16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
“ I understand this is your first time seeking counseling.”
Carson’s leg stopped bouncing, though she continued to fiddle with her keys, pressing the tips of her fingers into the grooves, leaving impressions. Nerves had cut off her vocal cords, so she nodded. When presenting in the courtroom in front of a judge or jury, she was fearless. But sitting in a private room with someone whose sole job is to listen and help? Terrifying.
It had been two weeks since Jax discovered Carson’s secret. Now she was sitting on a therapist’s sofa next to Jax.
The therapist, Dr. Whitlock—though he’d offered for Carson and Jax to call him Dave—leaned back, the deep-mocha leather of his chair whining. “What brings you here today?”
His black goatee moved as he spoke, the whiskers bending with the motion of his lips. The clanging of Carson’s keys began to annoy her, so she dropped them by her side and shoved her hands between her thighs before glancing at Jax.
“I cut myself.” No point in beating around the bush, though the words felt like mud in her mouth. Carson wished she had a hose to wash away the dirt .
“Thank you for sharing with me. That must have been difficult,” Dave said. “I’m interested in hearing about what leads you to self-harm.”
“I don’t know. Maybe because my husband and son died in a car accident.”
“I can only imagine how hard that was for you.”
“Well, it was five years ago,” Carson said dismissively.
Dave’s head tilted to one side. “You say that as if five years is a long time. As though their deaths shouldn’t be difficult anymore.”
Carson’s eyes dropped to inspect the patterns in the carpet, a kaleidoscope of brown and black. Compared to the Granite Dells Center, she liked the darker earth tones this one had to offer. It reminded her of the forest. In fact, the light scent of trees, like pine needles after a rainstorm, floated around the room.
“Did the accident trigger the start of your self-harm?” Dave asked.
“Not necessarily,” she said, her hair lightly hitting her cheeks when she shook her head. “Well, I guess, since I have never cut myself before the accident.”
“I’d like to know what you mean by ‘not necessarily’.”
Those three scars appeared in Carson’s mind. So did her abhorrence.
After a quick glance at Jax, glad he agreed to go with her to her first session, she explained. “I was pregnant at the time of the accident. I needed surgery which left scars on my stomach. After three years I didn’t want to look at them anymore.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Dave said, his face becoming softer, more round.
“Thank you,” Carson said.
“Your mind and body have been through a lot. I can only imagine what you are feeling.”
A waterfall feature covered the entire wall behind the therapist. The water descended and bubbled in the little pool at the bottom. It was a nice, calming touch.
“Sometimes,” Carson murmured, “when I hurt myself, I don’t feel anything at all, like I’m in a trance. I can’t control it. Other times, I’m conscious of what I’m doing, and it’s almost satisfying. Which is crazy, because obviously it’s wrong.”
“When someone harms themselves, their body releases endorphins, which are happy hormones, to the brain,” Dave said, uncrossing his legs. “Are you on any medications?”
Carson stiffened, suddenly wary. “No, and I don’t want to be,”
“May I ask why not?”
Carson’s body turned to liquid, horrified at the direction the conversation had gone. The shaking in her hands migrated up to her arms. She balled them into fists on her lap, feeling stupid for not realizing that this specific subject would come up, especially with Jax sitting next to her. For a moment she contemplated lying, but quickly rejected the thought. She was done lying.
“Carson?”
Her attention snapped back to Dave. “I don’t have a good relationship with medications,” she said. That hadn’t been a good enough explanation, as Dave continued to stare at her expectantly. Carson adjusted in her seat, chewed her cheek for a second, then spoke. “About a year after the accident, I found my leftover painkillers. I took every single one with an entire bottle of vodka.”
“You attempted to end your life by overdosing?” Dave asked.
Hearing her actions spoken out loud made Carson’s soul leave her body. Meekly, she looked at Jax. His eyes held so much pain.
Looking back at Dave, she gave a tiny nod.
“Have you tried again since?” Dave gently pressed.
