Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Blue
The grains of sand slip to the bottom of the hourglass, and the chaos inside me turns into determination.
Dr. Mercer doesn't look at me when he reaches for his notebook, and that's how I know he's already chosen. He always avoids my eyes when he thinks he's being decisive. He thinks if he doesn't meet my gaze, I can't reach inside his head and rearrange things.
It's almost sweet.
He states, "This is where we're going to pause."
The word pause makes Mom's shoulders drop like she's been holding her breath for hours. Dad stiffens beside her, jaw grinding, ready to explode at being cut off.
My smile grows so big, I can't contain it.
Of course, he's ending it now.
My man's brilliant.
"We've covered enough ground for one session," Dr. Mercer continues, voice calm, measured, and infuriatingly steady. "Pushing further tonight would do more harm than good."
"That's it?" Dad snaps. "After all this?"
Dr. Mercer finally looks up. "Yes. I won't push Blue to the point she's triggered."
"Triggered?" Dad spouts.
"Yes. Triggered," Red repeats, firmly challenging my father.
He's so sexy when he takes charge.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, deciding whether to obey or test him. I decide the latter, claiming, "You're ending it because they're uncomfortable."
His eyes flick to me, sharp but controlled. "I'm ending it because everyone in this room is dysregulated."
I almost laugh. He's not wrong, but it still feels like he's yanking the wheel out of my hands.
Mom nods quickly, grateful. "Okay. Yes. That makes sense. But can I ask one question?"
"Sure," Red replies.
"What about medication?"
"Mom!"
She turns her teary eyes on me. "I'm just asking. Maybe it would help you?"
"Skylar, she doesn't need medication," Dad declares.
"Thank you," I offer.
"Medication could be a tool, but we haven't explored that option yet, minus a prescription I offered Blue for sleeping," Red informs them.
"I didn't take it," I announce.
"But you aren't sleeping. It could help," Mom advises.
Dad drags a hand down his face. "She doesn't need medication. The biggest question is what are we supposed to do when she—" He stops himself, lips pressing thin.
Red offers smoothly, "When she's overwhelmed, you keep things simple. No interrogations. No ultimatums." Then he turns fully, his attention landing squarely on me. "And you need to do your part, too."
The room tightens. "Meaning?"
"Tonight is about practicing the tools we've discussed. Breathing. Sensory grounding. No impulsive decisions."
"That sounds like a lot of rules," I say lightly.
He shakes his head. "They aren't rules. They're safeguards."
"For who?" I ask.
He says without hesitation. "For you. And for everyone around you."
Dad lets out a humorless sound. "She doesn't listen to safeguards."
I don't take my eyes off Dr. Mercer as he answers. "She does. When she chooses to."
My insides tremble with excitement. No one's ever stuck up for me the way Red does. It proves even further he loves me.
He closes his notebook and stands, ordering, "Mr. Ivanov, I want you to drive Blue home."
What? No. I'm going home with him.
I straighten immediately. "I can get myself home."
"No," he says, not raising his voice, and not backing down. "We've done a lot of work tonight. It's best if you let your parents get you home safely."
Dad nods like he's just been handed a weapon. "I'll take her."
My jaw tightens, but I don't argue. I don't agree with it, but I don't want to waste the energy. There are other ways to move the night where I want it to go.
Dr. Mercer looks at me again. "When you get home, you eat something, ideally with protein. Water is your best friend. Then you sleep."
I snort softly. "You sound like my father."
He grunts. "I sound like your therapist. And sleep is not optional."
I meet his eyes. My core turns to fire. "And if I can't sleep?"
"Then you lie still and breathe. You ride the urge to get up instead of obeying it."
My lips curve. "You make getting up and down sound easy."
His voice turns sterner. "You need rest. Sleep, preferably, but if you can't, at least let your body rest. No cleaning, sewing, or exercising. Understand?"
Mom stands, tentative but relieved. "Thank you," she tells him. "For stopping this before it got worse."
He nods, professional as ever. "We'll regroup soon."
Dad lingers, eyeing him like a threat he hasn't decided how to deal with yet. "This isn't over."
"Adrian," Mom scolds under her breath.
Dr. Mercer stands taller and agrees. "No. It isn't."
He's so hot, not being afraid of Dad.
"Let's go, Blue," Dad instructs.
I pin my attention on Red, let my fingers trail along the arm of the chair as I stand, and smirk.
His attention stays on me, careful, contained.
"Good night, Dr. Mercer," I say, emphasizing the title.
