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Sad green eyes blinked at her from by the door. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, of course not. This is your time, I'm just…” Frazzled.Shake it off, Connie, and focus on the patient. “Ignore me. It’s been a weird morning. Take a seat, get comfy, and I'll be there in just a sec. You want juice, water, or tea? The receptionist is spoiling me this week with a choice of orange or apple for juice, and pretty much every flavor of tea imaginable.”
Caera's lips tried to smile, didn't quite make it. The shadows under her eyes were darker, the jut of her cheekbones higher and more pronounced. She walked stiffly to the couch and sat, almost wilting on to it. “The orange is nice.”
“Orange it is.” Connie had discovered that the girl would eat and drink, minimally, during a session under her watchful eye. Keeping that in mind, she set four bottles of juice on the tray, and added the box of glazed donuts she'd started asking the receptionist to pick up whenever Caera was due in. “Okay, that's the snacks in order.”
Another failed attempt at a smile.
Connie despaired. There wasn't an iota of improvement in Caera that she could see. Her weight records showed that she either maintained it for a day or so—which wasn't a failure, as far as she could see—or dropped another pound between weigh days. Of course, the data available was scarce at the moment, but overall, it showed a decline.
Carrying the tray over to the table, she placed it close to Caera and flipped open the box of donuts, humming appreciatively as the glorious smell rose. “Help yourself, sweetheart. I had a blue one the other day, one of the store's new flavors and, oh my God, it is amazing. Blue raspberry,” she said reverently. “The donut dream has been achieved.”
“I like the toffee.”
Yes, Connie had noticed that. Of the twelve different flavors they'd started with, she'd whittled the girl's favorites down to toffee, chocolate, and one with chopped walnuts. That's why ten of the dozen in the box were those particular ones. “Well, you can have as many as you want.” Rather than sitting down, Connie moved to one of the larger cupboards and pulled out a folded lightweight duvet and a couple of pillows. “We're going to try something a little more involved today, Caera.”
When Connie turned, the girl had a donut pinched in both hands and was nibbling on the top edge. Nibbling was the operative word—her teeth barely made a mark in the damn thing. Connie could hear her stomach gurgling frantically, desperate for a full bite. Caera paused, eyes wide as they raked over the bundle in her therapist's arms. “Oh God.”
“It's nothing to be worried about.” Connie dumped the whole lot in the middle of the couch beside Caera, then arranged the pillows at the opposite end so she'd be able to see her patient's face as they spoke. “I'd like to see how your body reacts when we put you in a situation. In this case, when you're in bed or on the couch, trying to sleep.” She picked the duvet up and let it unfold. “Bring your donut with you, sweetheart. Just pretend you're at home without me lurking, okay?”
“O-Okay.” Caera shuffled across the couch cushions, then toed her sneakers off and lifted her legs so she was stretched along the furniture. She raised her arms to let Connie cover her with the duvet, looking like a child waiting for her mommy to tuck her in. “Am I supposed to…”
“Relax. You're supposed to relax, Caera. That's all we're aiming for today.” Connie moved the tray along the table before kicking her own shoes off, and curling up in her chair with her notebook on her knee. “I managed to catch up with your previous therapists, none of whom I am impressed with. In my opinion, they failed you without ever getting close to the root of the insomnia.”
Indeed, one of the doctors Connie had contacted had pretty much told her on the phone that he was sorry she'd been stuck with the homing pigeon, and that her best course of action was to pump Caera full of as many antipsychotics and mild sedatives as possible, then dropkick her as hard and fast as she could to the next sucker.
Connie was already in the process of reporting him to everyone she could think of. The trouble was that was the attitude of every medical professional Caera had consulted. Drug her and move her on seemed to be the universal answer for everyone but the patient.
“On the other hand, I've been pinging emails off to anyone and everyone who might be able to give us some insight into these night terrors. I've got a list from a dietician of food we can try. He's suggested cutting out sugars, but right now you need them to help with your weight. That's one option.” Connie studied the girl's body language from beneath her lashes as she doodled on her pad. “I've spoken several times with a wonderful woman from Colorado who is an herbalist. She emailed me what she thinks might give you some relief. Calming, suppressive, but not pharmaceuticalin nature. That's another option.” She tightened the hair tie holding her hair back. “Option three is kind of combined. I have contacts who have all recommended one doctor in particular. Doctor Elliot sounds like a good guy, knows his field, and might be able to offer us some insight into what's going on in your head. He does a lot of work with sleep trials and insomnia, but he's also a licensed hypnotherapist.”
