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He leaned back in his chair. “You’re suggesting that your palpitations are caused by second-hand awareness? That you can feel someone you love having heart irregularities?”
When he said it like that?
In that slightly surprised, slightly scornful tone?
It made me fold in on myself and sigh. “No. I’m just...tired, I guess.”
“Poor quality sleep can definitely contribute to A-fib.” Clicking his pen, he reached for his prescription pad. “How about I give you a short dose of sleeping tablets and see if that—”
“I’m fine. I don’t need sleeping pills.”
Sounds like you need a psychiatrist.
Perhaps, I should call the therapist who’d helped me after what Ethan had done.
Either way, I needed help.
I accepted that.
I couldn’t keep lying to myself and everyone else.
I couldn’t keep believing I felt twitchy and wrong just because Aslan was still alive and calling for me.
This has gone on long enough.
You know that.
Four years and nothing.
Not one sign he was still alive.
Not one news article that Cem Kara had found his missing heir.
No one knew I was here at this appointment.
No one knew my heart played a pounding tune on my ribs or its random flutters made me breathless.
No one knew because I didn’t tell anyone.
As far as they were aware, I was fine.
Better than fine.
I’d convinced everyone I was like them.
Moving on.
And in reality, I was sinking.
Deeper and deeper.
Quicker and quicker.
Into madness.
Standing quickly, I balled my hands. “Thank you for taking the time to go over my results, Dr. Hammond.”
He stood too, placing my file on his desk. “If you’re truly worried, we could perhaps put you on a course of beta blockers. They regulate your system and can even help with anxiety—”
