AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Who is there?” she asks, although I’m not sure if she’s curious or happy that I’m talking, so she wants me to continue.
I do anyway, no matter her reasoning. It doesn’t matter. It feels kind of good to tell someone this. Even if she doesn’t give a rat’s ass and only cares because she’s getting paid to care. Which I’m sure is part of the case anyway.
It doesn’t matter. I continue talking, whether it’s because I love this sofa or because she makes me feel comfortable. I know the words need to be said. They consume me, and they shouldn’t.
“It was a man. I’d never seen him before. He stood above me, wearing a nice black suit and sunglasses. I couldn’t see his eyes or anything. He had dark hair and just stood there. Watching me. Then he took a step backward, turned around, and walked away.”
She dips her chin in a single nod, then clears her throat and shifts in her chair. “This bothers you. That you don’t know who he was, that he was watching you, or that he walked away without saying a word?”
“My parents were killed that night,” I whisper. “That’s what bothers me.”
I stare at her, watching her reaction. It’s genuine. She winces slightly, then straightens her composure and lets out a heavy sigh, though it’s not out of boredom, more like she’s trying to put everything together.
“And you think this man was involved?” she asks.
“I don’t,” I reply softly. “I don’t know why, but he didn’t scare me or anything. I just can’t get him out of my mind. He stood there, watching me, then he left. My parents were gone, and that was that.”
“Are you sure he was real?” she asks. “Maybe you were looking for answers?”
I hate how everything is a question because I don’t know the answers to any of them. I’ve always dreamed of him as if he were a living, breathing thing, a man who stood over me, who watched me. But it was the single worst traumatizing night of my life. What if he was just made up?
“I’m not,” I whisper. “Certain that he was real, that is,” I clarify.
She half smiles and dips her chin, her eyes searching my own before she speaks again. “Why don’t you tell me about your life now. Your parents are gone, but who do you live with? What do you do for fun?”
And that is how the session goes until the very end. She asks me questions that are superficial in an attempt to calm me down. I answer them, and by the end of the session, I feel much calmer, like maybe I can walk into this room again and do this another day… not tomorrow, but another day.
WELLS
Big green eyes.
The likes of which I’ve never seen before.
Of course, they belong to a patient of my mother’s. No perfectly normal and sane girl looks at a man that way. The way she stared up at me. She was beautiful, complex, and broken. I could see behind her eyes. They were far too open. She is far too vulnerable. Far too broken.
I’ve always gone for cheap, easy, and vacant. This woman was a far cry from all three of those things. In fact, she’s the exact opposite of every woman I’ve ever fucked. I want to know what haunts her, not because I want to fix her, but because I want it to be me.
Leaving the counseling office, I jog toward the car. Coleman is driving, waiting for me in the driver’s seat. I open the door and sink down in the passenger side as his fingers grip the steering wheel tightly. Slamming the door behind me, I jerk my chin in a silent order for him to go ahead.
“What happened?” I demand.
He doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he shifts the car intoDriveand slams his foot against the pedal before he throws us into traffic. I should probably be concerned. My brother doesn’t typically drive erratically. He’s one hundred percent the safe big brother. When in doubt, we can always rely on Coleman.
There is also the fact that he is a manager in the family. We are not allowed to do anything charged with emotion, and this definitely feels like that. It’s confusing, to say the least, and I can do nothing but watch him and wait for an explanation.
As soon as we’re out of the city and on the interstate, and he still hasn’t said anything, I turn toward him. My gaze flicks up and down his body, noticing just how rigid he is, and I tilt my head to the side. He isn’t going to tell me, so I’m going to have to bug the shit out of him about it.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask.
“No,” he says, his teeth gnashing together.
I hum, and he lifts his hand from the steering wheel long enough to flip me off, then replaces it quickly to ensure he doesn’t lose control of the half-a-million-dollar machine. A half-of-a-million-dollar car that was a gift when he became a leader. When we became managers, we were given a penthouse condo in downtown Dallas.
“Then you want to tell me what the fuck?” I ask, changing my tone and question.
“Dad,” he snorts. “Fucking asshole.”
Arching a brow, I don’t say anything, knowing he will continue shortly. Thankfully, he does. It’s nice that I’m not the one on Dad’s shit list today, so I’ll take joy in this drama over my own. He inhales deeply, then lets it out on a long, exhaled breath before he engages the cruise control and begins to move in and out of traffic with a much calmer ease.
