Chapter 10
HARPER-RAYN
Sitting across from Dr. Preston, I awkwardly relax into the too-small armchair.
Therapy has been doing wonders for me. At least it was at the start, but ever since finding out that this new stalker was able to get my notes from the hospital and use them as a weapon against me, the idea of opening up suddenly doesn’t seem so enticing.
“Is everything alright?” Dr. Preston asks, watching me through a narrowed gaze, her usually smiley and open demeanor now seeming almost suspicious. “You seem . . . unsettled. Anxious.”
My gaze flicks up to the clock on the wall above her head, counting down the minutes until I can leave.
“Oh. Sorry. I hadn’t realized,” I say, feeling a little guilty.
Dr. Preston is great. She’s an incredible therapist and has really helped me to start healing and move on from everything that happened.
She doesn’t deserve this closed-off version of me.
She’s put in too much work to watch me screw it all up now. “I’ll try better.”
“I don’t need you to try better. I just need you to find comfort.
Trust. We can’t begin to heal when we are holding back,” she tells me.
“I am so pleased with the leaps you have been making. I feel we’ve really been getting to the root of your issues with your mother and the neglect you received from her.
However, I have noticed a decline in your willingness to discuss your moments with your masked stalker. ”
“I didn’t realize there was a checklist of things I was required to speak about.”
“Not at all,” she says. “It was just an observation that left me curious. Do you not feel as bothered by the events that took place prior to your psychiatric hold?”
“No,” I say. “They still bother me. I think about it every day. Sometimes it leaves me in a cold sweat. But what’s the point talking about it? None of it was real.”
“But it was real to you.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. My stalker was just some figment of my imagination, and the more I talk about it, the crazier I become. I’m on my meds now, and he’s never coming back, so I don’t see the point in constantly talking about him as though he was somebody worth discussing.”
“You’re right. He was not real, and the scenes that played out in your head were all a figment of your imagination.
However, it doesn’t make your reaction to them any less real.
The emotions you felt during those times were real.
The fear you felt, the pain you unknowingly inflicted on yourself, the grief when you believed your friend had been killed, that was all real.
And just like any other trauma that we suffer through, it takes a huge toll on one’s mental well-being, so it’s imperative that we work through it and find a way to overcome and push past the fear that weighs you down. ”
“Isn’t that what the meds are for?”
Dr. Preston shakes her head. “If it were that easy, I’d be out of a job,” she says with a slight chuckle.
“The medication is helpful, but it can only do so much. If you were to stop taking your pills, these hallucinations would likely return. Our goal is to get you to a place of inner strength so that when the time comes for you to break free from your medication, you will no longer be at risk, nor will you need to fear what your own mind is capable of. And I believe it, Harper. You are young and strong, but on top of that, you are willing to take the necessary steps. I just need you to trust the process and trust me. We can do this. It’s just one step at a time. ”
My lips press into a tight line just as the soft alarm sounds through the small office, signaling the end of our session and sending a wave of relief crashing through my body.
“Okay, Harper. You did well today,” she tells me as she collects her notepad and stands from the armchair opposite mine. “Have a think about what we’ve discussed here today, and during our next session, let’s see if we can figure out where this new reluctance is coming from.”
I offer her an encouraging smile, as if to say Sure, let’s do it, when I already know that, for the time being, opening up about the bullshit I endured with this imaginary stalker is strictly off-limits.
At least until Knight and Detective Gray can figure out who the hell attacked me in the parking garage.
After that, I’m more than happy for Dr. Preston to dig around inside my brain.
If she’s really able to make it so that I’m never committed to a psych ward again, that’d be wonderful.
Knowing that Dr. Preston has another patient right after me, I make a hasty exit before checking in with her receptionist and making sure my next session is booked. With everything as it should be, I take off, wanting to get back home and sleep.
This right here is the harsh reality of night shift; every other business only operates during daylight hours.
Any appointments I have to go to, business phone calls I need to make, even simple grocery shopping, all have to happen during the day, and more often than not, these simple, mundane chores eat into my sleeping hours.
It sucks, but that’s the life I signed up for.
It’s a short drive from the therapist’s office, and barely ten minutes later, I pull up into the driveway, my mind already replaying everything Dr. Preston and I discussed.
She’s a smart woman, and she clearly knows what she’s doing.
I don’t doubt that if I truly stepped up and put my whole heart and soul into therapy, she could help me get better.
And I don’t just mean she could help rid me of my mental hallucinations.
I mean, she could help me through all of my trauma: the resentment I hold for my mother, the unease I feel from the parking garage attack, the stress from wanting to be exceptional at work, and the fear I drown in at the idea of ever losing Knight.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I cut the engine of my old Honda and make my way toward the front door of the home I share with Knight, and with every step I take, I can’t help but feel how surreal this is.
