and think straight when it happens?” he asks.
I nod.
He points to a tall, blue mug on the table out in front of me. “I’ve got some crayons in there,” he says. “Next time we really talk, I’m going to have you color me a picture. That should make it easier to stay. We’ll go slower. Fast or slow as you want. I’ll know you better after a while. Then we can really work on things.”
We spend the rest of the session discussing the basics, like where I live and how I came to Gatlinburg. I have to be evasive about why I came here. I hope that doesn’t fuck things up, but I don’t feel like I have much of a choice. He asks if I know people here, and I tell him I’ve gotten to know my neighbor. It’s discreet, but not enough. I can’t downplay it that much.
Making an effort not to tap my leg or otherwise fidget, I keep my tone flat and tell him, “We’re seeing each other.”
His brows raise.
“What?” It’s sharper intended.
“How is that going?” he asks.
I rub my aching eyes. “Fucking good.” I let a breath out. “It’s the only thing that’s easy right now.”
I can tell by the twist of his lips that he is skeptical.
“You think I’m…what? I shouldn’t be with her? Because of all this shit?”
His eyes widen slightly.
I shake my head, my heart pounding. “C’mon, I saw your little mouth thing there. Why don’t you share your thoughts, Doc?”
His lips press together, like he’s thinking. Fury builds within me, sharp like fear but tight and hot like anger.
“Do you?” he asks. Both of his bushy brows lift. “Do you think you shouldn’t? Because my ‘look’?” He shrugs. “Sympathy.”
I blow my breath out.
Doc’s lips press together in a little smile. “Next time, maybe you can tell me what about this new relationship is worrying you. In the meantime,” he shuts his notepad and slides it into a pocket on his chair. “Write your nightmares out, after you have them. Every detail you can think of. Bring the notebook here. If you have problems with it, if it’s too much, let me know tomorrow.” He smiles. “Tomorrow? Do you have time and desire to come see me again?”
A tired feeling moves through me, painting me from my forehead down to my knees. I find myself nodding. My mouth opens, but no words come.
Doc puts a hand on my shoulder. “This was good.”
I move in to shake his other hand. He’s not a squeezer. Guess he doesn’t have to prove himself when he’s got that little notepad. “Sorry for…” I shake my head.
“No apology required. You good to drive?”
I snort, as if it’s funny, even though we both know that it’s not.
“I’m good.”
Before I get on the bike, I pull a knife out of my seat bag and make a little cut inside my ankle. Shit like that helps me keep from drifting, and I want to make it home to Gwen.
As soon as I get through the side door, I see soup and bread on the table. My stomach growls. Gwen is at the sink. She puts a towel down and strides toward me.
“Hey…” She grabs my hands and looks up into my face. “How did it go?”
I find I’m waiting for her to come closer. When she doesn’t, I step closer and pull her up against me.
I can’t think of anything to say.
Her arms squeeze me. “I’m glad to have you back. It’s kind of lonely here without you.”
“Thanks.”
I’m surprised to find I want to talk to her. I want to tell her that he said Breck was a nice guy.
Oh fuck. My stomach seizes up. I let go of Gwen and lunge toward the sink. I shut my eyes and try to fight the sick feeling back down.
I feel Gwen beside me. “It’s okay. I have bleach spray underneath the counter.”
I can’t help laughing. Gwen’s trying to get me to barf in her sink. Somehow that pulls me out of it. I turn slowly to face her, smiling even though I still feel like someone scrambled all my insides.
“It was hard, huh?”
My jaw clenches, aching. I set my gaze down on my shoes. I don’t want this. I don’t want to keep being this way in front of her. Why can’t I just be normal?
Gwen’s hand catches mine, her pinky finger hooking through mine in this gentle, flirty way that makes me smile.
“Want me to tell you a funny story