Caera's hand was starting to droop, the donut forgotten. As Connie spoke softly, the girl's face went slack, some of the vicious tension around her eyes and mouth relaxing. She blinked a few times, obviously trying to keep herself awake, but as Connie hoped, warmth and comfort worked together to provide a stable opportunity for sleep. “Hypnotherapy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. We're looking at all the options available to us. I think we should try a combination of herbal suppression and hypnotherapy.” Connie jotted down every change in Caera's body language, glancing at the clock to note the time. “It's a place to begin. If it works and gives you even a little bit of respite, it's a plus on our side, okay?”
The donut slid off the duvet and plopped onto the carpet.
Patient fell asleep at 09:23, Connie wrote, then leaned back in her chair, the pen poised. Features are relaxed, hands loose and still. Breathing slow and easy. Approximately five minutes between situating the patient and the onset of slumber.
For the next twenty minutes, there was only the low sound of Caera's breathing and the scratch of pen on paper. The clock kept ticking and Caera continued to sleep. So far, so good, but Connie wasn't letting her guard down. Caera hadn't been able to give her any sort of timeline for how long it took her to fall asleep once she stopped fighting it. She had no idea how long it took for a night terror to form or take hold, and no concept of how long it kept her in its clutches.
Everything Caera had described about her episodes didn't really fit with what Connie understood to be the classic symptoms. Doctor Elliot's help would be invaluable if Connie could persuade the girl to spend a few nights at his clinic. He specialized in sleep disorders, and he had the technology at his disposal to make a thorough investigation into Caera's condition.
Twenty-five minutes in, Caera's fingers twitched slightly. Her toes began to move beneath the duvet, followed by restless kicking of her legs. Writing it all down, Connie was surprised by how slowly the night terror developed. She'd thought once it began, it would take over quickly, but that wasn't what she was seeing here.
Ten minutes after the first twitches started, the muscles in Caera's face jittered. Her eyes opened, the green eerily vacant. The lights were on, but no one was home. Her lips formed words without sound. Connie wished she'd had the foresight to ask Caera permission to record the session so she could get someone to decipher what she was mouthing. Was it a conversation?
No, she mused, narrowing her eyes. There were too many pauses.
Small hands pushed at the duvet, shoving it down to her waist. The frail body beneath quaked, and it seemed to Connie as though every muscle in the girl's body was pumped full of caffeine and adrenaline. Christ, if this is what she went through, no wonder she couldn't keep any weight on. Starving and dehydrated while conscious, burning herself out when she closed her eyes.
Caera's eyes darted everywhere, unable to settle on anything. Her mouth formed words faster, singular words that even Connie could lip read. No. Please. Don't. Her eyes dilated suddenly, the dullness fraught with fear. A sharp, child-like scream tore the air in two, making Connie jump and drop her pen.
Shit. She reached down and picked it up, quickly scrawling the time down before tossing both the pad and pen on the table. She had more than enough shorthand notes to transcribe to send to Doctor Elliot. “All right, sweetheart, wake up now.” Darting out of her chair, Connie hurried to sit beside the girl, propping a hip next to her. “Caera. Caera, if you can hear me, I need you to come back to me.”
The sleeping woman arched rigidly, another scream shattering the quiet of the room, and no doubt all the others on this floor. Tears leaked from her eyes, but still there was no one answering the knock on the door.
Connie gripped slim shoulders, wincing as she felt the bones beneath her palms, stark and sharp. As she shook them as hard as she dared, not convinced she wouldn't break something fragile like a collarbone, Connie deepened her voice into what she considered her Domme voice—firm, direct, and requiring a response. “Caera! You will wake up, this instant!” She almost added or you'll get a spankingas a matter of habit, but managed to stem the impulse. “Caera!”