“No, I haven’t.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” He paused for a second, analyzing her. Carson became even more nervous, wondering if this was the part Dave declares her crazy and puts her into a straitjacket. But all he said was, “I can see you’re very uncomfortable being here.”
Again, Carson made her leg stop twitching and shrugged.
“Tell me about that,” Dave continued.
“I don’t know if therapy will fix my problems,” Carson said, somewhat resolute. “I have nothing against therapy or therapists. I don’t think it’s a resource for me, though. I think that ultimately it is up to me to change. I shouldn’t rely on drugs or a therapist to change me.”
Dave tapped his pudgy finger against his chin. “You are correct, Carson. It is ultimately up to you to change. But sometimes people need a little help along the way. It seems that you are willing to give therapy a try. After a few weeks, you may determine that therapy is the tool you need to get better. Or you may choose to find another path.
“For now, I think it’s important to get a handle on your self-harm. Let’s talk about a safety plan.”
By the time Jax’s truck pulled into her driveway later that evening, Carson was lounging on the couch. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. Who knew going to therapy would be just as demanding as riding a dirt bike for hours on end ?
Jax’s headlights disappeared as he pulled around back. They had left the counseling office at the same time. She had already driven home, changed, and put a frozen pizza in the oven. Where had he gone?
Within seconds, the side door opened, and Jax’s footsteps thudded through the kitchen. She sat up off the couch, about to ask him where he went, when the words got lost in her throat. Jax approached her with a large bouquet of flowers: ivory roses with splashes of baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the black tissue paper they were swaddled in.
“Oh, Jax, I love these,” Carson cooed, pressing her nose into the petals. They smelled better than the pizza currently cooking.
“Congratulations on surviving your first session of therapy.”
She laughed before stretching on her toes to give him a peck on the lips.
“I am so proud of you,” he said gruffly.
“I’m proud of myself too. Though I feel like I just got my ass kicked.”
“I can only imagine what that was like for you. Thank you for being so honest and willing to try.”
“It wasn’t easy,” she whispered.
Jax kissed her forehead. “I know.”
When Carson moved to put the roses in water, Jax snatched her arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Mr. Hoover?” he said, before leaning down and kissing her lips with so much vigor it caught her off guard. His hands found their way to her back, sliding under her shirt.
“The flowers,” Carson mumbled against his lips, concerned that his eagerness would damage their fragile bodies.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” Jax growled, now kissing her chin line.
His kisses and roving hands made Carson’s blood pulse throughout her body. “Let me at least set these down.” she said.
After an annoyed huff, Jax smashed his lips back onto hers. Before she could complain again, he took the bouquet from her, slid his hand down to her thigh, and lifted her up. She tried to gasp, but he wouldn’t let her lips leave his. Afraid he was going to drop her, she hooked her ankles around his waist.
With the bundle of roses in one hand and Carson in the other, Jax walked into the kitchen. He sat the flowers on the counter, then spun her around. A cabinet opened, and glass clinked. They spun again. Carson heard the rush of the sink faucet filling a container and stems settling into a vase. He did all of this while kissing her.
It was moments like this that Carson appreciated his career choice. Years of training to naturally carry a person while having to do other impossible tasks made kissing him that much more enjoyable.
Now he was taking her somewhere. She didn’t care where. Her mind was wrapped around the way his tongue mingled with hers. How his breath tasted of fresh peppermint, like the flavor of gum always resting in the cupholder of his truck. How the hat he wore was in the way of her fingers trying to run through his hair. Grabbing the bill, she tossed it aside blindly.
Soon, Jax lowered himself onto Carson’s bed. Now she was in his lap with her legs on either side of him. She wanted to be closer to him. Needed to be closer to him. There was too much fabric. Breaking their kiss, she ripped her shirt off over her head and threw it on the floor. His hands slid up and down her back leaving fire in their wake.
“There’s food in the oven,” she warned, remembering the pizza.
“Then we better be fast.”
