Chapter Two
Molly
He’s tall and lean with a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that he holds in his hand as he talks. One leg is bent over the other and he rests his notebook on the crease of his dark gray slacks. I wonder who else he’s talking to, what stories they’re telling, what advice he gives them. I wonder if he takes this much time with each client, and if he’s as attentive to them as he is to me. I wonder if he allows everyone to make emergency Sunday appointments.
Why does my stomach tighten thinking he does? Why do I feel possessive over my therapist? Clearly, I don’t have exclusive rights to him, nor should I. I guess this is what happens when a woman’s emotions have been locked away too long. She becomes a psycho who overthinks everything and contemplates owning her therapist. Maybe I need a second therapist to debunk that with before I start having thoughts of chaining him in my basement.
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, studying the framed paintings on the wall. One in particular catches my eye every time I’m here. It’s a watercolor piece that rises and falls with peaks and valleys. At first, I thought it was the mountains. Now, I’m wondering if it’s a wave.
“You like that piece, don’t you?” Dr. Beck’s voice is deep and commanding, but also naturally reassuring. I read somewhere that deep tones signal strength and security, which trigger a primal response in our brains that feels safe.
Clearly, it’s true.
“Yeah, is it the mountains or the water?”
“What do you think it is?”
I should’ve seen that one coming.
“It’s the mountains, right? It’s just that the color is blue, so I figure it could be waves too. Plus, the rise and fall of the crests…”
“Is there a difference?”
My brows wrinkle like maybe this whole question to a question thing is going too far. “Yeah, there is. One is… mountains . The other is… water .” I say the words as though I’m the one with the PhD.
“Or one is hard, and the other is soft. But at the end of the day, these are just words. You’re perceiving the photo to identify what it is, instead of accepting it without labels. You do that in your relationship, too.” I’m not sure how he does that, but it happens all the time. I get talking about my favorite sushi and Dr. Beck turns my love for soy sauce into an allegory on my need for comfort. I guess that’s what I’m paying him for… I think.
“What are you talking about?”
“Tyler. You had a terrible fight last night and then another awful morning, but instead of seeing things for what they are, you’re here, trying to label him as a narcissist because if you can label him, you can convince yourself that he’s not going to change.” Holden unfolds his leg and leans forward. “You don’t need to label him before you can know he’s not right for you, Molly.”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean… I don’t know. I keep telling myself that eventually he’ll see me, but if he has a label, then chances are this is just who he is, and I can convince myself that I’m not a quitter. Facts help people make good decisions.”
Holden sets the notebook and his dark wood pen down on the table beside him before stretching up from the chair and rounding toward the couch where I’m sitting.
My heart rate increases the closer he gets.
Why? Why am I getting nervous? Why is my stomach in knots? Why are my palms sweaty? Why is my throat so dry? This is the same way I feel when Rhett is around me. Am I really this thirsty for affection?
He sits down, inches from me, and though no part of him is actually touching any part of me, I can feel the heat of his body on every limb as though the rest of the world is a cold blustering storm, and he’s a log burning fireplace. “Why do you stay with him?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself hundreds of times. I shrug and say, “It’s comfortable.”
He narrows his brows. “The abuse is comfortable?”
My chest tightens. “Yeah. It’s like… sure, he treats me terribly sometimes, but there are these moments where he’s everything I need. He can be kind and compassionate. It’s like he sees the error in his ways, and I see this glimpse of the man I need,” a tear spills onto my cheek, “which is why it’s so hard and jarring when he withdraws again. A part of me always gets stuck wondering if it’s really me. If I’m the problem. If I’m pushing him to these reactions. I don’t want to throw away years of my life, if that’s the case.”
“Would you treat a friend the way he treats you?” The doctor clears his throat and leans in closer. “If your friend asked you questions the same way, would you yell like he yells? Would you cross all their boundaries? Would you shove them? Would you hurt them? Would you bully them?”
Hearing the scenario turned back on me sounds ridiculous. I shake my head and wipe away a slew of tears. “No.”
“Then why do you allow it from a man who claims to love you? Molly,” he clears his throat and reaches for my arm, “may I?”
