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“No.” My hands are on his chest as my insides splinter.
The last words I said to him fill my ears as a noise bubbles up in my chest. It’s feral, howling like a wounded animal. The pressure expands upwards to my temples, inside my ears, blinding pain in my skull.
Two medics are beside me, taking me by the arms and pulling me to my feet, away from my friend. I try to struggle, fighting to get back to him, but they’re too strong. The last glimpse I have is his straw hair in the dust, his vacant gaze open to the sky.
Chapter 5
Drew
One year later
“You can’t keep this up. It’s not healthy.” My best friend is in my office fussing.
I arrange a small bouquet of bright yellow chrysanthemums on my desk and check the air freshener on my windowsill. Rose water and ivy, relaxing scents to help my patients feel at ease.
“Can’t keep what up? My job?”
“This celibacy. It’s been too long!” She shoves a lock of dark hair behind her ear. I’d never thought she could pull it off with her skin tone, but she’s rocking it. “Flick your bean, hit the home button, rub one out.”
“Are you talking about masturbation?” I roll my eyes, not even pretending to be surprised.
“Orgasms are scientifically proven to relieve stress, reduce migraines, cut down belly fat, improve sleep—”
“I have a vibrator.” Leaning down to my computer, I check my next appointment.
Hunter McFee is waiting for me, and I lean back with a sigh. I’ve learned more about Watergate through his paranoid delusions and conspiracy theories.
“Wrap it up. Hunter’s waiting—”
“It’s been years. You need human contact. Skin on skin.”
“I hug my dad every day.”
“That’s just gross.”
I take her arm and walk her to my door. “It was actually a very popular mid-1970s public service campaign popularized by a Kentucky senator and the Mormon church aimed at decreasing juvenile delinquency through touch therapy. Remember, ‘Have you hugged your child today?’”
“Okay, nerd. Stop using psychiatric history against me. We didn’t all graduate with honors.”
We stop, and I can’t resist. “You’re lucky that’s the only thing you didn’t get in college.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you calling me a slut?”
“Slut shaming is one of the most damaging forms of social control aimed at young women learning to explore their sexuality.”
“Feminist theory 101?”
“Social cognition.”
She nods, holding the door open before she leaves. “Will you let me know before you decide to quit this place and become a professor? I could use more clients.”
Shaking my head, I start back for my desk. “Not interested. I’m here to help these people. Send in Hunter.”
“What am I? Your secretary now?”
“You’re my best friend since second grade. Now hurry up.”
Hunter paces into the room seeming more agitated than usual. “Alexander Butterfield was not trying to be a whistle blower.”
