BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance (17 page)

I wrap my arms around my belly protectively. “I promise.”

The room grows smaller and smaller. Once more I’m choking and hot. I toss and turn and
—

I wake up to Mary shaking me hard. There’s sweat over every inch of my body, and I’m trembling. Mary’s stroking my hair, shushing me as I look around my room wildly. Yes, my room. I’m back in my room, in my home, not trapped in that never ending nightmare. My breathing steadies bit by bit as Mary dabs at my eyes, my cheeks, my forehead.

“Are you okay?” she whispers quietly.

I shake my head. “No.”

How often have I lied to that question? Too many times. I’ve slammed on a smile, glued it in place, and worn it for years, but I’m nearing the end of my rope, and the world is becoming scary again, overwhelming. Mary holds me tightly in her arms, holding me to her chest like my mother used to do. I hold onto her for dear life until I feel safe enough to pull away.

“Where’s Kyle?”

“He’s out back playing. I heard you screaming while I was putting away the groceries.”

“Good,” I say, wiping my face with my arm. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Mary stays a while longer until she’s sure that I’m okay. I assure her that I’m better, or as good as I’m going to be at the moment, before she wanders back out of my room. Quickly, I get dressed in a pair of jeans and black t-shirt. I find my phone hiding beneath the sheets and dial Zoey.

“What’s the name of that psychologist you recommended?”

“Dr. Pearson,” she says quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’ll go see him.”

The line is silent for a moment. “Are you okay? Is there anything that I can do?”

“No, I’ll be okay. It’s just time.”

Zoey heaves a sigh of relief. “Good. I’ll text you his number, and I’ll call ahead. I’ll make sure he can squeeze you in tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Zoey.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to help.”

The next day can’t come soon enough.

I stand outside of an imposing, tall building that seems to disappear out of sight as it stretches higher and higher. I find Dr. Pearson’s name on a black board, his name in gold, block letters.

Taking the elevator up to floor seven, I emerge into a neat waiting room. Everything is done in soft earth tones, browns, greens, and creams. I approach the receptionist, and she gives me a broad smile. I try to return it, but fail. She looks too much like Connor’s blond, and I’m in no mood to smile.

“Please, fill out these papers,” she says, passing me a stack of intake forms. “I know it’s a lot, but I swear it’s the last time you’ll have to do this. Have a seat, and I’ll call you when the doctor is ready.”

I nod, take the tall stack of papers, and settle into a seat. The question goes from the typical to the deep, and I find myself squirming uncomfortably in my chair. Do I really want a stranger to know this much about me? The thought seems absurd. I’ve locked certain things away for so long, I’m not even sure if I can tell anyone what was going on with me.

“Angela,” the receptionist calls a few minutes later. “You can go back now.”

I carry the forms with me as I walk into his office. It’s bigger than I expected, with big, wide windows letting in the morning sunlight. A man stands up from behind his desk. He has soft, chestnut eyes, wavy gray hair, and a soft smile. He’s wearing a plain button-up shirt, black slacks, and no tie or shoes. Walking over, he extends his hand to me.

“You must be Zoey’s friend. I’m Dr. Pearson.”

“You look comfortable.”

“You can get as comfortable as you want as well. It can help keep the process light.”

I eye him with suspicion. “I don’t even know if I should be here. There’s nothing you can do for me,” I say as I turn to go.

“Bullshit,” he calls.

I turn on my heel, my brow arching. “I’m pretty sure you can’t say that.”

“Private practice. I can say what I like. Therefore, I’m going to say bullshit.” He sinks his hands into his pockets and strolls over casually. “You’re here because you want to change. You want help. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t ready to make a difference in your life.”

I shrug. “I’m sure I could do it on my own.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Bullshit?” I ask.

“Exactly.”

I sigh. “Zoey said you were a pain.”

The doctor grins. “Zoey knows me well.”

“She’s your patient, right? You’re helping her.”

“She was my patient,” he says with a chuckle. “Until she started dating my son. Conflict of interest. Besides, Zoey doesn’t need me anymore. She’s changed.”

So that’s why Zoey has been acting so differently. She hadn’t just matured; she’d been going through therapy. How could I not have seen that? Probably because I was wallowing in my own sea of personal self-pity instead of paying attention to the people around me. I feel a stab of guilt in my stomach. I’ll make it up to her no matter what.