I nod and rest my wrist in his warm hand, already knowing where this is going. He’s so gentle, and he smells so good, like spiced mandarin or something else expensive. Slowly, he pushes the sleeve of my sweater up, revealing the dark purple bruise that was left by Tyler a few days before.
“Do you think a man that loved you would do this… under any circumstance?”
I stare down at the bruise, then close my eyes as flashes of that night come rolling in. Tyler with his fevered stare, his teeth bared, the visible vein throbbing in his neck as he leaned in and gripped my wrist tight. I hadn’t intended for the argument to happen. I was only looking for reassurance. I’m only ever looking for reassurance.
A chill runs down my spine and tears stream down my face. “I didn’t know you saw this.”
Dr. Beck grabs the tissue box off the table in front of us and hands it to me. “Look,” his tone changes from formal to something deeper, more carnal, “you’re in a tough spot. I get it. You’ve been with this guy for a long time, and you want to believe things will change, but they’re not going to.” His dark eyes hold on mine. “I’ve listened to you talk. I’ve heard you cry. I’ve watched you struggle to find your worth, and I’ve been here, week after week, but this bruise on your arm is the last straw. That man shouldn’t be allowed your presence. This has to end.”
“I’ve tried leaving. I just end up in the same spot again, believing his apologies.”
“Is that what this is,” the doctor groans and nods toward my bruise, “an apology?” He’s never been this candid with me before, and it feels like some lines are being crossed. I wonder if he’s like this with all his patients, Or maybe, he saves this level of forwardness for the ones too thick in the head to see the wave in the painting.
“My brother’s friend, Rhett, came by today to drop off this feather.” I look down at my boots, focusing on the braided knots. “He said he was coming back with friends later tonight, and that he wanted me to leave, but I don’t know. That’s why I made the last-minute appointment. He said Tyler had a secret or something, but he wouldn’t say until I was safe. I…” I cover my face and lean forward, balancing my elbows on my knees. “Maybe romance and love aren’t real. Maybe it’s all just a fairytale, an adult version of the Easter Bunny. We’re told this magical feeling exists, that there’s someone special who’s going to hold your heart safe, dance with you in the kitchen, and protect you from pain. We’re told it’s meant to last forever and that if it’s real, nothing can tear it apart, but what if it’s not real? What if we’re all waiting on some magical Christmas morning that never comes?” Tears stream down my face as I rant. “This wasn’t supposed to be my life! I was supposed to fall in love and have this cute little marriage with a guy, and we were supposed to worship each other. We were supposed to have babies, laugh constantly, and live in a little farmhouse in the woods. For Halloween, we’d drive into town and dress in matching costumes, and—” Tears overwhelm me and soon I’m a blubbering mess of self-pity. I remind myself that this is what therapy is for, but I still feel guilty for letting go of my emotions so freely. That’s probably another symptom of the tornado of a relationship I’ve been in. Sharing my feelings with Tyler is asking for a fight. You’d think if you love someone, you’d want to know how they were feeling, so you could help, or at least know them better.
“Do you trust this Rhett guy?” Dr. Beck clears his throat.
“Yeah,” I wipe my nose and sit up, glancing toward the doctor before remembering my face is probably a puffy red mess with streaks of black mascara, “I can trust him.”
“Okay then.” The doctor leans back before standing, taking his warmth with him. “You should plan to go with him. You have my cell phone number, right?” He gave me his number a few sessions back, but I haven’t used it yet. There have been plenty of times I could, but I don’t want to be a burden.
I nod and push the soft tissue under my eyes, trying to clear off what I’m sure is a mess of black lines.
“Good,” he groans, pacing away, then back again. His jaw is buried under a short salt and pepper beard, but I watch it tense. “Use it, please. I want you to call me the second you’re leaving the house, and again when you’re safe with Rhett.”
I’m not sure why, but I still can’t believe this is actually my life. I never thought I’d let something like this happen to me. I never thought I’d be this girl. The girl who lets a man disrespect her to such a high degree. The girl trapped by her own terrible decisions.
Standing from the couch, I glance toward Dr. Beck, then away, but his dark gaze pulls me back again. All at once, there it is. That weird feeling in my stomach. The one where I’m either going to vomit or implode. The one where my heart is in my throat and my feet all at once. The one where I want him to pull me close and hold me tight, while I also run for the hills.
