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“Nora, I can’t leave the shelter for too long. I went to see those women yesterday, and I told them I would be back within weeks. I miss them. Besides, I’m leaving today. I’m staying with my mother for a couple of days. My bruises will be healed before I return.”
Nora takes my hand from across the table, a sullen smile on her red-painted lips. “You failed the psychological assessment. You need to get better. Those women want you to be better. They’ll understand.”
I know she’s right, but I don’t want her to be.
“I’ll go to another psychologist.”
“Claire, you’ve suffered a severe trauma,” she states matter-of-factly, making my blood run cold. “Honey, I want to see you well. Your job will still be there when you get back. But these stories will carry more weight than they did when you first started. You need to get stronger so you can deal with them. I don’t want you to return just to set yourself back.”
This can’t be happening. I can’t be losing everything I worked for.
“There is another option,” she says, her eyes glancing toward Jake. He can look at her because she’s not the broken one.
I have the unsettling feeling I’m not going to like what she has to say. I hate the knowing look between them.
“What?” I snap, my patience wearing thin.
“An old colleague of mine is conducting a study on the impact of music on domestic abuse survivors. He wants you to help lead it.”
That piques my interest and I sit straight on the chair.
It could work. I’ve assisted in studies before.
If she’s insisting I take time off, I can’t stay idle. I can’t sit at home and look at four walls. I’ll go crazier than I already am.
“Okay, that might work. I’m still close enough to the city university. I can help until I go back to the shelter.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, containing any emotions on the verge of bubbling over.
With a deep sigh, my shoulders slump against the chair. “It’s not the city university, is it?”
She shakes her head. “You’ll be overseeing the study in multiple locations around Europe.”
I laugh, but this isn’t funny. “Europe? Nora, I know I’m half Italian, but the only language I speak is English.”
“You won’t need to. You’re overseeing it,” she repeats.
“It could be good for you, Claire,” Jake’s voice finally breaks through the tense atmosphere.
“Jesus, he speaks.”
The flinch is almost unnoticeable, but not to me. There’s nothing but pain when he looks at me now.
Fight for me.
I want to beat at his chest and demand it.
“You missed the opportunity to see the world once. You’re still young. You shouldn’t be stuck here.”
Not once has our ten-year age gap been an issue, and he’s using this moment to make it one.
I don’t respond to him. I’m afraid of what I’ll say.
“For how long?” I finally ask, a lump so thick in my throat, I fear I’ll choke on it.
“Nine months,” she says.
I grip the chair, because if I don’t hold on, I’ll topple over. “Nine months?” I gasp, feeling like I need to hear everything twice just to get it through my head. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to soothe the headache building before running my fingers through my hair. I’m on the verge of tears, but I won’t let them fall. I’ve cried too much.