I give up on trying to leave, and instead I sit on the black leather chaise that’s beside the doctor. He pulls up a chair, crosses a leg over his knee, and waits. I hand him my papers, but the room stays silent for a long time. He doesn’t push me, doesn’t prod me.

“I don’t know where to start,” I mumble.

“Start at the beginning. Or the end. Start wherever you most feel that you need to. We’ll make heads or tails of it later.”

I release a breath, take another one in, and close my eyes. After a few more minutes of getting comfortable, forcing some of my walls down, I begin.

“It started when I was very young. I thought that I was in love…”

By the time the session is over, I’ve cried more than I ever thought possible. I wipe my eyes with a tissue he hands me and drink down some water. When I stand up, I laugh.

“Can you tell me why I’m crying so much lately?”

“Crying is incredibly cathartic. You’ve been holding in a lot over the years. You deserve to let it all go. That being said, no one ever said it would be an easy release. Just give yourself time.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

Doctor Pearson laughs. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re just getting started.”

I smile. “I know you’ll be good for me.”

He chuckles. “I’m happy to hear it. Same time next week? I think we should take it slow for now, give it time.”

I nod. “I agree with you. See you next week.”

“Hey,” he calls as I’m about to leave his office. “Happy early birthday.”

Grinning, I thank him before I leave the office. He and Zoey were right: I feel better. I’m also more clearheaded than I’ve been in a long time. I ride the elevator back down. As soon as I step outside, my phone rings.

“Jesus, Zoey,” I mumble with a smile on my face.

Picking up my phone, I look at the screen. It’s not Zoey.

“Yes?” I ask, my tone clipped. “How can I help you?”

A sigh comes through the phone. “Are you really going to be like that?”

I roll my eyes. “Connor, I’ve been calling you for days. Where have you been, huh?”

There’s silence on his end. “I was pissed off.”

“No shit.”

“And I needed time to not be pissed off.”

“I was trying to apologize.”

“Just because you were ready to apologize doesn’t mean that I was ready to hear it.”

I desperately want to throw it in his face that I saw him with a woman the other day. Why is he trying to act like he’s so innocent? I grit my teeth in frustration, but I say nothing. I want to see if he would admit it first.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Walking. Why?”

“I wanted to take you somewhere. Get away. Make up,” he says, his voice softer than usual.

“Actually, I’m busy,” I say tightly, trying to keep my temper calm.

“Busy?” Connor echoes. “You’ve been calling me, begging me to talk—”

“I never begged!” So much for not losing my temper.

“And now you don’t want to see me? What’s wrong with you?”

Sighing, I rub my fingertips into my temple. He is without a doubt the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. I want to tell him exactly where he can jump, but instead I clear my throat.

“I don’t want to fight right now. For the first time in a while, I’m in a really good mood, and I’m moving to a better place.”

“That sounds like you’re dying.”

“Connor,” I say slowly, “I will talk to you when I’m good and ready. Not a minute before.”

“Now you’re angry at me?” he asks in disbelief. “What the hell did I do?”

“You know what you did!”

I hang up the phone before he can say another word. He has a lot of nerve, pretending that he’s innocent and doesn’t deserve my wrath. After a while, when I can call him on it, calm, I will tell him about seeing that woman on his arm. For now, there are better things to do.

I drive out of the city, back to home. The back door is open, a breeze rushing through the house when I step inside. Grabbing the mail out of the bin we hung on the wall, I sort through it. Bill, bill, junk. Nothing interesting ever comes in the mail anymore.

“Mary? Kyle?”

“We’re out back!” Kyle calls loudly.

I drop my keys into the glass bowl and kick off my shoes. The grass is soft, but cool to my feet. I pad over to Mary, who’s elbow deep in dirt, a spade in her hand.

“Isn’t it too cold to plant anything?”

“Maybe,” Mary says with a shrug, “but I’m just pulling weeds.” She dusts off her hands. “I had to get outside, get some fresh air,” she says with a smile.

I nod. “I know the feeling.”

I sit down beside Mary, leaning my head against the tree. It’s a perfect day. Why can’t I calm my thoughts down, though? I really wish I hadn’t quit smoking.

“Hey, your birthday is coming up soon. Right?” Mary asks.

“Hmm? Oh yes, November 15
th
.”

“What do you want?”