His hands land on the sides of my arms. This is the closest we’ve ever been, and the most informal, too. He stares down at the ground, then meets my gaze again. “Can I say something… off the record?”
I wet my lips and my heart chokes with unintentional desperation for something I can’t put into words. I’m not sure if it’s his warm touch or the long, knowing stare. Whatever it is, I feel it close, and like a massive game of hot and cold, I’m burning up. I nod my head, brushing a strand of hair away from my vision before staring up at my therapist, who I’m noticing now has tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves of his button-down.
Oh, damn… is there some edge to this guy?
“Molly,” there’s that deep, comforting tone again, “what’s Rhett’s phone number?”
“I appreciate it, Dr. Be—”
“Holden. You can call me Holden.”
My heart floods with something unfamiliar, but I like it. It’s warm and fuzzy and it makes me feel all kinds of accepted. “Okay, Holden.” I don’t even remember the question he was asking me now.
Holden stares down at me like a viper who’s holding back a strike. Like a beast who wants to break out of the collared shirt and rage. Like a man who’s stuck between honoring his code and protecting me from myself. “What’s Rhett’s number? I think he and I should be in touch, given the circumstances.”
Since the whole witness protection thing, Rhett’s been all about his privacy, and I’d never give his number to anyone without his permission. “I’ll text him your number. How’s that?”
He grumbles low. “You deserve more than what you’re getting, Molly. You deserve the love that you were talking about earlier. Someone who craves you. Someone who needs you as badly as you need them.” The timer he sets at the start of each session rings, and I stand motionless, staring up at the gruff expression on his face.
I know for sure now I have to leave Tyler… for good. I’m losing my mind. The thirst I have for real, genuine emotional connection is clearer than ever. I can’t live like this anymore. I need to feel desired, wanted, worth the effort, in love.
Holden swallows hard, and I swear he’s gotten closer. So close, that the dark aroma of his coffee is in my wheel of scents. So close, that I can feel his warm breath on my neck. So close, that if he wasn’t my therapist, and if I wasn’t a taken girl, I’d think we were about to kiss.
What’s happening?
Two soft knocks hit the office door before it creaks open. The woman at the front desk with short gray hair peeks inside. I think she might be related to Holden somehow. They sort of look alike. Maybe it’s the Grecian nose or the dark brown eyes. “Oh!” She steps back as though she too sees what I’m seeing. “Sorry to bother you, Dr. Beck, but we have a mental health emergency that needs attending to.”
Holden holds my gaze while he replies to the assistant, “I’m finishing up.”
She closes the door, and Holden stares down at me with purpose. It’s a look that crosses the line past therapist and into something I can’t quite define. “You answer when I call. Tell me you understand.” His tone is deep, and suddenly, his intentions are clearer. He’s dominant, but it’s not harsh. It’s concern, fatherly almost.
I nod, holding the darkness in his gaze a second longer as my heart thumps heavy against my chest and my clit throbs.
Why do I love this? Why do I need more? Why am I desperate for his hands to brush against my skin?
“Say it out loud. Tell me you understand,” Holden continues, his hand finally meeting my face. It’s the slightest touch, and he recoils a second after it happens as though he shouldn’t have touched me, but the warmth lingers against my cheek, and for a second, I’m lost. Lost in a reality where I’m finally loved the way I need to be loved. Lost in a place where my heart is at peace, and I feel free to be myself. Lost in a reality that doesn’t belong to me, that can’t belong to me unless I make a change.
Dragging in a deep breath, I look up at Holden. There’s comfort and understanding in his eyes. A sea of emotion I want to capsize in. I lick my lips as my stomach tightens. There are no decisions left to make. My body is with Tyler, but my heart moved on a long time ago. I need to leave. “I’m going with Rhett… for sure. And… I’ll answer when you call. Promise.”
He stares at me, and I swear I feel the struggle of his body as he tries not to move.
A lump passes down his throat as his dark eyes stay fixed on mine. “Good girl. I’ll call you later.” He turns away, taking the heat of his body and the spiced scent of mandarin with him. But I’m left with something, something just as warm, maybe even hot… the sound of his voice telling me what a good girl I am.