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“Amelia? Is that you?”
“You called my phone. Who else would it be, Charlie,” I sighed. “What do you want?”
“I just want to talk,” he said.
“There's nothing to talk about,” I said, my tone colder than ice. “We're over.”
“I don't believe that, Amelia. We love each other, we had something special –”
“No, we didn't. If that were true, you wouldn't have felt the need to have a woman on the side,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You're a narcissist, Charlie. Considering what I do for a living, I should have seen it from a mile away, but you're good at hiding who you really are. You're really good.”
“Don't analyse me or throw around psychological terms, sweetheart –”
“Don't call me sweetheart, and don't patronize me. I'm not just throwing around terms –”
“Can we please talk in person?”
“No,” I grumbled.
My office phone rang and my heart skipped a bit. It was a local number and I thought it might be Drew.
“Listen, I have to go back to work. Please, stop calling me, Charlie. It's over. Nothing you can say will change that, so goodbye.”
I hung up on Charlie and answered my office phone a little too eagerly.
“Hello, this is Dr. Emerson speaking,” I said.
“Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number,” an older woman's voice said on the other end of the phone.
Damn.
ooo000ooo
I waited all day, checking my voicemail between each patient – and nothing. No call from Drew. If I didn't hear back from him soon, I'd have to report that he was no longer in my care. I hated doing that and didn't want to, since it could mean he'd have trouble getting the help he needed. But filing accurate records and status reports were a part of my job and something I couldn't escape – even if I wanted to.
If he didn't call, what else could I do?
I walked out of the office at the end of the day, pulling my coat around me a little tighter as a cool wind picked up, and walked toward my BART stop. I was lost in thought and on auto-pilot for most of my walk, but as I neared the platform, I saw a familiar face. And it sent a bolt of adrenaline through me and got my heart racing.
“Crap,” I said, turning around and walking back toward the office.
But it was too late, he'd already seen me. And I heard his footsteps slapping against the pavement as he hurried to catch up.
“Amelia, wait!”
“No, Charlie, leave me alone,” I called over my shoulder as I continued walking quickly.
He could walk much faster than I could, however, and it wasn't long before he caught up to me. He reached out and grabbed my arm, turning me toward him. I pulled away from him, but he held on tight, refusing to let me go. I struggled, but couldn't loosen his grip on my arm.
It was the look in his eyes that scared me the most. They just seemed – crazed. There was a look on his face that I found frightening. It was as if I was staring into the face of a man who felt he had nothing left to lose and was going to take me down with him. It was the face I imagined was on many of the men who committed murder-suicides – a thought that chilled me to the very core.
“Listen, Amelia,” he said, his voice stern, but desperate, “you wouldn't meet with me when all I wanted to do was talk. What choice did you leave me? I needed to talk to you and you need to listen to me.”
“I don't need to do anything, Charlie,” I spat. “I don't owe you shit. You're the one who was fucking somebody else. Not me. So, get your goddamn hand off of me right this minute!”
My voice was rising and people were starting to stare. Good. Because in that moment, I didn't trust that Charlie wouldn't do something stupid. The look in his eyes scared me, it was one I'd only seen from him a handful of times – and each time, it made me fear he could turn that rage on me. He never had, not until today. But as he stared down at me, I could see the hatred in his eyes.
This wasn't about him still loving me. He never had really loved me because Charlie couldn't love anyone but himself. As much as it terrified me to see that look in his eye, it was what finally made me let go – for good. And I knew there was no going back, never. Because if I did, I'd be nothing but a prized possession. I'd never be a treasured girlfriend or a wife or someone he loved. I'd be his – thing. His conquest. His trophy. And he was pissed because I was no longer his and would never be any of those things. That would be it.
