I wouldn’t know peace, but I’d know her. Was the risk worth it?
I pulled my face from the wheel and climbed out with all my notes and records. Kory was a puzzle waiting, praying, hoping to be solved. I hoped to be a strong enough man to unravel her.
When I made it to my office, a file sat in the center of my desk. I slapped my stuff in the chair and flipped open the grocery sack brown file. I expected it to be the records Minthe hunted down, but instead, I found a faxed record from Zeus. It contained his own personal notes about Kory’s care. On the first page was a doodle of a hand flipping the bird.
I’d send him a bottle of whiskey, and he would forget all about today. I sunk into the chair and flipped through the paperwork. It held the usual intakes and demographics, but his notes were what I was truly interested in. I dragged a notepad toward me and took my own notes, taking dates, times, her moods etc. Anything that could help me glean who I dealt with now. I read every page and then sat back puzzled.
For one month, Z had been very much like me, seeking answers and finding none. He’d conducted the usual sessions and even tested a few meds. Then at the end of the month, his notes stopped. Going forward they all said unchanged over and over. What switched him from dedication to complacency?
I reviewed the dates, but gained little insight. I pulled up the records on employment at the hospital. He worked six months here and then opened a very lucrative private practice.
Six months and then he moved on. I went back to the records and identified a couple other similar situations. A doctor would start the job, stay for six months, and then suddenly a new name on the notes and files. As if this job was merely the stepping stone to bigger and better things.
My chest squeezed tight like it had been stuffed with steel wool. As if Kory was a stepping stone to bigger things.
No wonder she hated doctors so much. Every single one had let her down, used her, and moved on to something better. How could I get her to trust me after that?
I checked my watch. She’d be here any second, all doe eyes and messy hair. My heart took up an unsteady beat. As if I were the patient and she the professional.
Between waiting and worrying, she arrived, standing in the doorway, hand poised to knock.
I swallowed against a wave of nausea as I studied her. The secrets pulling me, body and soul, to the floor. At her feet, maybe they would lessen, give me room to breathe. “Come in,” I choked.
She took a step over the threshold, then another.
I waved at the chair. “Please. We have a lot to talk about.”
Starting with how I could continue looking at her as a patient when she should be a free woman.
Chapter Seven
Kory
Something changed. In the few hours since I caught him cozying up to Nurse Hottie right here. At the time, I’d resolved not to care. He wasn’t mine, and I had no right to feel anything. But I had. Watching him touch her, seeing that soft sensual look directed at another woman punched me in the gut.
Sitting behind his desk now, though, he was a different man. His features appeared softer, something like compassion outlined his lips and eyes. Not that he didn’t care before, but now it bordered on pity, and I warred with being upset about it and wanting to wipe the look from his eyes.
I finally sank into the chair across from his desk.
He came around to take the one right next to it. “Do you need anything? Are you feeling okay today?”
His white shirt was wrinkled, his blue checkered tie askew, even his hair stood up and mussed in an adorable way. I tried to keep the confusion out of my response. “I’m fine. Do you need anything?”
Puzzlement cleared to professional courtesy. “No, I’m just checking on you. Making sure you have everything you need.”
“If you’re offering, I wouldn’t say no to a glass of whiskey. On the rocks, of course.”
He froze for a heartbeat and then smiled. “You’re joking.”
“Am I?”
He twisted across his desk and grabbed a notepad. Blank, nothing on the page as he put pen to paper. “Shall we begin?”
I shrugged and sat back, getting comfortable, and preparing for an argument. Another round of what’s wrong with you and me batting it all away, hoping he would listen this time. No one ever listened, and I had to admit I was growing tired of repeating myself. The idea of him not believing me stung a little worse than previous attempts at honesty with a doctor.
“I have something to run by you.”
A flirty response came to my lips, but I held it back and lifted an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“What if we start over?”
The man left that one to hang there for me. “If you want to pull the car around, I’m game.”
He rolled his eyes, but pride puffed out my chest at the little smile that accompanied it.
“No, I mean medically.” He picked up a stack of files off his desk and shoved them at me.
I didn’t take them. “What is that?”
“All the medical records I could charm and pry out of people regarding your care. You wouldn’t believe how much of a fight it was to get this, despite being—well working here.”
For a moment, I thought he would say being your doctor. But he’d stopped. Interesting. Seeing as my mother usually denied every single request for any records, I did believe it. “And what have you found out?”
His face darkened, and for a flash, I saw the man in the backseat of his car, fighting his desire to pillage and lay claim. I had to look away as the memories surged up behind it. “I learned that a lot of people have failed you. Way too many people have let you down. I understand why you keep pushing so hard against me. Why you keep fighting me every step of the way.”
It was my turn to get angry. “Oh yeah? Is that why I keep fighting you?”
I scanned his face, watching for a sign he was lying. They always did. It just took enough money to make them okay with it.