Barely even three months ago, Knight was nothing more than my mother’s brother-in-law, whom I’d occasionally see at ridiculous dinner parties.
I never thought things would move past him making me blush like a schoolgirl, but now I have him on his knees every damn night.
My whole world has so drastically changed.
One minute I was rocking out in the morgue, slicing and dicing while making my way through my favorite playlists, and the next thing I know, I blinked and am in a committed relationship with my step-uncle, getting dicked down deeper than a conspiracy theorist’s videos on YouTube.
What are the chances?
Approaching the front porch, I start digging through my bag for my keys when something on the doorstep has my hand pausing in my overfilled bag.
“What the fuck?” I breathe, letting my hand fall down to my side as a wave of nausea assaults me. This can’t be happening.
Stepping right up to the front porch, I stare down at the single black rose left abandoned on the front step, and I suck in a horrified breath. My hands begin to shake, and as the seconds begin to pass, my blood turns to ice within my veins.
He found me.
Everything stops.
Tears well in my eyes, and I hastily shake my head as though this is nothing more than my mind playing a game on me, but how could it be?
I take my meds religiously. My mind is safe from this bullshit, but how?
I thought I was safe here. I thought I was going to be alright, but I was a fool for ever assuming that he couldn’t find me here.
The tears begin to fall, streaking down my face, and as they drop from my jaw and land with a splash against my collarbone, something wakes me up. What the fuck am I doing just standing here? Is he watching me? Waiting to see what I’ll do?
Fuck.
I hastily dive back into my bag, fishing out my keys with trembling hands before trying to unlock the door as quickly as possible. My trembling makes it harder than it needs to be, but the moment the key finally twists in the lock, I take the handle and all but throw the door open.
Grabbing the black rose off the front step, I hurry over the threshold, frantically slamming the door behind me and practically jumping on it as I hastily lock it from within.
My body trembles, and the moment I can, I throw the rose down on the hallway table, not wanting to touch it a moment longer than necessary. My fingertip catches on one of the sharp thorns, slicing into my skin, and I suck in a breath as the stinging pain quickly begins to throb.
Blood pools on my fingertip, and I hold it tight, trying to stop the bleeding as my gaze remains focused on the rose.
How the fuck did he find me?
The message I received from him only a few days ago suggested he had no idea where the hell I’d been hiding out, and I can only assume that means he’d been staking out my old apartment.
The only way he would have found me here is if he’d followed me home from the hospital after knocking me out in my car.
Fuck.
I did this.
After Vincent knocked on my window, I had assumed my stalker was gone. I wasn’t cautious enough. I didn’t search every dark corner to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I drove straight home, drawing him the perfect map for how to find me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
How could I have been so stupid? So reckless?
I fall to my knees right there in the entryway, the helplessness weighing me down as my face falls into my hands and tears stream down my cheeks. Every time I think I’m starting to get better, starting to believe I could make it through this, my stalker strikes again.
This is never going to end. He’s never going to leave me alone. Never going to back off, and because of my own insecurities, I’ve allowed it to happen. My silence has allowed him to get away with this bullshit.
I can’t do it anymore. I need to come clean.
I need to be honest with Knight, even if his pitying stare crushes me, even if he doesn’t believe me.
He needs to know because, unlike my last stalker, this man is actually real.
He poses a real threat to my life, and while I’m more than capable of physically plunging a scalpel into his throat, the truth is, I don’t know if I have the strength to follow through.
I don’t know if I’m capable of taking a life.
I might be a little spitfire with adrenaline on my side, but I’m barely five-foot-two. I’m petite and weigh next to nothing. This man has got to be six-foot-four and packed with muscle. I don’t stand a chance, even with a scalpel in my hand.
The tears continue flowing down my face, and as my phone rings from somewhere deep inside my bag, I hastily wipe the wetness from my face and pull myself together. After digging through my bag, I find Knight’s name flashing across my screen, and I do what I can to force a smile across my face.
“Hey,” I say, awkwardly getting to my feet.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, a strange edge to his tone. “How was therapy?”
And with that, I suck in a breath and scoop the rose off the entryway table before taking it deeper into the house. “Really good,” I tell him, doing everything in my power to mask the shakiness in my voice. “She thinks I’m making progress.”
“That’s great, doll.”
The pride in his tone guts me, and I force another smile across my face as I step into our closet and hide the black rose in my underwear drawer.
How could I possibly tell him now? He’s so proud of me.
He thinks I’m getting better, and if he were to find out that I’ve been lying to him after giving him my word, it would crush him.
I’ll tell him about this when the time is right, but for now, all I can do is smile through the fear. “Yeah. Dr. Preston has been amazing,” I tell him. “How’s work? When will you be home? I was thinking we could head out for dinner. Maybe I’d even let you screw me in the restaurant bathroom.”
Knight laughs. “You read my fucking mind.”