. Fuck. Is this?” she finishes, before flinging my arm away.
Her voice rises, so there’s no mistake that she means business. “Straighten the fuck up, Javi. If not for me, or Gretch, then for her. For Blue.” My heart cracks at the name. “She’s out there adrift without a paddle while you pull this Gandhi shit. Sit.”
She motions to a stone bench. We both sit, and she pulls a sub from her purse, complete with napkins and a chocolate brownie. I shake my head and smile as I accept the food. “Only you would travel around with an Italian hoagie in your purse.”
“Right!” She winks. “Don’t get any thoughts about the brownie, though. That’s mine!”
I plow through the twelve-inch while she fills me in. The oils and grease from the meat sing through my veins, giving me much-needed energy. The headache that’s been a constant vice on my temples begins to let up. I hadn’t really put much thought into how taxing a hunger strike could be when I threatened to go on one. When they stopped delivering food to my room, shit got real.
“What’s going on, Javi?”
I wipe my mouth with the napkin and look her dead in the eye. Our lawyer listens in as well. I don’t know what to say other than, “Sash, I fucked up.”
She nods, winding her hand. She wants her pound of flesh. “I told the therapist about Blue, the whole damn thing. He used that shit against me in a court of law. Literally. Talked to a judge and everything and was able to turn my voluntary vacation into a thirty-day mandatory stay in the big house.”
She whistles through her teeth.
“I know. And I’m scared as fuck. I haven’t even started the court-mandated therapy yet, so I don’t even know if this last week counts towards the thirty days or not.”
We both look to Ted, who’s typing furiously on his phone as he listens. He gives me a firm look. “Why didn’t you tell us shit was this out of hand, Javier?”
I don’t know what to say to the lawyer. It’s an honest question. Why couldn’t I just have reached out to Ted, my trusted advisor, and asked for help? Machismo? Pride? Who knows?
I shrug and shake my head. “I really don’t know, Ted. But at this point, I’ve painted myself into a corner. I’m at a standoff with the shrink. I haven’t done any type of work on myself this whole time I’ve been in here, and all I’ve got to show for my trip to the nuthouse is this.” I hold up the cast.
Sasha smirks. “Did that happen on the shrink’s face?”
I shake my head. “No, I punched a brick wall after our meeting. And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I hit it one more time to make sure it was dead.” Feeling like an idiot is what’s eating at me right about now.
Ted puts down the phone. “Doctor Dickbag is willing to meet with us in fifteen minutes.” He holds up a hand. “And before you protest, you are going in there, sans the chip on your shoulder, and you’re going to apologize. Whether we think he deserves it or not.” He knows my antics too well.
I nod. “Here,” I say, and mime grabbing my balls, “might as well take them and shove them into your briefcase.” He shakes his head and goes back to his phone.
Sasha shoves me. “This is serious, Javier. No bullshitting around. Leave the smart-guy attitude to the guys who can pull it off! You just keep fucking yourself right in the ass, and you’re not even giving yourself the courtesy of a reach around! Straighten up. Think of what’s at stake.”
I nod. She’s right. “Yeah, poor Blue.”
She turns to me, eyes popping out of her head. “Blue? I’m not even talking about her, you dumbass. I’m talking about you! Your freedom is at stake. Get it together!”
We walk toward the building, Sasha coaching me on the finer points of apologies and how not to offend people. I roll my eyes. “You are the last person who should be giving etiquette lessons, my friend.” She flips me the bird as we enter the doctor’s office.
Ted does most of the talking.
It appears my rights just might have been violated a tiny bit when they put me on the hold. I was supposed to appear before a judge—an impartial judge—and should have been given the right to a second opinion. I keep my smart-ass comments to myself as Ted reads the doctor the riot act.
“You’ve accused my client, his co-workers, and friends of kidnapping with no actual proof. You have only the word of someone you’ve deemed a danger to others and placed on a psychiatric hold. His word won’t hold up in court. You’ve further victimized the supposed victim by making her leave a job she loves and her home with no type of warning. Forced her into therapy, even though she’s not a patient of yours. I’ve just been on the phone with her therapist, a Dr. Timlan, who is actively treating Blue, the aforementioned victim, and is prepared at this time to go to court if need be and go on record to say Sara Patterson does not suffer from Stockholm syndrome.”
Ted takes a break to catch his breath. I keep my head down so my smart-ass looks don’t penetrate the doctor’s glasses. Superhero, my ass, is all I can think. The doctor looks at his watch, feigning boredom, but the mist of perspiration on his forehead gives him away. Freedom, here I come!
Ted continues. “Javier came here for treatment,
and instead you’ve persecuted him. But he does need help.” Both Sasha and I look up at him, horrified. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
But he does.
“We all agree that he needs to be here. For treatment.” His courtroom shows through in the overly dramatic glare he shoots the doctor. “To work on some issues. But we demand that he is no longer singled out, made a target in this personal witch-hunt. He will be allowed visitors, access to friends and, most importantly, me, his lawyer. I will be kept abreast of any changes in his condition, like hunger strikes, personal injury, thirty-day mandatory holds, et cetera, while in your care.”
The doctor looks over his glasses at Ted in an are-you-finished kind of way. Ted nods, and the doctor responds. “I agree with these terms, and I will not fight you on any of them if,” and he holds up a finger, “and only if Javier agrees to follow the rules, get with the program, and make some progress.”
Everyone looks to me. I look back around and shrug. “What choice do I have?”
Sasha slaps my bad arm. “Uh, freedom?”
Blue
Tomorrow I’ve got my therapy session. I did complete the phone call with the lawyer. In fact, he said he’d call back today with more answers for me. I need the phone-a-friend to be completed. The only real person I’ve met on my journey outside the house is Brad. Technically, he meets all the requirements. I’ll need to get his number from Sasha. I don’t happen to carry movie stars’ numbers around on me.
The burner phone rings. Maybe it’s Sasha or Ted. I run around, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from. “Sam, get off the phone!” I yell, grabbing it and flipping it open just before it goes to voice mail. “Hello!”
There’s a pause, long enough that I’m ready to pull the phone away and check the caller ID. “Bonita?” The melancholy in his voice guts me.
“Javi!” I cry, tears already starting. “How are you? Where are you? Can I come get you?”
Blue, Light and Dark (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 2) Page 12