He swallowed heavily and continued. “You don’t trust me.”
I kept my opinion to myself. I didn’t trust anyone. But if I wanted to start trusting people, I might be persuaded to start with him. Because he fucked me? Maybe. Or because for the first time in a long time, someone wanted to help me, however misguided his attempts were.
He shifted and ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. “So, I propose we start over again with this.” He threw the folders onto the floor, and they slid sideways in a satisfying jumble. “Let me treat you as if you are a completely new patient. We start from ground zero and work our way from there.”
I watched him, the eagerness creasing his eyes and in the tight clutch of his fingers around each other. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. Damn him for being so cute.
“What does that entail exactly?”
He sat back and spread his hands out. “Exactly what we are doing now. We’ll talk, chat, I’ll get to know you.”
“Are you sure you want to risk it?”
He let out a long huff, and his face went serious again. His lips set in a thin line. “Yes, but I need your help here. If we are going to do this properly, I need you to maintain the boundaries. Forget we slept together, forget you’re still attracted to me…”
He paused, and I waited, holding my breath. “And…”
He dragged his lip between his teeth. “Honesty. If we are going to do this, I need nothing but honesty from you. No secrets.”
He swallowed heavily. “And I’ll forget I’m still attracted to you.’
I kept my face neutral to his revelation, even as I felt something release in my chest, like a rubber band had been strapped around my heart waiting to pop off. Simply waiting for him to tell me he felt something for me, anything for me.
“So, we will keep this professional. Strictly professional and we will work together to get to the bottom of your case. Finally, get you the results you deserved years ago.”
It’s more than many had offered me over the years. I
just wish it didn’t require me to shut down the parts of myself keeping me sane right now. The parts thinking about touching him and our time together. “Fine. Complete honesty, and professionalism. On both our parts.”
He leaned back and sighed. Then pulled the pad into his lap and tapped the pen against it. “Let’s start with the basics then.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for a question.
“Where is your father?”
I snorted. “Well, Stanley Milgrim, like so many individuals today, I don’t have one of those. Of course, biologically, I do, but my mother found it works perfectly for her demographic to appear the hard-working single mother. So I have no idea who my father is.”
He studied me and scribbled on his notebook. “How does that make you feel?”
I shrugged. “When I was younger, I wondered more about him, but now, I don’t care. He’s never been here, I expect he never will, and I just don’t really think about it anymore.”
He nodded and scribbled some more. “And what happened five years ago?”
Suddenly, I felt like gagging, like every internal organ shoved themselves into my throat and refused to back down. I took a long breath focusing on his question and how I would answer. “Why do you ask?”
He narrowed his eyes and surveyed me again. “Because the records I had start about that time, so I’m wondering if your first admittance was in response to an event.”
He leaned out and scanned me chin to forehead. “I can see something happened. It’s written so clearly in the pain in your eyes and the way your fingers are clawing the chair right now.”
I looked down and then released my hands, folding them and shoving them in between my closed thighs. “I…”
“Honesty…remember. We agreed.”
If my mother found out I, for some god-awful reason, considered telling him, she’d probably skin both of us alive and leave our corpses in the ocean. I swallowed and looked at him. Everything in me told me I should trust him, and yet, my experience with his kind told me I couldn’t. That I should make something up and then run away. Keep the distance he’d already started to put into place.
I reached out a hand. He stared at it a moment. “Please…” I whispered.
He wrapped his warm hand in mine, and I let out a shaky breath. I’d tell him, but I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes when I did.
“I was a kid. My only friend and I were out late, and on the way home after a long night of dancing. I was sober, but tired. There was an accident. I was driving. My best friend died.”
“I’m surprised I didn’t hear about it on the news.”
“That’s because my mother covered it up. She cleared everything up and even a whisper of Cynthia’s name would get someone fired or worse. She’s very good at hiding away the dirt, my mother. If she even knew I told you that, she’d have you fired and probably get your license suspended.”
His forehead gained a line down the center as he stared at our joined hands. “Are you scared of your mother?”
“No. But you should be.”
“What’s that mean?”
I sighed and pulled away from the warmth and comfort he provided. “It means she wouldn’t physically hurt me, but she can make those I care about suffer. She can get them fired, arrested, attacked in the court of public opinion. Anything to keep her name clean and her daughter out of the media.”
He sat back and tapped the pen on the paper. “I wondered why you didn’t have more of an active presence in her campaign life.”
I held my hands open. “Look at me. I was always nothing more than a burden to her. I wonder if I’d have had a better life if she had just put me up for adoption. It seems like it would have been easier for both of us in the end.”
My foot brushed his, and I jerked it back. I couldn’t afford to touch him if I was supposed to keep things professional. I only needed his hand because I wasn’t going to be able to talk about Cynthia otherwise.
I peered up at him. He sat there watching me carefully, then frowned. “Do you ever dream about the accident? Have nightmares? Or maybe think about it randomly during the day?”
