Chapter 41 Slade
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
SLADE
If I were more of an asshole than I already am, I’d put a bug in the therapist’s office. Instead, I resort to camping outside each of her sessions, which I know because I hacked into her therapist’s email and downloaded her patient schedule.
Thea comes twice a week.
Dr. Meredith Burgas, forty-two, received her Bachelor of Arts in Psychology from Northwestern University then did her Master of Social Work at the University of Chicago, Crown Family School of Social Work, then finally earned her Ph.D.
in Clinical Psychology from Loyola University Chicago.
She’s had over fifteen years’ experience specializing in trauma recovery and post-crisis intervention, so I know Thea’s in good hands, but I still wish I knew what she was saying.
I want to know how she is, truly is. Mostly because I’m miserable.
Edmond tells me daily I made a mistake, but as I watch Thea exit Dr. Burgas’s office, her head held high, and her shoulders less slumped over than last time, I don’t think I did. I hope she’s healing.
Her hair is long and in loose ringlets over a striped navy and cream T-shirt dress that shows too much of her bare legs. She moves with a little bounce in her slip-on sneakers, and as she moves toward her car, her gaze snags on my town car.
It’s not enough time to steep in her stare, and I tap on the door for the driver to pull away.
I told myself I was doing the right thing.
That she’s better off without me, but that thought burns with a punishment I’m not ready to accept.
Each time I see her, my chest hurts. I’m destroyed by a simple weed in my yard, or the damn cereal in my pantry.
I catch myself glancing toward the dock to see if she’s sitting at the end of it …
I should’ve done anything but watch her walk away and call it mercy.
I hate myself for being the one who made sure I can’t have her.