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He nods. “Birth control can cause her to gain weight, but we don’t want that done artificially. She’s not got a good appetite, and birth control can make her nauseous. Certain ones are linked to low mood, which is something I won’t ever consider for her.” He brushes his hair back from his face. “If the choice were mine, I’d tell her to stay away from the birth control and let nature take its course.”
I don’t even have words for that.
If I know Nora as well as I think I do, a big concern of hers is going to be Cevon and being pregnant. She’s not going to want to have a baby unless she’s sure Cevon’s in the headspace for one, but it seems he’s willing to at least consider it.
All he wants is her to be healthy, alive, and happy.
“Are you seeing a therapist?” I ask, and he glares at me.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he says. I snort, and he sighs. “Nora thinks I’m depressed.”
“I’d be inclined to agree with her. At the very least, you’re suicidal and a little obsessive.”
He shrugs. “I don’t tend to enjoy life.”
“Maybe you could.”
He shrugs again. “Maybe I could. Maybe I could just give up on my mate and my goals. Maybe I can just go take a piss on a grave as a big fuck you. Hell, let’s go see Nora through her heat right there.”
Holy shit.
Yeah, this dude needs some solid fucking therapy.
“Do you think Nora would enjoy that?” I ask.
“Nora has conversations with her,” he says. “I don’t talk to her. It’s not like she can hear me.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t,” he replies. “You’re blind, but, also, you have no idea about my life.”
“I do know you called Lainey your mate.”
“She is,” he says.
“She was,” I reply.
“Does one simply no longer exist once they stop breathing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Does the bond we had, the connection we shared, just no longer exist?”
“Fair point.”
He nods. “Nora is so different from Lainey. She told me a while ago that I’m lucky because I get the version of her who wants to live.”
I gasp, loving that she said that. It warms me in a way I never expected.
“She’s unfortunate because she gets the me who had to watch the only good things in his life die. She’s unlucky because she gets the me who doesn’t know how to live.” He checks his watch and glances at the door. “She should be done soon.”
I nod.
“I’m not sure if therapy is for me. Your dad and I are pretty well acquainted, and I can’t say he’s good at what he does.”
“Right.”
His eyes haven’t moved from the door Nora went through, his heart rate slowing as does his breathing.
“My mum doesn’t do therapy in the traditional sense,” I say, shrugging. “Maybe you and she can try?”
But before he replies, the door opens, and Orson and Nora exit. He’s carrying a few different leaflets, but I don’t really care about him.
