“I swear, I won’t say anything else.” Her voice is as shaky as her legs.
“Sit on the couch.”
“I… I won’t tell anyone anything… please, please don’t hurt me.” She starts to cry, and I damn near lose it.
Breathing through my nose, I exhale, trying to calm myself. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you don’t follow my directions.”
The girl doesn’t say anything else and wraps her arms around her middle while watching me closely. Soft cries fill the air, but they annoy me more than anything. I’ve seen so many men and women cry, begging, and pleading for their lives that I’m all but immune to it.
After subjecting myself to her cries for twenty minutes, I pull out my wallet and toss two crisp hundred-dollar bills at her.
“Remember what I said…” I give her one last look before leaving the room. On my way out of the strip club, Diego hands me the folder with my next hits information. I wait until I’m in the confines of my car before I open the envelope.
The picture of the target slips from my fingers and falls to my feet. I’m about to reach for it, but then I catch the name printed in black ink before me. My heart stops, and air stills in my petrified lungs. My chest is so tight, I fear it will explode as I read the name over and over again.
No! It can’t be.
5
Shawn doesn’t come to work the next day, nor does he answer any of my text messages. I tell myself that it probably has nothing to do with me, but that’s hard to believe when everything was fine before we agreed to go on a date.
Leaving work in a flurry, I drive across down to my therapist’s office. I’ve been thinking more and more about stopping my appointments but haven’t gotten the nerve to do it yet. They’ve helped a lot over the years and been a great outlet for me, but if I’m ever going to move on, I need to stop living in the past.
As I walk into Sharon’s office, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a sickening feeling coats the inside of my belly. It’s like tar clinging to my organs. I should be used to having this kind of feeling by now. The truth is, it never gets easier, only worse.
I wait in the waiting room, which is mostly empty, minus a man reading the paper in the corner of the room. I’m not sure why, but my attention is drawn to him, and I stare for a long time. There is something about him, but I can’t pinpoint it.
He doesn’t pay me any attention since he’s far too focused on his paper. Unable to shake the sense of familiarity, I almost wish he would look over at me, so I can see his eyes full on. There’s a pounding in my head, and my body warms all over. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
“Dove,” Sharon calls my name, breaking the connection, and gives me a warm smile.
I stand up quickly, feeling flustered for some reason. Like I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing.
“Hi,” I say and walk into her office. Taking my usual seat across from her, I shake whatever that just was off and focus on my session.
Sharon is middle-aged, divorced, and has three kids. She’s been my therapist since Donna adopted me when I was a teenager, and she knows everything there is to know about me.
She stares at me, her soft eyes bleeding into mine. “How have things been?”
“Fine.” I lick my lips. “I, uhh... got asked on a date.”
Sharon’s face lights up. “That’s great. Tell me about it. How did it go?”
Defeat sits heavily on my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have started our session with this. Nonetheless, I tell her, anyway. “We never went because he never showed up. I texted him to see if he was still coming, but he never messaged back, and I haven’t heard from him at all.” My gaze falls to the floor. “This happens to me all the time. Someone shows interest, and then I somehow mess it up. I don’t even know what I do wrong. Whatever it is must be bad because I never hear from them again.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I look up at Sharon and give her an are you serious look. “Like I’m not good enough, obviously. Or