by K. A. Berg
“I’m very proud of your breakthrough. Keeping today’s appointment tells me you’re embracing moving forward,” she says with a sincere smile.
“Thanks?” I say, my tone rising. It feels odd to receive praise for coming to a shrink
“If we can approach every session from here on out with an open mind and the same honesty you gave me last week, you’ll start to see an improvement in yourself. I promise. You’ll also see a big difference in the way you feel about life if you actively try to pull yourself out of your self-imposed reclusion.”
I nod.
She clicks her pen closed and lays it down on her pad before bringing her eyes up to meet mine. “I like the new haircut. Want to tell me what prompted it?” Dr. Paterson asks.
I’d decided to go for a new look last week after cleaning my room and taking a shower had made me feel better. When I told Quinn, she’d suggested it might be fun to play around with my appearance and reinvent myself, and we went to the salon. Quinn suggested a color change, but I love my hair color. I opted for an extreme cut instead. I went from straight and super long to a medium-length with angles and layers—even a side bang. Leaving the salon, I felt even better, fresher, than I had after my cleaning spree. All of the focus on my makeover had directed my attention away from the pain in my body and heart, making it slightly more bearable.
“Thanks. I decided to try out your advice about pulling myself out of hiding and getting back into the swing of things,” I admit.
“I’m glad. How did you accomplish that?” She asks, peering over the top of her black box-style frame glasses.
“Well, first I cleaned my room,” I say, laughing.
She nods. “That’s a good place to start. Anything else?”
“I took a shower, decided to care a little more about my appearance. I also made some strides in physical therapy this week. I can balance on my bad leg for twenty seconds now. I did it ten times before my leg started hurting pretty badly.” I smile, remembering how proud of myself I felt, but I regretted pushing myself so hard later when my leg was throbbing in uncontrollable pain.
“Very good, Ashley. You should be proud of any accomplishments, no matter the size. Every step, even a small one is progress,” Dr. Paterson says, writing more notes on her pad.
We spend the next God knows how long talking about how my progress in physical therapy makes me feel. I don’t really know what the point is though. How am I supposed to feel about having to learn to walk again? How am I supposed to feel about the fact I can’t raise my arm up high enough to take off my shirt without difficulty? All the physical therapy does is cause me more pain. I nod when I’m supposed to and give the answers I think she wants to hear, but inside, I’m back to staring at the clock again.
Dr. Patterson must notice I’ve checked out because she surprises me with a topic change, and I miss the question.
“Huh?” I ask, having no idea what she’s just said.
“I asked if you’ve put any effort into letting go of some of the stress and tension you’ve been carrying around by holding on to all those meaningless little things.” Her eyes meet mine.
I nod, and we delve into my progress on releasing some of my past grudges, particularly in regard to Jason and my parents.
Dr. Paterson spends the rest of our session offering different methods for finding closure for unimportant things from the past. She says a good way to deal with my anger is to channel it into an activity. “Have you written anything lately, Ashley? Writing can be a great form of therapy.”
“For the paper? No, they told me to take my time coming back. It’s not like I could go check out any of the places lined up for features. To be honest, I haven’t thought too much about work at all. Quinn’s parents have been covering my half of the rent for our condo since the accident, I haven’t had to worry about it, and Quinn has been taking care of all of my bills. I also had a good chunk of change saved up before the accident, and I’ve been getting disability supplements as well. There’s also the two huge checks from the accident.”
“Well, maybe those are two steps you can take to reclaim some sense of independence in your life. You could start writing again, even if just for pleasure, or you could pick up a journal and just write your feelings down, work through them on paper. You could also take back the reins on your finances.” The way she says those words, with such positivity in her voice, makes me feel as though she finally has faith in me.
I don’t know why but her faith makes me want to follow through.
“Both of those are very easy things to do,” I say.
She smiles. “The road to recovery isn’t always grueling.”
“The journal will probably be filled with nothing but my hatred for Tanner,” I point out.
“That’s not the point of the exercise, Ashley. It’s not another way for you to hang on to your anger. We’re trying to move forward, remember?” she says, shaking her head.
“I’ll always hate him. No amount of moving forward will change that,” I say, gritting my teeth. My suppressed rage pushes itself to the front of my mind, and I’m suddenly pissed at myself for letting thoughts of Tanner bring me back down, but it’s hard to ignore him when he consumes so much of my life even though I don’t want him to.
“Let’s save this topic for another time. Our hour is coming to a close.”
I give her a slight nod before standing and making my way out of her office toward the elevator.
My anger is still swirling around in my head when the elevator arrives and the doors open.
“Hello, Ashley.”
I look up to find Jason standing inside all by himself.
“Hi, Jason. How are you?” I ask, attempting politeness.
The shock on his face tells me he hadn’t been expecting a friendly tone.
