Doc raises a brow. “Unless you have a better idea?”
I don’t. I’d expected this session to be like all the others—a glib exploration of my past, patronizing questions about my psyche, along with self-congratulatory compliments when I make a “breakthrough.” I was prepared to do whatever it took to get out of here by 2:30, but I can’t look in that mirror—not now.
What if she’s there? She won’t understand why I’m ignoring her. She’s been through enough today already. We both have. And breaking her heart is breaking mine.
“The mirror won’t make any sense without the rest of the story,” I say, trying to buy time. If I can get him talking, show him how normal I am otherwise, maybe he’ll decide I don’t need to look.
His face remains impassive, but his head tilts to the side just a hair. He’s onto me. “I know the story you’ve fed your previous therapists. If there’s more, I’m willing to put the mirror aside for a time—”
I slump with relief.
But he raises a single finger. “—if you tell me everything. There’s only one route to getting my signature on your release forms, Ashley. And that’s it.”
His patience is a marble rolling along a slim edge, precariously balanced between hearing me out and sending me back to that cell they call a bedroom.
Swallowing again, I try to make myself pitiful. I drop my head into my hands. “Okay,” I breathe into my palms.
“Okay, what?”
“I’ll tell you the truth.” As much of it as I can anyway. I’ll let him think he’s gotten through where others failed. Hell, I’ll even consider what he has to say if it means he won’t make me look in that mirror.
“Excellent.”
“So . . . where do you want me to begin?”
He crosses his leg over his knee, pulling up his pant leg slightly. “Nothing too dramatic. Start with the night you planned to give Matt the letter.”
I feel the grin slide off my face. Nothing too dramatic. Right. I can’t help glancing sideways at the mirror. Doc follows my gaze, and when he sees where I’m looking, he frowns. For a moment the magnitude of what I’m trying to achieve is overwhelming. I cannot breathe. But I force my muscles to loosen. I swallow my fear—and begin to speak.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Space Between Heartbeats © 2015 by Melissa Pearl
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Alloy Entertainment. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), write to [email protected]. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Produced by Alloy Entertainment
1325 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10019
www.alloyentertainment.com
First edition September 2015
Cover design by Natalie C. Sousa
Cover image © Daring Wanderer under license from Stocksy.com
Author photo by Peter Guyan
ISBN 978-1-939106-56-8
The Space Between Heartbeats Page 20