Seven
I couldn’t sleep. How could I fucking sleep? All I could see when I closed my eyes was her fucking face. The way she flinched at my words, the way I saw every fucking one of them hit her like verbal projectiles. Normally it was everything else keeping me awake. Normally it was my need for something other than just my blood flowing through my veins.
Tonight though… it was guilt . I felt like a complete fucking asshole.
I grabbed her business card from the bedside cabinet. I’d make a point of ringing in the morning for a new appointment, but then tomorrow was Saturday. Were they even open Saturdays? Were they at least open to make appointments?
I had this desperate urge to apologise. To beg her to forgive the way I spoke to her. To explain that it wasn’t her fault that I’d been such an asshole. That I knew she’d only been trying to help me.
I dialled the number on the card, hoping the answer machine would tell me their hours or something, so I’d know if I could even book an appointment tomorrow.
As well as opening hours, they offered an emergency number. For anyone who was struggling with, you know, the urge to go and indulge that desperate need to use. To ease the burn. The agonising desperation.
Wait… it was a mobile number. What if it was hers? What if I was just that lucky?
I stared at my phone. I’d have to ring back to get the number and write it down. Of course there would be an out of hours service.
I rang back to get the number, and then stared at it. It wouldn’t be her. And even if it was, what right did I have to call her? I’d been an asshole to her. She’d been trying to help me, and I’d yelled at her, and insulted her, like she didn’t matter.
I wimped out in the end, and sent a text. Even that made me feel guilty, because what if someone was really struggling, and I tied up the person’s attention on this number?
Me: I need another appointment – Damon Silver.
I was finally drifting off to sleep, when I received a reply. It wasn’t from the same number, but it was definitely a response to my message, because why else would whoever it is message me right now?
Unknown: Are you okay?
Was it her? Someone else? Should I reply? If I didn’t, they might think I’m not okay. Shit. Why did I start this?
Me: Yeah, just wanted to book with Dr Chase as soon as I can.
Again there was a delay, and in those few minutes, I sat and cursed myself for wasting their time. I actually, unbelievably, wasn’t on the verge of falling off the wagon right now, so I shouldn’t be bothering them.
Unknown: I can do Monday morning. 10am.
Fuck. It’s her. Did my heart just speed up? Wuss.
Me: This is Dr Chase talking to me?
Unknown: Yes. I’m on call. Is the appointment suitable?
Jesus. I wanted to hear her voice, and how fucked up is that? I’ve met her exactly twice, and I was rude to her both times. I was an absolute dick.
Me: Dr Chase, can we talk?
HotDoc: Monday. 10am.
I tried ringing the number. Why did I add her in my phone book as HotDoc? She was definitely hot, and a doctor, but it was intrusive. Somehow, in some way, it was wrong.
She didn’t answer my call, and why the fuck should she? Worse than that, she must have hit reject, because it cut off fast, and she had no voicemail either.
Me: I’m sorry.
She kept me waiting long, agonising minutes again, and what the fuck? Was it some kind of power thing?
HotDoc: For ringing me?
Fucking hell. This was even harder than talking to her face to face.
Me: For being an asshole. Earlier. Both times. Every fucking time. You didn’t deserve that.
I messed with my phone, desperately hoping she’d message back.
DocChase: Apology accepted. You’re not the first to lose his temper with me. You won’t be the last.
I tried ringing her again, and again she didn’t answer.
Me: Please. I just need to tell you how sorry I am. I need to say it to you. This messaging thing is shit. You can’t tell that I’m sincere.
DocChase: I already accepted your apology. I’m not doubting your sincerity, Ice. I doubt you’d be awake and messaging me if it hadn’t bothered you.
Me: Did it bother you?
I was glad I’d changed her name. It felt more appropriate. She wasn’t mine. Giving her a sexy name on my phone wasn’t right. It wasn’t acceptable.
DocChase: Well, I won’t say I *understand* why you were angry…
Was that a joke? Was she joking with me? I felt a grin on my face, and it felt unfamiliar. How long had it been since I had a reason to smile? Or laugh?
Me: Thank you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I appreciate it.
My phone rang then, and it was her. I answered it immediately.
“I didn’t offer my forgiveness,” her voice was a low murmur, and it echoed through me, like a surge of arousal. How the fuck did she do that?
“I’m sorry I assumed that.” My heart was thudding in my chest, and it wasn’t all shock, or fear. It was excitement too. She’d reached out to me. She’d called me. Maybe I wasn’t a lost cause after all.
Lissa
I t was amazing what a little ‘Dutch courage’ could do. I hadn’t been able to sleep again, so I’d fallen back on the age old remedy of a little whiskey in my hot chocolate. Instead of making me sleepy, it had just left me laying there, trying not to think about anyone in particular.
When my phone rang, it was one of the on-call therapists. There were two who covered a night shift, picking up calls or messages from anyone struggling outside of office hours.
For some insane reason, I’d advised them that I wanted to know if Damon Silver made contact out of hours. Said he was a particularly ‘at risk’ case. They’d mentioned that he’d requested an appointment, and I’d requested his number, so I could ‘check in’. Checking in… it wasn’t the norm, but damn. It was him, and for some reason, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Why had I messaged with him? Entered into banter? And why now was I sitting up in bed, my phone against my ear, and his voice seeping into me through the phone.