No time like the present to start letting go in the real world, not just in my mind.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tanner
The fucking roadwork has made me ten minutes late, and I hope Ashley isn’t stupid enough to take a cab home instead of waiting for me. I know she’d never call to check in with me. If Quinn hadn’t forced her to choose between her parents and me, she would’ve never allowed me anywhere near her.
I pull up to the building where Ashley’s therapist is and turn into the parking garage. Luckily, there’s a spot open right by the elevator.
At least she won’t have to walk far to get to the car. She may not have to use the crutch anymore, but she still has a heavy limp.
After parking the car, I rush into the building and board the parking garage elevator. I hurry through the doors toward the lobby as soon as they open again and round the corner, heading toward the main elevators.
Just in front of them stands Ashley, having what appears to be a very intimate conversation with Jason, who’s standing far too close to her for comfort. I don’t want that fucking asshole anywhere near her. The whole situation makes my hackles rise. One of his hands rests on Ashley’s forearm as she smiles at him. Fucking smiles! At him! I’d give anything to have her smile at me again, and there she is, smiling at that shithead.
I slowly step a little closer, trying to catch what they’re saying. My stomach drops as soon as I’m in earshot.
“For what it’s worth, I know how wrong I was with the way I treated you. Me being a cheating asshole had nothing to do with you. I don’t even know why I did it. I do love you. I mean, I did love you.”
He loves her? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I swear to God if she falls for this bullshit, I’ll kill someone—probably someone named Jason.
“It’s okay, Jason. I forgive you.”
Hearing those words makes my blood boil and breaks my heart simultaneously. She forgives him? After everything he did to her? After all the cheating, the lying, the spending, the destruction of her self-esteem?
I’ve been begging for forgiveness for months, since long before the accident. I’ve done everything I can to make thin
gs up to her. I’ve stood by her side through all the pain and the drama, and I’m still nothing but the asshole who ruined her life. I don’t think she’s ever going to let me back in. It’s an earth-shattering revelation.
“I just wish I could’ve realized what I had before I went and destroyed it all.”
I can’t believe he’s making a move to get her back. I’m sure that’s what he’s doing. Because I know what it feels like to lose Ashley, I can’t say I blame him, but if she takes him back, it will kill me. Right here. Right now.
I can’t bear to hear any more. Clearing my throat, I make my presence known and ask, “You ready to go, Ashley?”
“Hey, Tanner,” Jason says softly. He must suspect I overheard their conversation because he looks as though he’s afraid I’m going to deck him, which is a definite possibility.
I nod.
“You’re late.” Ashley points out, as if I didn’t already know.
God, what I wouldn’t give for her to say something to me not laced with contempt.
“I know. There was road construction.”
“I’ll let you go. It was good seeing you again,” Jason says before turning away and heading off through the lobby. Smart move on his part.
“Bye,” Ash calls after him before turning to me. “Let’s go.”
After I help her into the car, which is a battle in itself, I climb in on my side. Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What was Jason doing there?”
“He works in the building, not that it’s any of your business.” Animosity. It’s always animosity—never civility.
Remembering the flowers he sent to the hospital after her accident, I ask, “Do you see him often?”
“Here and there. Why? What’s it to you?”
“Just curious…” I know I should just let it lie, but I can’t, not after overhearing the two of them. “Curious as to how you can easily forgive him after a few casual run-ins but still have nothing but hatred for me, even after I’ve been trying everything I can think of to get you to forgive me for months now.” I struggle unsuccessfully to keep the anger and hurt out of my voice.
“I can forgive him because I wasn’t head over heels in love with him when he hurt me. He didn’t leave me pregnant and alone. He didn’t accuse me of chasing after a meal ticket. He didn’t kill my son,” she says, holding nothing back.
“Goddammit, Ashley. I know I played my part in what happened to you, but I’m getting really fucking tired of you throwing it in my face every chance you get! Not for nothing, but the crash wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if you weren’t such a stubborn brat and had driven the perfectly safe car sitting in the parking garage of your building. I told you over and over again something bad was going to happen in that death trap of yours. And look, it did. Maybe you should take some responsibility for your actions too.”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but I couldn’t have held them in if I tried. I know they’re harsh, but I’m sick and tired of being blamed for the accident time and time again. She never mentions anything I’ve done to help her heal over the last four months. I might as well have been driving the fucking car that hit her myself with the way she talks about it.
“Fuck you, you asshole! How dare you blame me? I’m the only one of the two of us who gave a shit about Daniel, yet you wonder why I’ll never forgive you.”
“I shouldn’t have said that, but how can you say you’re the only one who cared about Daniel? I did everything I could to try and be there for you both. You know I did.” How can she still believe I didn’t care?
The look on her face is on of pure disgust. “Oh, please! You bolted the minute I told you about him and didn’t contact me for over a month. Then you waltzed back in thinking you could buy your way into his life, which I never would’ve allowed, but we don’t have to worry about it now, do we? Thanks to you.”