“All the time.”
He stared at me longer and then leaned in. “Well, for a start, I believe you are suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, aggravated by the fact you were never able to get help, to talk about it.”
I opened my mouth to deny it. To tell him for the hundredth time there was nothing wrong with me, but I couldn’t. Not this time, since he was right.
I closed my mouth and stared at him. “And if I did, what would the treatment look like?”
He waved between us. “This. Talking about it. Identifying triggers, so you can prepare for them or avoid them. It’s not a life-sentence, but the longer you wait to get treatment, the worse it can fester.”
“But I don’t have any wounds to fester.”
He leaned in again, his eyes lighting up in a way which made me want to grab him and kiss him. “An emotional trauma can leave a wound on the brain just like the body. It doesn’t bleed or hurt in the same way, but it’s there, visible on a scan just like a broken bone. It stays and your brain tissue has to grow and change around this scar. It can alter who you are as a person, and who you become as you learn and grow.”
I wanted to hate him. Damn it, I wanted to tell him he was wrong, go back to my cell, and hide out with my books. Spend the next six months under the covers.
Outside of my depression, I’d maintained my status of being healthy for so long. Trying to get someone to see it, to believe it.
I didn’t want him to be right.
I didn’t want my mother to be right.
Chapter Eight
Ash
She stared at me, mouth turned down.
“What’s that look for?” I asked.
She didn’t flinch away from my gaze when she answered. “I’m having trouble keeping this professional in my mind.”
Images of her naked skin threatened to push in between me and my common sense. I gripped the arms of the chair, leaving the paper and pen on my lap. “What do you mean by that?”
She leaned in now as if she wanted to convey a secret. “It means no matter how professional we are supposed to be keeping this, I want you. And when you go doing something stupid like actually caring about me, it doesn’t help.”
I licked my lips and looked away, anywhere but into her eyes right now. I could almost see the way we could be tangled in sheets playing out in her head. “Well, we will both continue to try our best, won’t we.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Yes, I guess we don’t have a choice.”
I scooted around and looked down at the page. “I think we’d should talk to your mother again.”
She blinked heavily, and her mouth popped open. “The once wasn’t enough for you? It usually is for me.”
“So, I take that as a no you don’t want to call your mother to discuss your options. I think talking about what happened to you will help the situation. It might help you get the closure you need to have someone who knows what happened acknowledge it.”
She stared at me with a heavy gaze.
Okay so no to the mother talk. “Well, I don’t think I’m really the best person to treat your PTSD, and I think I should call a consultant to come in and discuss things with you. Will you let me do that?”
“Why can’t you treat it?”
I considered how to phrase my focus. “I mainly focus on grief counseling. I prefer to help those who recently suffered a loss. It’s my specialty. I could have helped you more at the time. I took this job when a friend asked me to fill in for six months. I had no idea the job would be…”
“Me?”
“Anyway, let me put in the request to bring in an outside doctor. I promise it will be worth it.”
She cast her gaze around the office and refused to meet my eyes now. “It’s not a good idea. My mother won’t like it.”
“The hospital
administrators are the ones who need to do the approval, not your mother.”
She snorted and gave me a look. “Is that the line you’re selling today? You spoke to my mother. She controls a lot more than you wish she did. Hell, than I wish she did.”
A faraway look entered her eyes, and she stared over my shoulder and whispered. “I wish I had control over my own life. She’ll never give that to me.”
I wanted to reach out, comfort her, and soothe away that look in her eyes. It would cross the line, so I stayed still, focusing on not touching her. “Let me speak to her. You don’t have to talk to her again if you don’t want to.”
She sighed, almost in relief, and I felt like an asshole for underestimating how much of a rift existed between them. I wouldn’t push her on that front any longer, but I’d remind her it’s likely her mother cared for her and didn’t know how to show it.
“I’ll look into doctors in the area I would trust, and then we will see. It’s going to be okay. You’ll get your life back.”
She snorted. “I’ve never had my own life, never made my own decisions. I won’t get my hopes up.”
She stood and then stared down at me. “You should be careful. I know I keep talking about my mother like she is the big bad. That’s because she will rip your entrails out your asshole and use your skin to hold her lipstick. She is a cold, heartless, bitch with unlimited resources and the power to apply them.”
I blinked up at her for a moment and caught the worry around her eyes and in the set of her jaw.
“I’ll be okay. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep.” She reached out like she might touch my hand and then pulled it away. “Goodnight, Doctor.”
She walked out, and when she’d disappeared around the corner, I took the seat behind my desk and stared at my laptop keyboard. Fuck, she messed with my head. I found the name of the doctor I was thinking of and sent him an email to see if he would be interested. Then I sent an email to her mother telling her what I intended to do for her daughter. I couldn’t believe she was as unfeeling as Kory made her out to be. Surely, she’d want what was best for her child.
Deranged: Twisted Myths Book One Page 5
