by Amy Brent
I dropped Sarah off at work and felt my phone vibrate. I was a message from Brandon, asking if I was all right. No, I wasn’t all right, but the last person I wanted to talk with was him.
Then, my phone vibrated again.
Just let me know you’re okay.
No, I had no intentions of doing that. I had no intentions of talking with him again or seeing him for that matter. I needed Ava. I needed to talk with her. I needed her voice of reason and her guidance. My mind was swirling and my stomach was churning with guilt. My head was blasting memories of Brandon and me on loud like I had broken the volume control, and my legs were still throbbing from last night.
I walked up to Ava, but she was head-deep on phone calls and messages. She waved at me but did little more, so I grabbed the cup of coffee she always had sitting out for me before I made my way to my office. My phone vibrated again in my purse as I sat down, but I simply ignored it. I knew who it was, knew what he was asking, but I didn’t want any reminders of him during my day.
I wanted to build up the courage to cancel my appointment before I called.
I ran calculations with my trembling hands as I blocked out the sounds around me. People came and asked me questions, set paperwork down onto my desk, and even tried to get my attention, but I simply kept shrugging them off. I wanted silence and alone time. I wanted to get my work done and go home. I wanted to wrap myself up in my comforter and cry myself to sleep.
I wanted the guilt to go away.
Finally, it was time for lunch. I checked my phone and saw Brandon was still asking me if I was all right, and I decided to call him after lunch. I’d get some food in my system, talk a bit with Ava, and then let him know I was switching doctors. I needed the help. I knew I did, especially after what happened between the two of us last night.
He would surely understand that.
I grabbed my things and headed to lunch, but Ava was nowhere to be found. I sighed in frustration, cursing this day before it was even halfway over. I needed to talk with my best friend. I needed her to root me back to the ground. I felt like I was floating aimlessly, my body slowly filling with air as I approached the edge of the atmosphere. I couldn’t breathe, and the world was spinning. I needed to get somewhere dark.
Somewhere safe.
Somewhere quiet.
“Melissa, are you all right?”
I jumped at the voice as I whirled around. My breathing was coming in short pants, and the look on Brandon’s face turned from concern to worry. He grabbed my hand and tugged me down a lonely hallway off in the corner and pressed my back against the cool wall. His hands smoothed over my shoulders as my wild eyes took him in, watching as he tried to relax me while I caught my breath. He was slowly talking me through breathing techniques, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.
Then, his voice slowly began to hit my ears
“Breathe in… two… three… four… breathe out… two… three… four…”
My shaking hands clutched my purse, but slowly I began to listen to him. My body was shivering, and I felt my head spinning, but things were dropping back into place. My heart rate settled, and my vision stabilized. The grip on my purse loosened as it dropped to the floor. I allowed my head to fall back against the wall as Brandon’s hands slid down my arms, and then slowly he pulled me into his embrace.
“Are you all right, Melissa?” he asked.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“You weren’t returning my text messages. I got worried that something might have happened to you.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.
“But I’m glad I was. What happened?” he asked.
“I just feel weird,” I said.
“Weird how?”
“Guilty.”
“About last night?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you go to lunch with me? So we could talk about it?”
“I don’t know, Brandon,” I said.
“Please? Just to talk.”
“Are we even capable of doing that?” I asked as I pulled back to look up at him.
“If we talk, and you’re still not comfortable, I’ll schedule you a different appointment with another doctor on the spot. You’ll have a different psychiatrist before you come back to work,” he said.
“Okay. I could do that,” I said.
“Where would you like to go?”
“I was just going across the street to get a bowl of soup,” I said.
We crossed the road and sat down in the diner. The silence that hung between us was heavy, and I wasn’t sure how to begin things. Did I apologize? Did I tell him why I felt guilty? He probably already knew, but did I tell him anyway?
How was I supposed to begin this?
“I want to start off by telling you how sorry I am,” he said.
Wonderful. I didn’t have to start it.
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who brought up the topic,” I said.
“But I’m your physician. I was roped in instead of digging down to the root of how you were feeling. I was taking our calls personally and not professionally. That was my mistake,” he said.
“Mistake?”
Why did that word hurt so much?
“You’re not a mistake, Melissa, I just meant—”
“I wish you weren’t sorry,” I said, whispering.
“What?” he asked.
“I mean, I enjoyed it. Let’s just call it what it was, two people who have an unresolved past and an obvious connection exploring things,” I said.
