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I don’t have a roommate
Rory:
You do. Now, did you text me just to complain about your lack of internet? Because it’s 4:30 in the morning here and I’d like to get at least a couple more hours of sleep before I have to start my very busy day of work
Me:
Sorry forgot about the time difference. OK I’m going
Rory:
Have fun. I mean it. Let yourself be open to things, and I think you’ll surprise yourself in a good way. I’m proud of you for doing this
Me:
Thanks. Get some sleep Grandad
Rory:
Don’t start
Me:
Love you too
When I exited out of my messages and explored the rest of the apps I was allowed access to, I found that my contact list had two numbers programmed into it.
One was my agent’s.
The other number was listed as “Theo.”
I glanced across the room to the other bed before returning to my messages, rereading the line that said, “text your roommate as much as you want.”
No. They wouldn’t put us together, would they? It was ahorribleidea. In fact, if you listed every bad idea ever, forcing me and Theodore Lewin to share a bedroom would be close to the top. There was no way that wouldn’t end in bloodshed.
But when I climbed off my bed and padded over to the other side of the room, I saw the white box placed on the other bedside table and the envelope with “Mr. Lewin” written on the outside.
Fuck.
12
JORDAN
After breakfast, followed by my intake session, where I had to fill in five million forms while being asked intrusive questions, I had some free time. I decided to head down to the beach because seeing it from my villa’s vantage point and not being able to go there had been torture. As soon as I kicked off my sliders and stepped onto the softest, warmest white sand, the grains cradling my toes, a smile crossed my face.
This was amazing.
Leaving my sliders at the edge of the beach, I moved closer to the crystal-clear waters until my feet touched wet sand, leaving imprints in my wake. When my toes were finally kissed by the warm, foamy surf, I laughed out loud, high on life and a feeling of utter contentment that I didn’t think I’d ever experienced before. Finding that here, of all places, was completely unexpected in the best way.
Whatever happened, I’d always have this memory.
All too soon, my time on the beach was up, and I had my first individual therapy session. I could still feel the sand between my toes as I entered Dr. Weaver’s office. She was my initially assigned therapist for my individual sessions, and although I had no clue what to expect when I walked through her doorway, something about the room made me feel immediately at ease.
The office was bright and airy, with a wall of windows offering a view of the vegetation and a glimpse of the sea beyond. A black leather sofa was in the centre of the space, and the wall behind the desk was decorated with various diplomas and certifications.
Dr. Weaver smiled at me as I stepped inside, her expression warm and welcoming. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, and wire-framed glasses were perched on the end of her nose. She was dressed professionally, but not in an intimidating way, her petite frame covered in black trousers and a light blue floaty blouse thing. She directed me to the sofa, and then she took a seat on a chair to my left, a pad and pen clasped in her hands.
“Thank you for choosing to meet with me today, Jordan. I thought we could begin with you telling me a little about yourself.”
