The Flower
“Good morning, Dahlia.” A voice that makes me want to pull my hair out pierces my eardrums. I’m running on a minimal amount of sleep, and I have no tolerance today.
I haven't even poured myself a coffee yet, which is what I was just getting around to before being interrupted. I turn around with a forced smile.
“Good morning, Parker,” I say shortly, wanting to end this conversation before it even starts. If he is going to start with his bullshit this early, he could at least let me pour my fucking coffee first. If he keeps talking, this might be the day I snap.
Don’t be a sassy pants, Dahlia. He pays your bills.
“A beautiful morning, isn't it? What have you been up to?” he asks. I reach for the coffeepot, touching the base to see if it's still hot. My hand jerks back, the sudden burn hitting my skin, snapping my nerves awake. I glance down at my fingertips, watching them turn a shade darker.
“Careful now… does our little damsel need someone to attend to her distress?” he says playfully.
It's a good thing my back is toward him, or he would see the grimace plastered on my face.
Parker Raines. My perverted boss. Did I know he was a pervert when I accepted this job?
No, I found out afterwards… unfortunately.
A detail Zoe left out. He is relentless and doesn't know how to take the hint that I am not interested.
I need the money, so I’ve kept my mouth shut.
This job pays pretty fucking well, and I’ve built trust with my clients.
Parker is someone I’ve been willing to deal with, but the longer I stay, the less patience I have for him.
You would think after being here for a couple of months I would get used to it.
I mean, what woman even wants to be hit on by her boss?
Rhetorical question, by the way. Only if he is hot and fictional.
Maybe it’s the fact that he had to take over his father’s business. I’ve heard around that his father was quite a tight-ass and made sure that his son would take over when he retired. I don’t think Parker was built to manage anything, if you ask me.
“No, thank you. It was just a little warmer than I thought it was going to be,” I reply, taking a mug out of the cabinet and pouring the caffeinated liquid into it.
It’s 7:30 a.m. and I am not a morning person.
Give me a handful of minutes after I drink a coffee, then it’s probably safe to approach me.
And by probably, I mean, I prefer if you still do not.
Maybe I’ll invest in a mug that says “Do Not Approach Until Coffee Is Finished,” so the next time he tries to speak to me, I can just point right at it and save myself the suffering.
“Alright, I was just asking,” Parker says with his hands raised in surrender. I don't respond. I just look blankly while I take my first sip. The liquid feels even hotter on my lips. It's a burn I don’t mind. Though I’m not enjoying it as much as I normally do because of Parker's presence.
“I have to get set up for my clients today. Is there anything you need?”
I eye him while I gather my belongings, hoping he will say “no”. Gosh, Dahlia. Why did you have to ask a question? I should’ve just walked away. He smiles at me, almost hungrily, and, like clockwork, I wait for the snide remark.
“Oh, I need many things… but you can go. Have a good day today, Dahlia.”
I can’t tell if he is being sarcastic or not. Whatever, I have a full schedule of clients today and I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with his games. I grab my purse and journal, scurrying to my office, slamming the door behind me.
Oops. I need to stop kicking it shut.
I shuffle, reaching into my bag, removing my laptop and the folder with all my notes written in it.
I always arrive an hour early before my day starts so I can read over my clients’ reports.
It’s important that I refresh my memory on each client so I can give them the proper care and touch base on any recommended guidance or treatments that I provided in our last session.
Every client I see receives different care.
So no two sessions are ever the same. There’s no one–size–fits–all approach to the job.
Every person has been subjected to different types of trauma, experiences, discomfort, or disconnect.
It’s why I love my job so much. I get to connect with people on a deeper level, understand where they come from, how they process emotions, and help them through it.
There’s never a dull moment, that's for sure.
Today in particular will be noteworthy. I have two clients dealing with marital affairs, one client processing survivor’s guilt from a horrible accident, and last but not least, Axel Gray. Who hasn’t left the depths of my mind ever since he stepped foot in here?
Despite that, I still do not understand why he is here.
When clients come to me willingly, they make it clear they want help—that they want to heal and better understand their emotions.
With Axel… he speaks as if he has it all figured out.
As if he isn't seeking guidance. This not only strikes me as unusual, but is also a big source of my intrigue. I want to figure him out.
I take the manila folder with his name written on the label and open it, eyeing the pages I compiled inside during my off-hours.
Since his file was practically empty, I had to research his name and find a conspicuous profile of him.
With a quick internet search, you can find a lot about a person.
There was one link in particular that grabbed my attention, though.
Axel Gray Inmate Records Request
I remember eagerly clicking on the link when I first saw it on my laptop, not knowing if it was the Axel Gray I was looking for, or another.
The shiver that had erupted and taken over my whole body was ghastly.
The set of eyes that stared back at me, were ones I knew.
The conflict I saw setting battle in those swirls of chocolate, I almost felt… captivating.
I found myself digging further, coming across a list of charges and felonies underneath the mug shot:
Reckless Driving
Exhibition Of Speed
Aggravated Battery and Assault
Resisting Arrest
What the hell did he get into?
The page had gone into little in-depth detail, aside from noting a two-year sentence at the county prison, which was just over two years ago.
Is he dangerous?
The Battery and Assault charges should be confirmation enough, but I wasn't present when it happened. It’s never fair to assume something about someone without knowing the full extent of what occurred. It’s part of my job to be an unbiased source.
False charges or even plea bargains to decrease sentences happen all the time.
I searched for more but came up empty-handed.
No articles, no other records, a whole lot of nothing.
Next on my to-do list is to find out where he went for psychiatric care.
He mentioned it passingly, as if it were a part of his resume.
I scoff, closing his file. He is my last session of the day; I shouldn't let him occupy my mind when I have others that need care before him today. Who knows if he will show up, anyway?