“But you still feel guilty.”
“I do,” I said.
“You know that’s natural, correct?” he asked.
“I don’t.”
“What I need you to understand is that I’m apologizing in a professional capacity. Despite our past, I’m still your doctor. You’re still calling me to help you sort through things you’re thinking. Feeling. Experiencing. The line I crossed with you, the line I allowed us both to cross, it could cost me my license.”
“I’m so sorry, Brandon,” I said.
“All this to say, I’m not apologizing in a personal capacity,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Have you had sex since your husband passed?” he asked.
“No,” I said honestly. “I haven’t.”
“Then the guilt is normal, and you might experience this for a while. As you cope with the situation and your body starts to chemically realign itself, you’ll experience things normal individuals experience. Cravings for things you thought had died. Even sex. Don’t be afraid of those and the emotions they might trigger. It’s normal to feel guilt after something like this, okay?”
“But how do I work through that guilt? How do I get it to go away?”
“The guilt happens when the dichotomy between what the body wants and what the heart hangs onto happens. Your body has certain needs that need to be fulfilled. It’s simple human nature, both chemically and otherwise. But losing someone as close to you as a spouse or a friend, that causes a stark chemical reaction as well. Our bodies are a constant swirling pot of communicatory chemicals, and when some of them conflict, it causes the body pain. That pain is then interpreted emotionally so we can make sense of it, and that’s where you’re sitting. Your body is chemically producing hormones to strike up your libido, but your body is also still experiencing residual chemical reactions from the stark loss you experienced.”
“How do I fix it?” I asked.
“You don’t. With Carl alive, you experienced one set of chemical reactions. Now with him gone, your body is going through a set of withdrawals. Your body is trying to realign itself with your new reality. It’s trying to cope with chemical processes and reactions it was used to that it is no longer receiving. You simply have to ride out the slow change your body is going through.”
“I don’t know if I can wrap my head around all this,” I said.
“And that’s why doct
ors like me are here to help and aid in that process. It’s confusing and hard to digest, and we’re here to help make it a bit more palatable.”
Our food hadn’t even been touched, and my soup was getting cold. I started eating it, thinking about all the things Brandon had just told me. It made sense, even though I was still unpacking it. I would have to sit with it for a while and sift through some things I was still thinking and feeling.
But I was glad that Brandon was there to talk to. Again.
“Brandon?” I asked as I finished my soup.
“Mhm?”
“Thanks,” I said.
“For what?”
“For being here to talk with me.”
“It’s not a problem. I do want to help you, Melissa. Will you continue to allow me the opportunity to do that?”
I looked up into his bright blue eyes, and for a moment, the guilt wafted up my throat. I lost myself in his eyes as Carl’s voice bounced off the corners of my mind, but the idea of trying this all over with another doctor was scary. I didn’t want to get to know someone else. I didn’t want to talk with anyone else about these things. I didn’t want a stranger dissecting my life and trying to make sense of how I was feeling.
I wanted him to help me with that.
“Yes,” I said. “I would like it if you continued helping me.”
Chapter 15
Brandon
Even though we’d had a wonderful talk Friday over lunch, I didn’t hear from Melissa over the weekend. I had to admit, I was disappointed. I missed her voice in my ear at night. I tossed and turned, envisioning her body lying next to mine as we simply stared at one another. For the first time in years, I didn’t dream about thrusting her into the wall or pounding her into the mattress.
I simply dreamt about her being there next to me in my arms.
We had an appointment today, and I wasn’t quite sure she was going to show up. I found myself counting down the minutes again, preparing for a phone call that could come in any second to cancel. Just one simple phone call could rip me from her completely, and the problem was there was nothing I would be able to do about it. I had no control over her decision to dump me as her therapist if something had happened over the weekend, and I prayed to a God I didn’t even believe in that she would walk through those doors and give me one last chance to help her.
Three o’clock rolled around, and I heard my door open. No knock. No voice. Just the creaking of the door as I whipped my head up.
And there she stood in all her glory. A dress fluttered around her knees with a beautiful sheer floral print on it. She had matching flats on that accented the dark tan of her skin. She came in and shut the door, turning around as my eyes flickered down to her ass. This beautiful dress hugged her in all the right places before it fluttered around her thighs, and all I could do was stare as she sat down on the couch in front of me.
“I’m glad you came,” I said.
“I told you I would,” she said, sighing.
