Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eleanor
Outmaneuvered by the therapist once again.
C harlie eyeballs me from what I’m assuming is his favorite seat, slap bang in the middle of the corner couch. Probably so he can steal things from unsuspecting guests. Hunter has disappeared. Again. This time for a larger grocery run because we apparently can’t exist on fresh-baked goods and coffee alone. I tried to argue, but lost the battle since I don’t know where this magical bakery is located. I could venture outside, but that would involve people and potentially socializing. Neither of which is appealing.
Speaking of socializing...
I open the Zoom link Gail sent, only to find her already waiting for me in her home office. This time, wearing clothes. She grins at me, a ray of freaking sunshine to my dark and stormy cloud.
“How are you doing?” she asks as her gaze scans the area behind me. I’m seated at the dining table with my back to the couch, the best place I could find to have my appointment. “What is that?”
I focus on the mini screen in the corner to check out what she is looking at. Charlie’s nose peeks over the top of the couch, and his big fluffy tail waves like a flag back and forth.
I sigh, wishing the mutt would leave me alone for a moment. “A dog.”
Gail blinks. “You got a dog? That’s progress, Ellie.”
“No. I am at Hunter’s apartment, and he has a dog.”
“I see. How do you feel about that?”
This woman knows more of my history and secrets than anyone else on this planet, so she should know without me saying. But she would claim I need to vocalize my feelings to truly understand them. “Irritated.”
“How so?”
“He stole my last clean pair of panties and refused to relinquish them.” She covers her mouth with her hand, but not before I catch the snort. “It’s not funny,” I tell her.
She shakes her head and composes herself with difficulty. “Of course it’s not.” She smiles.
“Then, last night, I was practicing a little self-care, and the damn dog jumped on the bed and made me orgasm in front of Hunter.”
Her face goes blank. I’ve managed to make my unflappable therapist dumbstruck. Does that win me a prize?
“Can we break that down? I am struggling with the visual.”
“You want a visual of me having an orgasm?” Even I know that’s not what she means.
“Goodness, no. Let’s start with why you felt the need for self-care.”
“I was horny.”
“Right, and what made you horny?”
I hate her. “An uncomfortable conversation with Hunter while wearing his shirt and lying on his bed as I stared at the mirror attached to his ceiling.”
“What was the conversation about?”
That’s what she’s interested in? Not the mirror? Poor form, Gail. “About how he uses the mirror to get himself off and demonstrating how hot that could be.”
“And that’s where you did some self-care in front of him?”
I huff, upset my friend doesn’t know me at all. “Fuck no. I flashed him my breasts, then attempted to barricade myself in the guest room.”
Is it a testament of my weirdness or her strength that she doesn’t seem surprised? “How did the dog get involved?”
I wave one hand over my ear. “I put my headphones in and decided to try out the soul sucker, hands-free vibrator.”
“Okay.”
“Hunter decided to check if my windows were secure, and as I had my headphones in, I didn’t hear him enter.”
Gail’s jaw drops. “He found you bringing yourself pleasure?”
So formal. Clearly, we are in full therapist mode. “He did. And instead of leaving like a gentleman, he settled in for the show.”
“And the dog?”
I glance over my shoulder at the menace before facing the camera again. “Dove on the bed, alerting me I was no longer alone. He knocked the controller out of my hands, which turned up the strength, forcing me over the edge in front of both of them.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Then she takes a sip out of her mug and grimaces. I’m assuming through the lack of steam it is cold. Gross.
“How do you feel now?”
“Now? A little irritated.”
“That’s understandable. He invaded your private space, even if it’s his home.”
“Oh, I’m not irritated about that. Someone is playing coy with the surveillance system I hacked throughout the town.”
She sighs and scribbles something on her notepad. I dare not ask what she writes about me. “How are you feeling about last night?”
I shrug. “Potentially embarrassed, but then he brought fresh pastries, and I forgot about it. At least, until you made me relive it.”
“He distracted you with baked goods?”
I tilt my head. Is that what he was doing this morning? Distracting me with delicious treats? How much of a fool am I that it worked?
“What was that thought?” Gail prods.
“You’d be proud of me.”
“I’m dying to hear this.”
“I opened up a little.”
“About?”
“My mom. The cult.” I glance away. “Jonathan.”
“To Hunter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He is...” I squint at the wall. How to describe a man that simultaneously drives me nuts and makes my heart pump twice as fast? Gail doesn’t fill in the awkward silence like most normal people. I’d long since stopped trying that particular trick on her. Her patience is as long as my stubbornness, and I’ve tested it enough to realize I won’t win against her.
Most psychiatrists charge by the hour, and once it’s up, it’s up. Doesn’t matter if you were about to have the biggest epiphany of your life, healing your inner child and all that bullshit. Once the clock strikes, you are out the door and told to hold on to that groundbreaking pattern of thought, that may bring you peace and light for all eternity, until the next session.
Gail is not only the best therapist in the world, she’s the most astute. She did two sessions with me using the standard hour, then immediately switched to goal focused therapy. No epiphany, no leaving. I don’t even know the goal; if I did, I’d feed her some bullshit to make the session complete as fast as possible. At least, I would have in the beginning. Now, life wouldn’t be the same without the woman who helps guide me in a world I still find socially complicated and overwhelming. I can fit into ninety percent of situations given a small amount of time to study those around me, but it’s exhausting. Behind my computers, in the comfort of my own home, I am rarely tired. It’s where I thrive. But as the noose tightens around Jonathan, I am going to need to don my mask more and more, and to do that, I need support.
