Chapter 31 #2
The fact that she half smiles at me with a snide expression nearly takes me out. I am about to lose my fucking shit. Abandonment issues? Multiple sessions a week?
"That's a great idea. She carries so much unresolved trauma from her childhood," Asher offers.
I want to throw something at him. I want to yell and scream and rage and break the doctor’s too expensive pen in half. Devon is silent, but when I glance at her, I catch the tiniest flicker of satisfaction in her expression before she smooths it away.
Right here is the turning point. At this very moment, I've just turned a corner. Any love inside of me is burning up in a fucking incinerator in real time. He’s doing this on purpose.
Manipulating me like his goddamn father manipulated everyone in his life.
He's a sick fuck, just like Dean. Worse, even. And I am done.
But he’s doing this for a reason. I don’t know what it is yet, but this is intentional.
And for that reason, I need to stay silent.
It’s time to hold my cards close to the vest. Something is happening here.
Something insidious. Something I tried to ignore, and I shouldn’t have.
He’s showing me his cards without realizing it.
I can’t tell if he’s trying to set me off or shut me up. But both are not acceptable.
“Yes, Asher is correct. Abandonment by a parent, particularly the father, can be so triggering,” Dr. Reeves says.
There's that word again. Abandonment. He fucking spoke to this bitch about my father.
"The thing to remember right now is that Devon needs you to be strong and stable for her right now. She needs to know that she's loved and supported, no matter what."
Strong and stable. Code for: shut up and smile and stop making waves.
"I know this is hard, Julie," Dr. Reeves says, and her tone is so patronizing I want to scream. "But I really think if you can work on managing your stress and being more present and supportive for Devon and your husband, you'll find that the household dynamic improves significantly."
I’m fucking flabbergasted. So angry that it’s taking everything I have not to tell this goddamn bitch to go fuck herself.
I can’t believe she's telling me to fix myself.
To change. To be better. While Devon sits there playing the victim and the backstabbing piece of shit I married nods along like this is all perfectly reasonable.
I think I nod. Perhaps I even say okay. But I’ve completely shut down now and I have nothing else to offer. In addition to being a shitty therapist, Dr. Reeves seems to be psychic, because he moves on from me and starts talking to Devon. I hear none of it over the loud roar in my head.
I clue back in when the doctor taps on her wristwatch. "We’re just about out of time. Devon, is there anything else you'd like to share with us before we end for the day?"
Devon shakes her head. "I just want everyone to be happy. I don't want to cause any problems."
"You're not causing problems, sweetheart," Dr. Reeves says, and the endearment makes my skin crawl. "You're healing. And that's what matters. The adults can figure their issues out in ways that don’t damage you.”
I. Am. Raging.
She stands, smoothing her skirt. We all stand with her.
"I think this was really productive," Dr. Reeves says, shaking Asher's hand first. "Ash, it's wonderful to see you taking such an active role in Devon's life. She adores you."
Ash.
The nickname hits me like a slap. She called him Ash. Not Asher. Ash. Only a handful of people call him that and I loathe every single one of those ignorant, elitist frat bros.
I look at Dr. Reeves, and for just a second, I see something flicker in her expression. A flash of realization that she's made a mistake. Then it's gone, smoothed over with that same professional smile.
"Julie," she says, extending her hand to me. Her grip is firm, her skin cool. "I really hope you'll consider what we discussed today. I believe intensive individual therapy could be very beneficial for you."
I nod because I don't trust myself to speak. Because if I open my mouth, I'm going to ask her why she just called Asher by a nickname that almost nobody uses. But I don't ask. Because I instinctively know it’ll get turned around on me and I’m done being gaslit.
We walk out of the office, down the stupid fucking stairs Devon insists on using, and into the parking lot. Nobody speaks the entire way. I am barely containing my rage.
"You know what?" Devon says, her voice light and cheerful in a way that makes my skin crawl. "I'm really craving ice cream. There's that place just a few blocks from here."
Asher looks at me. "Yeah, that sounds good. Julie, do you want to come? I'm parked right across the street. We can take my car and come back after to pick up yours."
Like I knew, he hid his car. I'm furious but also trapped because I am trying to portray calm.
And going anywhere with them right now is not going to make calm possible.
Ice cream. The three of us. More time in their presence, more opportunities for Devon to twist the knife, more chances for me to slip and say something that proves I'm unstable.
I can't do it. I physically cannot do it.
"I’d love some ice cream but I really can't," I say. My voice sounds pleasant and calm, and not at all like mine. "I have to hurry back to work. Jamie's been covering all afternoon. I’d planned to be back well before now."
The lie tastes metallic. My sister already told me to take the afternoon off. And thank God for that because I’m not fit for the public right now.
Asher noticeably fails at feigning disappointment. Has anything he’s ever shown me or said to me been true? I no longer think so. He’s a fucking liar to his core, and he’s cruel on top of it. Whatever mask he wore that fooled me will never work again.
"Are you sure?” he asks. “It'll be quick."
"I'm so sure." I force brightness into the words, force the smile. "You two go. Have all the fun and eat some for me."
Devon watches me. Calculating. She's trying to determine if I'm breaking or just bending.
I turn with what I think is a jaunty wave and walk toward my car.
My hands are shaking now and all I can feel is the pressure building behind my eyes, the tightness in my chest, the way my breath is coming in short, controlled gasps. I'm barely holding it together.
"Hey, Julie—" Asher calls after me.
I don't turn around because I can't. If I turn around, I'll see his face and I'll start screaming.
Possibly throwing punches. So I hurry to the car.
Click unlock on the fob and then slide into the driver's seat, close the door, start the door, and turn Madonna all the way the hell up.
In the rearview, I can see them standing in the parking lot.
Asher looking thoughtful, Devon with that small, satisfied smile.
That. Bitch.
My vision is blurry. I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
I pull out without looking back because looking back means exploding.
I drive. The route doesn't matter. What matters is distance—from Devon, from Asher, from the therapist's passive aggressive bullshit. Fucking cunt. She shouldn’t be a therapist.
I can't help thinking my life would've been a lot fucking better if I'd been paying attention to where I was driving that day and had hit the brakes on time. Anything to have kept me from Asher goddamn Stevens and his toxic fucking family.