CHAPTER
EIGHT
Mindy
This past week has flown by, that’s for sure. Between work, checking on the house that’s across the road from Jolie’s that I fell in love with at first sight, going to my first therapist appointment where I relived the worst night of my life, and now, today, the doctor appointment, I don’t know if I’m coming or going.
“I still can’t believe we bought a house,” I murmur as we wait for my name to be called.
True to his word, Cruz went with me to the therapy appointment, and even ended up coming into the room when I asked my therapist to get him. He held me while I cried as I replayed the events from that night. While I still have a lot of gaps in my memory of the actual assault, thankGod, I remember every detail from the exam at the hospital. I still feel dirty, raw, exposed, and my poor skin is starting to show the aftermath of my multiple daily showers. Apparently, there is a thing suchas over-exfoliating. I’ve used my scrubbing wash several times, trying to get the first layer of skin that he touched, to shed.
“I think I remember hearing Brock say that you and Jolie always wanted to live by one another,” he says. “This is perfect, plus it’s move-in ready, for the most part.”
“Ugh, I hate moving, Cruz. Like, it’s the worst thing in the world to me,” I tell him. Packing and unpacking is not what I’d call having a good time.
“We’re gonna do it together. Besides, I have a lot of furniture and shit in my storage unit that wouldn’t fit in the duplex since I had a four-bedroom house before.”
“Why did you have something so big?” I ask.
“Because my family tended to visit rather frequently. With Serena doing her travel nurse gig, whenever she was between contracts, she stayed with me. Toss in Sadie coming to see me regularly, and I had to have the room. We’ll go through both of our places, combine what we have to, replace what we want to, and either sell or donate the rest, Mindy. This is gonna beourhome, and since we have a few months left on our leases, it’s not like we have to clear everything out right away.”
“You make a good point,” I muse. “I don’t want to keep my couch. Hell, I don’t want to sell or donate it either, to be honest.” It needs to be burned. I don’t want anyone else to have something that carries such bad memories for me. It feels like a bad omen and I refuse to saddle or jinx anyone else with that kind of juju.
“What do you want to do with it?” he asks.
“Burn it,” I admit.
“Then we’ll plan a bonfire. Want s’mores?” he questions.
I giggle because it’s kind of absurd to think that the piece of furniture where a lot of the things Clark did is going up in flames, adding something as innocent as s’mores makes it a little easier to think about.
“What’s a fire without those?” I tease.
My name is called and we stand to follow the nurse. She has me get on the scale and when I’m done, she hands me a cup and says, “We need a urine specimen.”
Furiously blushing since Cruz is standing next to me, I head into the bathroom to pee in a cup. I have no clue why they don’t make it easier for women to do that, either! I mean, it’s maybe the size of a Dixie cup and then, we have to be canted somewhat sideways in order to catch our flow. I usually end up peeing on my hand, which grosses me out. Still, once I’m done and it’s capped, I put it in the little silver door then spend several minutes thoroughly washing my hands. Satisfied they’re once again clean, I open the bathroom door and spot Cruz standing in a doorway.
“You’re in this room, kitten,” he says, motioning me to him. When I get inside, he grins as he hands me a gown and says, “The nurse said to undress from the waist down and put this on. I’ll step outside to give you some privacy.”
Taking the bull by the horns, I say, “Just turn your back, Cruz. There’s no need for you to leave the room. We’re getting married in two days, remember?”
He chuckles and turns around and I quickly get undressed and slip the gown on. At least it’s not one of those shitty paper ones like the hospital has. Maybe it’s because the doctorsfeel as though the least they could do is make their patients comfortable, considering where they’re examining us.
“Okay, you can turn around,” I say once I’m sitting on the edge of the table, my bare ass against that horrible wax paper.
“It’s been a busy week, how are you holding up?” he asks me.
I shrug because every day has been a bit of a rollercoaster emotionally. “As best as I can,” I finally admit. “I did reach out to my therapist and she suggested starting a journal. It doesn’t have to be long-winded or anything like that, but she wants me to jot down how I’m feeling and whether or not anything triggers me, so we can work on those things.”
“You know I’m available to listen as well,” he says. “I’m a judgment-free zone where you’re concerned, Mindy. There’s not one damn thing you can say to me that’ll freak me out or even disgust me, I promise.” Once again, I feel my eyes welling with tears. This man’s like glue, once he cares about someone and determines they have his loyalty, he sticks.
The breath I wasn’t aware I was holding releases and I feel my shoulders relax. Where he’s concerned, I have so many conflicting emotions and thoughts and knowing he’s willing to hear me vent my spleen, as Jolie says, has me recognizing that he’s one helluva man. A man, that for whatever reason, has hitched himself to me for better or for worse. Sadly, up to now, it’s all been for the worst. And he’s shown no actions toward leaving. Cruz is such an enigma that he should be the poster boy for what men should be like.
“Okay. Thank you, Cruz. I’ll probably take you up on it,” I reply, giving him a wobbly smile. “We’re still going shopping after thisappointment, right? I know we don’t have long because you have to work, though, so if we have to put it off, it’s okay.”
“We’re still going, kitten.”
“Why do you call me kitten?” I question.
