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“What brings you in today?”
I snap my eyes up at him. “Really?”
He nods. “I find it telling how patients perceive their issues.”
“What brings me in today?” I ask the question more to myself than anything.
It would be so easy to blame others, to point the finger at Kincaid for making this mandatory, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose other than delaying any sort of progress I hope to make.
“I lost my shit at work. Got half my leg blown off. Could’ve easily gotten one of my teammates killed.”
“And what are the results?”
I look at the man like he’s lost his mind.
“Amputation. Isolation from the men and women I work with. An inappropriate sexual relationship with a woman I swore I’d never touch because it complicates every fucking thing in my life.”
“What else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It is,” he quickly agrees. “What else?”
“Panic attacks, nightmares, guilt, and regret.” I swallow, my confession easier to make than I thought it would be.
He nods. “You have a lot of work to do.” Dr. Ackerman leans forward. “Let’s get started.”
I’ve met with Dr. Alverez back in Farmington more than once, and her approach isn’t dissimilar to the way Dr. Ackerman operates.
I do a lot of fucking talking with limited responses back. There are more times we’re silent than actually speaking. I’m grateful the man doesn’t ask me once and how does that make you feel? The question is a little cliché and makes my skin crawl.
He easily pulls the answer from me on more than one occasion, however.
He uses the tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, and the fucking silence to get what he’s searching for.
I don’t realize I’ve stayed over the time I was slotted for until a chime echoes through his office. I missed the absence of a clock on the wall when I first entered, but it makes complete sense as I stand when he informs me that our time is up and that he’ll see me again in two days.
I shake his hand, feeling no less lighter than I did when I first walked in.
If anything, I’m more pissed, more agitated, more regretful and guilty.
I hobble my way back to the parking lot, the hired driver waiting in the same parking spot I left him.
I know I should spend my time reflecting on my conversation with Dr. Ackerman, but my mind instantly goes to Slick when I arrive back at the house.
I had wanted to be alone so often after my surgery that I was bitter about Slick being around. Now that she’s gone, I’m pissed about that as well.
I know severing what was happening between the two of us was the right thing to do, but hard choices are made with sacrifices attached. I know I’m as responsible for what happened between us. If anything, more of the blame is on my shoulders.
I made the first move. I leaned in to kiss her that first time. I pressed my palms to her body and lifted my mouth up. I did it again even after seeing how she reacted the first couple of times.
I scrape my hands over my head, regretting it instantly as I wobble. Wouldn’t that be great? She gets back from the trip I wasn’t invited to and finds me with a cracked skull because I’m no longer able to fucking use my arms without nearly toppling over.
If I didn’t think I’d hurt myself in the process, I’d trash this fucking house, but I proved my limited capabilities at getting violently angry when I tried to kick the stupid fucking weight bench on the back porch.
My mind races, but it settles when I remember what Dr. Ackerman said more than once during today’s session.
Accept it and move on.
He did offer the advice in a snarky way, although it didn’t hit me that way at first.
He explained that if there’s nothing I can do to change it, it’s not healthy to fixate on it.
I should be thinking about my injuries, but my head goes right back to Slick.
The only problem is, without concentrating too hard, I can come up with a half a dozen ways to fix that situation.
I’m fighting a battle within my own mind, war torn and weary over arguing with myself and trying to figure out if it makes a difference. I told her it had to end, but cutting off the sexual relationship between the two of us doesn’t stop me from thinking about her. It doesn’t prevent things from being weird once I get to return.
It doesn’t put an end to that part of me that makes me feel even less whole than I did when she was here.
Chapter 27
Slick
I’m dragging my feet this morning.
When Kincaid told me that Em was holding the first open appointment to meet with Dr. Alverez for me, I had no idea he meant it was today. I haven’t been back in Farmington for a full day yet.
