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4
~E~
"It's gettingto the point where I can't leave my house." The last word comes out as a choked sob, and my heart aches. My patient of three years now has been dealt a rough hand. Countless sessions of talk therapy have only helped her slightly; after having spent many months in a psych ward this past year.
"I feel as if I'm drowning, the depression's claws are digging in deeper and deeper." Connie curls into a ball on the couch in my office, her long arms wrapping around her thin frame.
"Have you seen Dr. Mello lately? What are you taking for meds?" I know she saw him last week, our notes are shared between each other, and she refused more medication. Went against his recommended advice.
"I did see him last week. He just wants to drug me." Connie rolls her eyes, letting out a huff of breath.
"Why do you feel that way? He's trying to help you."
Connie stands suddenly, her anger clearly visible in the clench of her fists. She begins pacing back and forth, another symptom of her depression. She's agitated easily; thinks the world is against her.
"Because, he's not helping me, is he, Dr. Russe? Or is he wanting to make more money off me? Here take this magical pill, Connie. You'll sleep forever but who cares?"
I move towards her, gently resting a hand on her shoulder, causing her to stop in place. Without words, I look at her, empathy shining in my eyes. My understanding, my caring—it's all there for her to see. Words don't work well, her father's abuse having caused deep damage.
Her head falls forward; long wavy hair cascading over her face. Her chest rises and falls with a sob, and I squeeze her shoulder. "I..." Connie tries to choke the words out but they fall short, stuck in her throat, her sobs taking over.
I guide her to sit on the couch, sinking down next to her. I rub her back while she cries. She needs to get this emotion out, this pain inside her. She'll never heal otherwise.
A knock sounds on the door; my body jumping at the sharp noise. Who could that be? I only get interrupted in emergencies, and a shot of anxiety courses through me hot and fast. I pat Connie's back and hurry to the door. A knock sounds again as I pull the door open an inch.
Faye smiles, her features strained. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, Emma," she blurts out, her voice shaky, "but there is a gentleman on the line insisting to speak to you. He wouldn't tell me any information. I tried to say you were with a patient but he wouldn't listen." Faye wipes her hand across her brow as she jiggles her legs nonstop.
I know how these patients can be and Faye usually gets the worst of it. I smile warmly, "Okay, tell him he has to wait. I'll be done with this appointment soon. Otherwise, I can call him back."
Faye nods as she turns to go, the chimes of the ringing phones calling her back. I close the door and turn to see Connie rocking back and forth, hiccups racking her body.
And the day has begun...
* * *
I'm shuttingdown my laptop; the pile of charts on my desk mocking me. Look how much work you have to bring home. How fun for you. I roll my eyes; shoving the charts into my bag. The work load never ends. Especially on a Tuesday night.
My stomach rumbles, and I picture my empty fridge at home. Takeout it is. I sling my bags over my shoulder, glancing around my office one last time before heading out.
Curt asked me to dinner, and so did Max. Both of them make my stomach curl. I politely turned them down, their messages flooding my phone all day. Curt is nice; he's a bit too nice for my taste. Slightly a mama's boy, he loves to brown nose and plays the role of charmer very well.
Max is bad news. I had a no contact order in place years ago, when he wouldn't leave me alone after our breakup. It was our sophomore year of college and we'd had a few fun months together. Until, he began getting possessive. Not letting me hang with friends, following me around campus. It only got worse until I had to break it off; his actions leaving me no choice.
I really hope he isn't back here to cause trouble. I have a lot more on the line now, with my business, than before.
I round the corner and slam into someone, their body as hard as a wall, causing me to lose my balance as I stumble backwards. My bags scatter to the floor, my purse spills its contents out on full display. The charts slide out, patients' records fluttering to the ground.
I gasp as a pair of strong hands grasp my waist, keeping me upright. What in the fuck just happened? Gulping down air, my hand flies to my mouth as I clutch my chest with my other, trying to still my racing heart.
"Are you okay?" Knox's deep voice rumbles through me, his hands still gripping my waist. I look up to see his face hovering inches above mine. My heart pounds erratically, my face flushes ten shades of crimson. So much for calming down. Real smooth, Em.
"I'm fine," I stammer out, taking another step backward. I need distance, space, from him, his presence is knocking me off kilter. Leaning against the wall, I close my eyes for a minute, still reeling from the near fall.
"Do you need help picking up your things?" Knox asks, and my eyes bounce around, taking in the mess around our feet. Fuck!
"It's okay," I say as I bend down, picking up the charts and papers first. Knox bends down as well as he grabs papers and hands them to me. He doesn't touch the items from my purse, his movements are almost shy. Aw, a gentleman? Maybe?
"Here let me straighten those." He takes the charts from my hands, pushing the papers neatly into the folders while I toss my crap back into my purse. My face flames red again as I notice the condoms and lube on the floor. Great, Em. All of your life on display...