Then he lay back, taking her with him, and rolled until he was on top, continuing to kiss down her chest. Deliberately, Jax’s lips became less forceful and more delicate until he was only pushing them on specific parts of her abdomen. With a quick glance, Carson saw he was inspecting her torso. Every few seconds, he would kiss a random spot on her stomach. Her heart squeezed when she realized he was kissing her scars. The distress on his face was clear as he digested each and every one of the lines scattered all over her ribcage, stomach, and hips.
Eventually, Jax lifted his eyes and made contact with her. Carson pushed herself up to rest on her elbows, also analyzing her disfigured body. The scars no longer gave her ambivalent pleasure like it did once before.
One of his fingers traced the lines on her waist, causing her skin to erupt in goosebumps.
“Do you think you’ll ever wish you didn’t have these anymore?” he asked, his voice subdued.
“No,” she admitted after thinking for a second.
He cocked his head at her answer, his hair spilling over to the side.
“I mean, it would be nice to be able to wear whatever I want without the whole world seeing what I’ve done. But I don’t know if I would want them completely gone. I guess I see them as a reminder.”
Jax nodded absentmindedly at her explanation. She could only imagine what he was thinking. Did he wish they were gone?
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.
He stopped tracing the lines on her stomach, his eyes catching hers.
“Does today change things between us? I mean, knowing that I tried to . . .” Still, Carson couldn’t say the words.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she breathed. “I feel like it could all be too much for you at some point. It’s a lot to handle.”
Jax’s eyes turned to slits. “You’ve got to give me more credit than that, Carson,” he said, miffed, before lifting himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed .
Also sitting up, she folded her legs in front of her. “I know, but—”
“But, what? You don’t think I can handle it? You do realize what I do for a living.”
“That is kind of my point.” Carson thought back to the morning he’d explained why he didn’t tell her about being at her accident. “You told me you didn’t want to deal with conflict at home because you have so much stress at work.”
He rolled his neck. “That’s not—I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. You just have to believe that I love you enough to be by your side, no matter how difficult it gets. Please don’t keep things from me because you don’t think I can handle them.”
Needles poked Carson’s body, and she imagined the three scars on her abdomen laughing at her. She was supposed to take small steps, not spill her guts out all at once. The self-harm and suicide attempt should be enough for now. Would Jax be able to handle the reason she began hacking at her skin in the first place?
The day she’d first taken a sharp object to her body played in her mind. It was eerily similar to her dream the other night. Nearly two years ago, she’d been standing fully naked in front of her bathroom mirror, having just left of the shower. The car accident had done more than kill her family. It had also taken her ability to get pregnant.
The hysterectomy scars were hideous, a constant reminder of what she’d lost and what she couldn’t have. For three years, she had to look at the most disgraceful part of herself. That morning she finally decided to do something about it. Except she hadn’t stopped on her stomach. The pain felt too nice, too sweet. The cutting began to spread like a disease across her body.
Carson’s surgery scars continue to mock her as she considered how to respond to Jax’s request. Apparently cutting her stomach up hadn’t silenced them, it had only hid them. How was she supposed to tell Jax she couldn’t bear his children?
Not yet. One step at a time. I will tell him , she promised herself, just not tonight .
Finally, she nodded once.
“I spoke with my ma today” Jax said, changing the subject. “She wants to meet you.”
“Really?” Carson perked up, relieved that the conversation had changed direction.
“I’m flying back home for Christmas. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. My brother’s wife Marlo is about to have a baby, so we’ll get to snuggle a newborn.”
“I’d love that,” Carson said. How she would have loved to have held her own newborn. Then her body hummed with apprehension. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I hope they’ll like me.”
Eyes twinkling, Jax caught her wrists and lifted them above her head, forcing her back onto the bed to finish what they had started. Letting his tongue explore hers for a minute, his lips eventually moved up her chin.
Breath tickling the delicate skin of Carson’s ear, Jax whispered, “If they have any brains, they will.”