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After the kiss we shared, he didn’t push me into anything more intimate, and I’m relieved. I don’t want to let down my guard around him, in case I need to fight. Instead, Logan brings books and DVDs about the pregnancy and the babies’ first year. I wonder if it’s an excuse to stay close.
While I study, Logan’s hands caress my plump body and never let me have more space than necessary. This alpha shit makes me mad, but if I’m being honest, a little bit thrilled too.
How long is this going to last? Perhaps I need to bite his ass off and spew it out of my newly-decorated flat. His presence seems to occupy all the space in the room. Since I’m always in some sort of hormonal state, my body just can’t push him away, no matter what. Instead, I’m compelled to brush myself against him.
I love his hands and arrogant lips, but his domineering ways drives me crazy. I dream of setting him on fire. I need space to breathe! Arrogant Logan Cade’s logic is that the only oxygen I require is from his lungs. His words, not mine.
A few days ago, I returned home from work to find new coffee and toast machines in my kitchenette, and he managed to put up massive windows in both living spaces without any sign of previous work being done in the ten hours I was absent.
“I don’t need you to buy me stuff. I can do it myself, your support is only needed when asked for it!” I shout, frustrated. Those gifts make me feel cheap.
“I won’t allow my children’s mother be living like a beggar on the street.” Oh, hell no. The control freak is so confused trying to put out my hormonal fire, that he landed himself in another one with that comment.
“Let me explain you this, I’m proud of my middle-class status, and your rich ass can get over the luxury it is acquainted with, because I love everything about this little space, Logan!”
For some reason, he decided it was a good idea to douse the argument, using his lips. Big mistake, because I wasn’t in the mood to suck his face. His kissing ended up with me sobbing in his chest.
It’s unbelievable how little he understands that, to me, this apartment represents new life expectations wrapped in hope. The hormonal mood swings are developing into acute panic attacks.
No matter what, he tries his best to soothe me, but something still triggers them to manifest. The rapid heart rate and out of control effort to catch my breath makes my head spin in anxious fear.
You try to bend your head between your legs while you have basketball stuck in your middle. It’s a horrible feeling! Babies don’t like that either.
So, after few scares, Logan found what he refers to as a fantastic professional therapist who deals with traumas, PSTD, and other anxiety disorders. He made our appointment to see Dr. Laisa Neil, who has her therapy clinic situated in the City of London.
Despite my fears, I agreed to go, and now we both stand at the clinic entrance. The old mountain ash tree gracing the front, that reflects through the windows, has a peaceful feel to it.
“Ready?”
I nod, following him inside.
After filling out the forms, we wait in the reception room to be called. Nervous, I start to fidget. Before I even have time to realize I’m in the midst of a full-blown episode in the middle of the reception, I’m listening to a woman’s gentle voice pulling me back from the darkness.
“Breathe. In…out…you are safe…”
I’m given a cold glass of water that’s soothing to my skin and helps me breathe more comfortably. I gulp it down, trying to wet my dry mouth. Looking around the therapy room, I try to remember why I agreed to come. Idiot!
The woman walks up to me and introduces herself as Dr. Neil, presenting her qualifications and how she works with people like me. Dr. Neil appears the same height as me, with very dark brown eyes, pale brown skin, and brown hair that been put in an intricate twist.
“Cassandra, Logan met me for advice regarding your issues a few weeks ago. We’ve discussed Logan’s concerns, and if the person who suffers from the acute anxiety developing into panic attacks should be left alone with babies to care for. I know that you developed your episodes after the loss of your two children in the car crash accident two years ago.”
My chest tightens, and my nails dig into the chair. The sting of pain helps me keep my composure. I blink away tears, take few calming breath and glance at Logan.
Why would Aisha disclose such a huge part of my past to the man she doesn’t know? Dammit, Aisha! And most importantly, what are his intentions. What will you do, Logan, if you figure out the truth?
Logan has the potential to destroy me. Suspicion coils around my heart like a fist, squeezing, undoing my balance shred by shred. This situation reminds me of the other time, when family betrayed me. Before it can take root, I shut the door to that memory.
My accusing glare stays locked on him as betrayal pounds in my chest, and twist my guts with fear of the unknown. His fist squeezes and nostrils flare as he leans forward and rest his elbows on his knees. I breathe through the panic until the initial anger subsides and my survival instincts kick in. I smile, composed again, knowing exactly how to work this situation. They won’t be able to see her.
Instead, I look at the woman in front of me, analyzing my every move. Dr. Neil is in her forties, her voice has a soothing quality but she presents a threat. It makes you want to trust her and listen what she has to say. I don’t feel defensive or threatened by her, or those steady brown eyes, which have been reading my body language since I came in. Be careful what you say or how you act around her. She sees too much.
Beneath perfect makeup, a polite smile, and angelic face, the dread is churning in my guts, twisting my mind. I rub my belly gently, paying extra attention to my posture and my expressions. The motion keeps me centered. I maintain a calm exterior, like a shield. Finally, I meet her observing gaze, and force another smile, not able to speak just yet.
“Logan, why don’t you tell Cassandra why you think this therapy might be beneficial.” She encourages him to express his worries.
He clears his throat. “Since I came, I’ve noticed some things about your issues. Even perfect composure sometimes cracks. Those problems make me nervous. Your panic attacks are really intense. You have some issues that you haven’t dealt with. I think that this therapy might help you to cope.” His sincerity throws me off my tracks.
Dammit, he noticed. I press my lips together and grind my teeth, annoyed he thinks it’s his place to decide I need help.