I meet her gaze. “I think I can trust him.”
“What has led you to that conclusion?”
“He’s a friend of a friend. We met months ago in a situation most others wouldn’t show up for. Then he showed up again, but this time, for me.”
She nods as I absorb the truth of my words. I don’t trust anyone, but I trust him. I don’t work from my gut or my heart. Both of those things can too easily be manipulated. I’m a logic and numbers girl; they don’t lie.
When did I decide to trust this man? And more importantly, why?
“Even though he snuck into your room, in the dead of night, and watched you masturbate?”
“He was checking the windows.”
“But he stayed.”
“I would have done the same.”
She quirks a brow. “Do you see yourself with him?”
“I am with him.”
“No, Ellie, with him like a couple.”
“We are in a fake relationship. I guess it’s a good way to test the water.” Wait, what? No. No testing of water. I don’t have the time or patience for romantic entanglements.
“Fake dating? Why is this sounding more and more like a romance book?”
“They fake date in books? Why?”
“Stop trying to deflect my questions.”
I snort. Like I could shake this woman loose from her line of questioning. “I would say we’re living in an uneasy truce. I am hiding from the devil, and he is providing shelter while I sort my shit out.”
Her face falls. “How much trouble have you gotten yourself into?” I grimace. She rubs a hand down her face. “Ellie, please be careful. And for fuck’s sake, if that man is offering you safety, you suck up the fake dating situation and act like your life depends on it.”
“Did I get five gold stars on my homework?”
“Six.”
I frown. “But the maximum is five.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “Can we take a moment to acknowledge the fact you have not once looked over your shoulder at the cute fluff ball who would normally be giving you a panic attack?”
“Charlie? He lost his scary street cred when he tried to play hide and seek with my panties. Plus, he smiles.”
“He what?”
“Smiles.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is. Watch.” I turn to Charlie who raises his head and wags his tail faster. “Smile, Charlie.” He tilts his head and blinks at me. I show him my teeth and push my top lip up at the corners with my fingers. “Smile,” I say, even though it’s muffled.
Gail’s howl of laughter comes from the laptop, and I spin to face her, my brows drawing together. “What’s so funny?”
“You can smile. You don’t need to use your fingers to demonstrate.”
I drop my hands, feeling a flush of heat in my cheeks. “I was trying to demonstrate to the dog.”
“The smiling one?”
“Indeed.” I side-eye Charlie. “I just started liking you.”
He huffs and drops down behind the couch.
“Okay, so new homework,” Gail declares, signaling the end of our session. Clearly, I passed this week’s therapy level in record time. Go me.
“I want you to journal.”
I scrunch up my face. “We covered this way, way back. I don’t even like talking about my feelings, never mind immortalizing them for all time in a flimsy and easily found book.”
“Then journal on your computer. Do it somewhere, Ellie.”
“No.”
“Why? You came in front of a man, yet you won’t expose your feelings where no one will ever see them?”
“Ask me for something else.”
“You can’t say no if I change it, Ellie.”
What could be worse? The woman asked me to bare my soul on paper. It’s not that someone might find it, especially if it’s on my computer. It’s the fact I will have to face my emotions daily and dissect them without Gail to act as my buffer. My immediate future consists of fake dating a man I may actually trust, having ridiculously deep conversations with a dog I know doesn’t understand me, and being hunted by a monster while I stalk another one into his grave. My feelings are best left where they normally are—buried deep, deep down beneath the pain and the fear threatening to consume me from the inside out. My feelings won’t stop Jonathan. They won’t redeem my brother, or make Christopher wake up to the fact he is a horrific human being. They won’t save the countless lives my cold hard logic will, and they definitely won’t give me a future with a man I don’t deserve.
Wait. Where did that come from?
This is why I can’t start staring at a page full of words, full of emotion. It would snowball. I’m not capable of loving someone. Not anymore. Jonathan extinguished that with my mother’s dying breath, which also means no one can love me. You cannot fall for someone who can’t feel. It’s impossible. Be attracted to? Sure. That is hardwired chemistry, engineered to make us breed, forcing us to continue to evolve and rule this planet we are intent on ruining. My genetic line ends with me. I’m broken. No need to pass that down to a child or bring them into a world with a mother who isn’t capable of giving them the life they deserve.
“Hit me.”
“You sure? It’s not too late to take the journal option.”
“I’m curious now, so no.”
“I want you to spend one hour with Hunter.”
A weight lifts off my shoulders as I release a breath. “Done.” It’s hardly a stretch since I’m temporarily living here.
“Every day.”
“Okay…” Still not following why this would be making Gail use her gentle voice.
“But that hour needs to be doing something couple-like.”
My nose scrunches up. “Couple-like? Like sex? I feel like that would cross the fake dating line.”
“No, not sex, unless that’s something you want. I’m not stopping you.”
Sex with Hunter isn’t exactly a turn off, which in itself is a red flag. “I’m not following.”
“Go shopping. Go on a date. Watch a movie. Play a game. Read together. Walk Charlie. Cook together. You know, couple things.”
I do not know, but this all sounds horrific. I take it back. “Is it too?—”
“Yup, the journal ship has sailed. I’ll check in with you in a few days. Happy fake dating, Ellie!”
Then she ends the call while wearing her signature smirk, suggesting she maneuvered me into this, the exact thing she wanted in the first place. It’s not like she can see me though, so...
My phone buzzes.
Gail
No cheating. I’ll know if you lie.
“Fucking psychiatrists,” I mutter.
Charlie jumps to his feet and grins at me.
Figures.