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I love him a little more for admitting that he was wrong. His intentions were honorable, but his approach sucked. His apology wipes away the last of my lingering frustration and anger. I know that he didn’t do this to hurt me. I hate myself a little for blowing things so out of proportion. Now that I’m calmer, I realize how irrational I was being. My irrational side has been ruling my reactions for a while now. It’s like the rational part of my brain is there screaming at me to stop, but I’m unable to listen.
Matthew is right. I need help. I need to talk to someone. “I’ll talk to Dr. Klein.”
He pulls me to my feet and hugs me to his big warm body. “Thank you, love.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to be there when I speak to the doctor, but I hold back. It’s not fair of me to ask him to look deeper into the darkness that I dwell in than he already has. He’s already got a good enough look at what I’ve been through when Damon brought those damned pictures.
Matthew kisses the tip of my nose. “Let’s go home.”
“I thought we were staying here tonight,” I say, confused. Matthew has an important conference call with the managers of his other two clubs tonight and a bunch of other things that he’s been neglecting.
“Daniels is covering tonight.”
“Kisten?” I can’t hide my shock.
Matthew laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Yep, shocking, I know, but he’s actually great at running things.”
Kisten has been nothing but nice to me. That is so not the case with everyone else. He’s growly and gruff and just downright grumpy to basically everyone. “It’s because everyone is scared of him, isn’t it?”
Matthew laughs again. “No, sweetheart. Daniels is all bark and no bite.”
It’s my turn to laugh. I know for a fact that isn’t true. I’ve seen him scene before. He most definitely bites. “If you say so.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ROSE
My meeting with Dr. Klein was a lot more anti-climactic than I thought it would be. He asked a gazillion questions about my moods and what kinds of things triggered different reactions. He prescribed me a new anti-depressant and something to help my anxiety when it gets out of control. He also referred me to Dr. Osborne, who specializes in therapy for victims of sexual assault and other abuse.
I haven’t met with Dr. Osborne yet… I’m just not ready to rehash everything. Honestly, I don’t see the point. I want to put the past behind me and look to the future. Matthew doesn’t agree. He tried to talk me into seeing her, and I had a meltdown. It wasn’t pretty. He backed off and hasn’t brought it up since.
I’ve been on the new medication for about ten days. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Well, it’s more apt to say I don’t like the way the medicine makes me not feel. I’m numb all the time. It’s supposed to help keep my moods on an even keel so that I don’t cycle through the gamut of emotions like a bad trip on a rollercoaster. I guess it does do that. I’m on an even keel… it’s just one full of numbness.
Not only did it zap away the negative emotions, but it has sucked the life out of the good too. I feel like I’m just going through the motions. Wake up, make breakfast, clean up, shower, go to club, come home, sleep… rinse and repeat every day.
I haven’t cried since Matthew and I argued about me talking to the therapist. It’s not that I’m not upset. I am. My brain is full of all the same torturous anxieties and stresses, but those emotions are trapped inside buried under the suffocating blanket of medication. I want to cry. I feel like crying. I just can’t.
Worst of all, my anger has been snuffed out. It was an emotion that I hid more often than not. While at Red House, it simmered below the surface. It’s what kept me alive all those years. It’s what saved me from being completely lost. Anger kept the darkness from consuming me. Now, I can’t even drum up annoyance. Without it, I feel vulnerable. Weak.
Everyone watches me like some kind of science experiment. Always worried. Hannah hovers. Slade looks at me with concern. Kisten’s usual banter has disappeared. And Matthew? He’s the worst of all. He watches my every move, analyzes my every word.
I do my best to elevate their worries. I smile. I laugh when I’m supposed to laugh, even if it does sound hollow to my own ears. I become the queen of fake it til you make it. Though, I’m starting to lose faith that I’ll ever get to the make it part. Dr. Klein assured me that after a couple weeks, the medication would be in full effect, and I should feel like my old self again, whatever that is.
The numbness grows every day. It joins with the yawning pit of darkness that lives inside me. Merging into one beast that’s slowly sucking me under.
I’m standing in the shower watching the water swirl down the drain at my feet. My hair is freshly shampooed, and I can feel the suds dripping down my wet skin. I talk myself through the steps again. Wet, shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse. I blink water droplets out of my lashes, willing my hands to get back to work. The task feels insurmountable.
Frozen in place, I stare down, watching the water circle the drain like a mini whirlpool. Round and round it goes. I don’t know how long I stand and stare with the water stinging my skin like a million tiny needles. The prickling sensation only adds to the numb feeling that has blanketed me.
“Rose, sweetheart, we have to leave in thirty.”
I hear Matthew. I know I should respond, but it seems like a lot of work, so I don’t bother.
I’m so fixated on watching the water swirl down the drain. Down, down, down into the darkness below my feet that I don’t notice the bathroom door slamming against the wall. I’m so focused on the water escaping that I don’t react when the shower door is wrenched open. I don’t even stop staring when the thousands of bees stop stinging my back. I stare at the drain even after the water stops its spiral into the abyss.
In fact, I’m still staring now, but I see nothing.
I am nothing.