“You know what they say about assuming.”
He laughed, well, it was more of a low chuckle, and it sent a tingle of something down my spine. Desire? No. No, I can’t think of him that way. But damn… I was big enough to admit that I wanted to.
“So uh… I’m sorry if I interrupted your evening.”
I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was just past 2am.
“Evening? I think we’re a little past that.”
He fell silent and then cursed.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I… I felt like an asshole for the way I spoke to you, and uh… I couldn’t sleep. The card had the number on, and I figured I’d call up to check opening hours, and uh… yeah… that’s how I came to message you.”
He didn’t message me, specifically, but now, thanks to my insane need to contact him, he had my personal number. I’m an idiot. That’s so inappropriate.
“Doc?”
I cleared my throat, closing my eyes.
“You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“You didn’t message me. I lied. I wasn’t on call.”
I heard movement, rustling of bedding maybe? He was in bed. Was he naked? I bet he slept naked… I pressed my hand against my face. What the hell was I getting into? He was a patient. A client. Both terms applied. More importantly, he was an addict in the early stages of recovery, and I was his therapist. His shoulder to lean on. Not someone to hit on him.
“Doc, is that why this is a different number? Is it your number? Why are you even awake so late?” Oh, he’d checked the time then.
“Jesus… I was worried about you after… I asked them to let me know if you reached out after hours. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He cursed quietly, and said nothing else for a moment.
“Ice?”
“So I come across as a complete fucking dick, and you worry about me? I yell at you, and insult you, and you somehow make yourself available to me out of hours? I bet they even woke you up. This is what it’s like to know me, Doc. I’m a fucking waste of space. Me, not you, or anyone else. It’s me. It’s always been me. Now I’m intruding on your fucking personal life.” His voice was slightly raspy, no wait, that wasn’t the right word. Ragged. Edgy.
“Ice-”
“Doc, I don’t deserve that kind of consideration. Not from anyone, but especially not you. All you’ve done is try to help me, and I’ve acted like a cunt every single fucking time.”
Ouch. That word was jarring. Shocking. I bit back the urge to tell him that I didn’t like it. It wasn’t his problem that it bothered me. And sometimes it was best not to give people on the edge that kind of ammunition. It was something they could use to hit back at you with.
“Ice, don’t say that about yourself. You’re clearly a good guy. You have a whole club wanting to see you get better, remember? I’ve seen two of your brothers now, waiting for you while you talk to me. They don’t do that out of obligation. They do it because they care.”
I heard a strange sound then. A hitched breath. A hissed sound. A quiet curse.
“I need to go.” His words were shaky, broken.
“Ice, please don’t go. Please, stay with me.” He was upset. The thought that he’d broken down, right now, when he was alone, tore through me like a knife. He shouldn’t be alone. He should have someone to hold him.
“Please.” His voice was a whisper, and those quiet gasps, of the despair he was trying to hide, were making me want to cry too. He wasn’t the first to cry in front of me, but it was the first time that it had hit me this hard. Like watching someone I love in pain. And I couldn’t even see him. Only hear it. And that was hell.
“Ice… take a deep breath. Everything you’re feeling, everything you’re going through, it’s all expected. It’s not pleasant, and it’s not easy, but it’s part of the journey. You’re going to scream, and yell, you’re going to cry, you’re going to hate everything and everyone. But eventually, you’ll start to appreciate things. Little things. And then bigger things. It’s not something that happens fast, but I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
He’d fallen completely silent by the time I stopped speaking. I even lifted the phone from my ear, to see if the call had ended.
“Ice?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “I fucking wish you were with me right now. I feel like a pussy for saying it, but I’d kill for a fucking hug right now. From anyone, but mostly, from you. Because I feel like you’d mean it, in a way others wouldn’t. Fuck me. I’m babbling at you. First I cry like a little bitch, and now I’m… I sound like a teenager. I sound like a fucking teenager, hitting on some girl, and failing miserably. I’m sorry. This isn’t fair of me to take up your free time like this.”
The words were out before I could stop them.
“I wish I was there with you too.”
We both fell silent, while I tried not to panic. I really said that, and I couldn’t take it back.
“You do?”
“I… I shouldn’t have said that. It’s unprofessional. It’s… I’m sorry, Ice.”
He sighed. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re tired, and you need rest. Probably got a pissed-off husband beside you, wondering what the fuck is going on. Thanks for the talk, doc. I… I hope you get some sleep now.”
“WAIT! Wait, Ice…”
He let out a breath, but didn’t hang up.
“Ice… I uh… nope, no husband. No anyone. Just me.” Why was it so important that I tell him, before he ended the call? Why did it matter?
He moved again, that rustling sound in the background.
“Uh… I don’t know what to do with that information, doc.” My face burned with embarrassment. Now I sounded like a pathetic schoolgirl with a crush, and I shouldn’t have a crush on him.
“I uh… I just wanted you to know that you’re not disturbing anyone else. I… goodnight, Ice. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Night, doc.”
The call ended, and I just slithered back down into my bed, feeling every nerve ending practically tingling, as I replayed what he said. The way his voice sounded when he said it. ‘I fucking wish you were with me right now.’ How he said a hug from me would mean more. I curled up on my side, and tried to imagine how it would feel to hold him in my arms, and more importantly, feel those strong arms around me too.