“I made a mistake, Ashley,” I say. “One fucking mistake! I tried to be there for you in any way I could, and you shut me out, repeatedly. No one can say I didn’t try.”
“One mistake that cost me everything.”
It’s always back to her. She’s the only one who lost anything.
“I lost everything too. If you pulled your head out of your ass, you might see that.”
She sets her jaw, looking firmly out the window, and I stare out at the road ahead. It’s obvious there is no reasoning with her. Every word leaving her mouth cuts me deeper, leaving more scars. The sad part is she couldn’t possibly blame me more than I already blame myself. I just wish she would realize she played a part in creating this reality as well. If she had only given me a second chance, everything would be completely different.
As much as I want to be back in Ashley’s life, her behavior over the last few months has me worried about what would happen if that ever became a reality. How would she react the next time I made a mistake? What would I have to endure every time I make a bad call? Would every fight be this bad? I’m worried I’ll find myself walking on eggshells all the time, always afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. Is that a life I would want to live even if it were with Ashley? I want someone who can love me unconditionally, someone who can forgive me with ease, not hold things over my head. I want Ashley to love me the way I love her, but I don’t think it’s possible anymore.
“I don’t trust you,” she says out of the blue, as though our connection is still as strong as ever even though we’re at odds. “You left me when I needed you the most. How am I supposed to get past that?” For once, there’s no malice in her voice, and it’s jarring.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I was just wondering the same thing myself.” It seems it’s time to acknowledge the impasse we’ve reached and lay everything out on the table.
“Huh?” Her brow furrows in confusion.
“I was just thinking the same thing regarding
you—"
“Me? What the hell—?”
“I don’t want to fight with you. Can’t we just have one conversation without killing each other? Don’t you ever get tired of it?” I ask, feeling completely spent. I can’t keep this up anymore.
She glares at me, which I’ll take over the yelling and cursing any day.
“I was just trying to say I was thinking the same thing. If by some chance we were ever to get past everything that’s happened, and you actually forgave me, how could I trust you not to treat me this way again? I’d be constantly worried about making another mistake and being raked over the coals again. I don’t think I could live my life like that. So, while you don’t trust me, I guess I can’t trust you either. What’s the point? We can’t trust each other, and you can’t forgive me. I’m just trying to figure out why I’ve been fighting so hard. As much as I don’t want to admit it, you’re right. I guess it’s time to move on.”
I feel her gaze boring holes into the side of my head, but she doesn’t say another word, even as I pull up in front of her building and park to help her out of the car. When we reach the front of the building, she turns to stare at me some more.
I decide to take her silence as a sign she agrees. “Goodbye, Ashley,” I say and head back to my car, trying to figure out what comes next.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tanner
After saying goodbye to Ashley, the last thing I’m in the mood for is Melissa.
I hear the excitement in her voice when she calls me, and I ask her to come over.
My blood has been boiling since I got a text message from her last night saying she’s back in the States and wants to get together. I’ve been waiting to confront her for months, and I haven’t spoken to her since finding out about her backstabbing ways after Ashley’s accident. I’ve only agreed to meet her in person because I know I won’t get the same satisfaction out of dealing with her over the phone.
At this point, I’m really questioning her intelligence. How can she not have gotten the hint I’ve been avoiding her when I haven’t answered her calls or returned
her texts in months? Even my mother stopped taking her calls. She must have no idea I’ve been made the wiser about who she really is.
I haven’t given her much thought lately, but finally confronting what she did head-on really has me enraged. What if Ashley had taken her seriously? Would Melissa really have been okay going through life keeping something like this from me? It makes me wonder what else she’s lied about over the past seven years. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. Six months ago, I’d though Ashley was the lying manipulative bitch, but it turns out the real one had been right under my nose the whole time.
I should be the better person and quietly cut ties with Melissa, but I can’t—not this time. I need to fuck with her just like she fucked with me, which is why I have a fake smile plastered across my face as the devil herself sashays her way across my kitchen as though she’s Miss Fucking America.
“Oh my God! I missed you.” She beams at me so brightly you’d think I just hung the fucking moon for her. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek.
It takes everything I have not to recoil from her touch. Her closeness is enough to make me nauseated, but her actually touching me takes me to a whole new level of disgust.
“How was your trip?” I ask, pulling away from her as casually as I can. All I want to do is throw her across the fucking room, but that would probably arouse her suspicion I’m not glad to see her, and I don’t want that to happen just yet.
“It was amazing. The first two and half months were focused on Fashion Week—Paris, London, Milan. Being surrounded by all of those beautiful clothes and people was such a rush.”
How have I never realized how truly shallow this woman is until just now? The bullshit coming out her mouth reminds me of the nonsense sounds the adults make in the old Charlie Brown cartoons. It’s all insignificant in the grand scheme of things it makes my stomach turn.