"Good night, Blue," he replies.
I turn and walk out between my parents, my steps unhurried, my back straight. I don't look back. I don't need to.
The door closes behind us with a soft click.
They think the session ended in that room.
They think I'm going home for the night.
They're wrong.
I step into the hallway with fresh calmness humming under my skin. I know the truth with absolute clarity.
Dr. Mercer just sent me home with the night wide open.
No one speaks as we make our way out of the building and into Dad's car. The ride home is quiet, and all I can think about is what's happening tonight.
Dad grips the steering wheel like it's the only thing anchoring him to the road.
Mom keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes soft and worried, like she's afraid I'll disappear if she looks away too long.
I sit in the back seat with my legs crossed, posture perfect, calm radiating from me in smooth, practiced waves.
The funny part is, they think I'm contained. That's how much they don't know me.
Dad pulls up to the curb. He kills the engine and exhales hard through his nose.
Mom turns halfway in her seat. "Maybe you should stay at our house?"
"No. I'm good. Thanks!" I reach for the door.
She continues, "Okay. I guess we'll talk more in the morning. Tonight, just…try to rest and relax."
"I will," I say easily, jumping out of the car. And it's not a lie. I plan on relaxing, but not how they imagine.
I disappear inside the building before they attempt to kidnap me and take me to their place. I unlock my door and step into my silent, familiar, and boring apartment.
I kick off my shoes, drop my purse on the counter, and head straight for my bedroom closet. The mirror greets me like an old accomplice. My reflection stares at me, serene, composed, and bright-eyed with something sharp and alive.
I tear off my dress, then stare at my body in the red silk and lace lingerie.
The lingerie hugs me perfectly, every strap sits where I want it, every line is a reminder that I chose this.
I grab my tallest heels and slide my feet into them.
I turn in the mirror, decide my booty looks fabulous, and tug the dress over my head.
Then I smooth it in place before packing an overnight bag.
I grab my coat, my keys, and leave.
On the way to Red's, I stop at the meat market. I select two oversized, well-marbled rib eyes, a bottle of expensive Scotch I saw in his place, and twice-baked potatoes.
I'm not hungry, but if Red wants me to eat, I'll eat for him.
The drive to his place feels like crossing a threshold. Streetlights blur past the city, hushed and complicit. My hands stay steady on the wheel, my mind clear.
This isn't impulse. This is follow-through, I tell myself.
I park a block away, just like I've imagined.
The night air brushes cool against my skin as I walk, my heels clicking hard on pavement.
His condo unit comes into view, dark except for a single light glowing near the kitchen.
I glance at my watch and stay in the shadows.
Like clockwork, he steps out of the building in his running gear and takes off in the opposite direction.
His back disappears around the corner, and I wait until a woman, with a little dog, around my age moves toward the building. Taking my chances, I push forward, carrying my bags, and chirp, "Hey, little sweet puppy!"
The white poodle jumps up at me. I coo, "Well, aren't you adorable! What's her name?"
"Pixie," the woman says.
I set my bag down, and Pixie jumps up. I grab her and tousle her fur. "You're just the cutest thing!"
"Do you live here?" the girl asks.
"Yes. I'm on the fourth floor. I'm Blue," I offer.
"Cloud," she states.
"That's a cool name," I gush.
She shrugs. "My parents were wanna-be hippies."
I laugh. "Mine couldn't think of anything but my eyes."
She grins. "I'm on the third floor. 328. I just moved here."
"423. Maybe we can hang out sometime," I suggest, then rise with the bags.
"That would be great. Do you need help with that?"
"Um, sure!" I say, even though I'm fine carrying everything.
She takes a bag, and we enter the building. The security guard barely looks up. We step into the elevator, and she says, "Can I get your number?"
"Sure."
She pulls her phone out, and I send myself a text.
My phone dings.
The elevator stops on the third floor. She asks, "Do you want me to carry this to your unit?"
"Nah. I've got it. Thanks, though."
"Sure. See you later."
"Bye," I say, as the doors shut.
The elevator rises one more floor, and the doors open. I set down the groceries, pull out my tension wrench, and pop Red's lock. I get inside, keep the lights off, and lock the door.
A thrill shoots straight through me. The house smells like Red, clean, warm, and familiar.
I shrug out of my coat and drape it over a chair, and put the bags on the counter.
I go into the bedroom, set my overnight bag in his closet, step out of my dress, then return to the kitchen.
I take his tabletop grill, crystal tumbler, plates, and silverware out of the cabinets.