“How are you doing after our talk Friday?” I asked.
“Busy. I had work dropped in my lap for the weekend, so Sarah had to stay with Ava and Logan for a night so I could get it done.”
“Is Logan Ava’s son?” I asked.
“Yep. He and Sarah are the same age,” she said.
“Yeah, Max is around their age, too.” I said it without even thinking, and the entire conversation came to a grinding halt. I slowly fluttered my gaze over to her as she studied me, and I could tell her gears were turning. Her brown eyes held me in my spot, rooting me to my chair as she collected her thoughts. What was she going to think? What was she going to say?
I suddenly felt like I was on trial until a small smile crept across her face.
“You have a son,” she said.
“I do. Maxwell. He’s four,” I said.
“I bet you’re a wonderful father,” she said.
“Hardly. Late nights, a nanny with him most of the day, and I’m gone completely during my book tours.”
“Sarah’s in daycare most of the day. Then we get home, eat, change, and it’s time for bed. We don’t get quality time until the weekend, and usually, she’s playing with Logan while I drink wine with Ava. That doesn’t make me a terrible mother.”
That was the first time I’d ever heard her speak with confidence. Her shoulders were rolled back, and her posture was relaxed. She crossed her legs, baring more of her smooth tan skin as her eyes stayed connected with mine. The confidence she was exuding was new, and I wondered if she even knew she was doing it.
“No. It doesn’t at all,” I said, grinning.
“I bet he looks just like you,” she said.
“Not completely. He’s got his mother’s smile,” I said.
“May I ask a question?”
“Only if I get to ask one afterward,” I said.
“Where is his mother?”
I froze at her question as I gripped my pen hard. Images of that day wafted around in my mind. The fight we had. The bags she had packed. The paperwork she’d drawn up and thrown in my face. My heart felt heavy for my son as he sat in the kitchen, playing with his paints as tears streamed down his face.
“After she got her citizenship, we divorced. She signed over parental rights to me and left,” I said.
I watched the shock roll over her face as her hands slowly fell to her sides. I figured she would need time to unpack that statement, but she sat up and started throwing questions at me faster than I expected.
“Citizenship?” she asked.
“It’s a very long story, but I met her father while I was still in college. I had lofty dreams of my first international office for my business being in Russia since the rate of depression there is so high. We sat down and negotiated a deal, marrying his daughter so she could get her citizenship in exchange for the money to fund the start of my business.”
I saw her eyes grow wide with tears as I sighed and bowed my head. She deserved these answers. I knew she did. But I’d wanted to touch on her guilt. I’d wanted to unpack that before we got into all this. I wanted her to leave my office feeling better. Lighter on her feet. Able to conquer the world.
I didn’t want her to be like this.
“The woman you married …” she said.
“I married in exchange for a profitable sum I invested. By the time she had her citizenship, I had invested it well and had enough money to fund building this entire building you’re currently sitting in,” I said.
“So you didn’t?”
“No. I didn’t love her,” I said.
“But you loved her enough to have a son.”
“I was horny enough to allow myself the mistake of having sex with her,” I said.
She sank back into the couch with a bewildered look on her face. I watched her fit stray pieces into holes she had probably been dwelling on for years, and my stomach rolled with guilt. Raking my hand through my hair, I started jotting some things down onto the notepad. I needed to record this. It was still part of her healing, part of her session. Even if I hadn’t been ready to admit any of this yet.
“Do you miss her?” she asked.
Had I not been actively listening out for her voice, I probably would’ve missed it. I finished writing before I slowly lifted my head toward her, and I saw tears threatening to stream down her face.
“Not for one second,” I said as I grabbed some tissues.
I handed them to her, and she raised up to accept them. Our fingers brushed, igniting my arm with her electric addiction. I drew in a deep breath as I watched her dab at her tears, and I decided to take the moment of silence to get back on track. There were more recent things we needed to discuss before we unpacked the past, and I needed to know how she was doing.
Sleeping.
Coping.
“How did you sleep this weekend?” I asked.
“Rough,” she admitted.
“Have you been taking the vitamin D and trying the yoga?” I asked.
&nb
sp; “Vitamin D, yes. Yoga, a bit. The hobby? Not yet. Things have picked up with work a bit too much for me to justify wasting the time.”
“An investment in yourself isn’t wasting time,” I said.
“Well, I was filling my nights with something else there for a little bit,” she said as she cast me a playful look.