“A quiet day at home, followed by a few drinks with Zoey. I’ll be twenty-nine, so I’m holding off on doing anything big. I’m dreading thirty.”

Mary shakes her head with a laugh. “You won’t die.”

I watch her push herself up from the ground. She slips off her gardening gloves before calling to Kyle. Sitting his book down, he jogs over to us.

“Let’s go get something for dinner. We were going to surprise you by cooking for you.”

I smile. “I would never object to that. You two are amazing in the kitchen.”

I wave them off before settling back against the tree once more. My thoughts wander, but I still hear when they pull out of the driveway and head down the road.

I start dozing off, but a few minutes later I hear the car pull back in. If something were wrong, Mary would have called me immediately. They must have forgotten something. I push myself up, dust off my hands, and head inside.

“What did you guys forget?” I glance up at the door, and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried to play nicely.” Nathan glares at me. “I’m done being nice.”

“Don’t touch me,” I say, backing up as I speak.

“Why not? Who’s going to hear you if you object? I guess that’s the price you pay for privacy.” 

I run. It doesn’t do much good, and I don’t get far before he jumps onto my back. Nathan wrestles me down to the ground as I bite at his arms, claw at his face. My nails make contact with his skin, and when it breaks, it’s the most satisfying feeling I’ve ever experienced.

That’s when I decide, right at that moment: I’m done running. I kick out with my bare feet, my heel making contact with his mouth. The pain that echoes through me from his teeth is nothing compared to the way he reels back in pain. Clutching his mouth, I watch him pull away.

He’s too stunned to do anything but clutch his mouth. Good. I crawl over to the drawers, my knees screaming from where they made contact with the ground. Digging inside, I pull out the biggest knife I can find.

By the time I turn around, Nathan is gone. I push my back against the counter, my eyes scanning the living room wildly. The front door is still closed; he hasn’t left.

Slowly, I notice the drops of dark crimson blood dotting the floor. My eyes follow the trail before I push myself up. Limping, I follow it slowly. He’s in my room. Nathan is in my room, waiting, planning.

I want to run, but he would hear me. The moment I turned my back, he would know. And then what? I keep running? Keep letting him control my life? No. I want to end this.

Stepping forward slowly, my hand grips the door knob. I take a deep breath and in one fluid motion throw it back as far as it will go. Nathan comes rushing out, flying at me like a wild man as he tries to grab me.

I keep my tight grip on the knife, swiping at him with it. The blade misses his flesh by mere centimeters. He grins and moves forward again.

“Stay back!” I yell.

“Are you serious? You can’t kill anything. You’re harmless and scared.”

“I am
not
scared of you!”

That’s a hard lie to make convincing, considering the fact that I’m trembling. My hands shake as I hold the knife in front of me. Every time he takes a step forward, I drive forward with the weapon, daring him to test me, praying that he won’t.

Nathan is right about one thing: I can’t kill. I could defend herself, protect my family, but killing? That’s not something that I have in me. 

Distracted by my thoughts, I don’t have time to react when Nathan picks up the vase by his elbow and slams it against my head. The pain is crippling. I grip my head, the knife falling to the ground as the world tilts.

Blinking rapidly to try to clear my vision, I turn to grab anything for support. My fingers move through air, find nothing. Gasping, I fall to the floor. No, I can’t pass out, not around Nathan. I try to push myself up, but my arms are like lead, and they won’t move.

I feel something connect painfully with my side. Although I can’t see what it is, the familiar pang of a boot to my side isn’t unfamiliar. I try curling up. Is he going to kill me? The thought of Kyle, alone and defenseless with this monster, makes me want to scream.

My eyes start to close, but I force myself to stay alert. There’s a sound, and I realize that the front door is opening. Mary and Kyle? My heartbeat quickens. No, I don’t want them here for this!

There’s a loud noise, grunting. Someone is fighting Nathan. I force myself to turn over, roll onto my back. Glancing up, I see Connor struggling with Nathan. I watch as Connor pulls back his fist, and it connects with Nathan’s nose.

Nathan, of course, doesn’t go down easy. Then again, neither does Connor. They fight as I try to keep my eyes open. Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake. I order myself not to fall asleep. As my head begins to swim, I see Connor deal one final blow.

Staggering, Nathan falls to the ground. I kick him with my foot, but he’s out cold. I want to laugh, but I also feel sick.