VEGAS follows you home

by Sadie Grubor

  Entering the kitchen to clean up my papers, I find Damon sitting on one of the stools.

  "Is this for his birthday?" he asks, his voice still flat and monotone.

  "Yes."

  I step closer to collect the notebook and sketches.

  "Were you going to tell me about the party?" His eyes narrow on my face.

  "Of course. I was just planning the idea for the party," I defend.

  "But you didn't think I may want to help plan my son's birthday?" The furrow of his brow deepens.

  "Damon," I take a deep breath, “you show up here upset and I try to comfort you. Now you're going to start an argument with me about planning my son's birthday? Unbelievable."

  Taking the cake sketch from his hand, I fold it into the notebook. I pick the notebook up and hold it behind the arms I cross over my chest.

  "Our son, Olivia. He is our son." He turns on the stool to face me. "I want to be a part of things. You know I do."

  He releases a long, audible breath.

  "I apologize for being harsh. Just please include me in these things."

  "Fine," I quip, prepared to walk away from any further confrontation.

  "When is your next doctor appointment?"

  I freeze in place with my back to him.

  "Are you serious?" I growl.

  "What?"

  I spin in place, coming face to chest with him. I stumble back, unaware he had been so close. His hands lock onto my arms. Pulling from his grip, I step back.

  "You just lost your mother, grill me about Alex's party, and now you choose to start this conversation? Why are you trying to fight?"

  "I'm not trying to fight. I need to leave for a couple weeks to take care of my mother's estate. I'm hoping I won't miss any more appointments." His face softens and eyes plead for understanding.

  "It's not for two more weeks, but you'll miss the first session with the therapist." I rub my forehead, exhaustion settling behind my eyes.

  "Christ," he grumbles. "I completely forgot. Do you think we can reschedule based on the circumstances?"

  "I don't see why not." I shrug.

  Damon stays for another hour and we talk about Alex's birthday party, days we can reschedule the therapy session, and the upcoming doctor appointment. He finally leaves with a promise to call with the details of his schedule.

  Two days later, Damon calls with a request to visit Alex before going back to New York. I agree and when he arrives, it's not just to visit, but to drop his next bomb on me.

  "The doctor feels like this is a good opportunity to meet with you individually." Damon shrugs.

  "So, now I'm going to this alone? I'm going to a relationship counselor alone?"

  "She says its common practice to have individual visits and help resolve individual concerns along with couple concerns."

  "Fine," I bite out before going back to work on a cake.

  The waiting room is modern and minimal with blonde hardwood floors, white walls, and gray trim. The furniture is a dark red and square shaped. It's very IKEA.

  "You must be Olivia." A tall, dark skinned woman steps toward me, her heels tapping against the floor.

  "Yes," I croak, my voice thick from not being used.

  Standing, I reach out to the tall, sleek, and intimidating woman in her gray suit.

  "Dr. Levingston?"

  "In the flesh." She smiles and motions in the direction in which she arrived. "Please, follow me."

  I follow, walking down a small corridor lined with enlarged photographs of the Pittsburgh city line.

  "Please, have a seat." She waves to the tan loveseat opposite her glass desk.

  I sit down and feel her eyes on me, examining.

  "Are you feeling nervous?" Set settles into the black chair behind her desk.

  "A little." I nod. "I've never been to a shrink before."

  "Relax. We are just going to get to know one another today." She smiles warmly. "Would you like something to drink?"

  "Water, please."

  She stands, walks to a small black refrigerator, and removes a bottle of water. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths and try to relax. When she holds out the bottle, I quickly take it, twist the cap off, and drink greedily.

  "So, let's start with why you are here." She sits back down.

  "Because Damon refuses to just let go." I snort.

  "Yes, I'm aware of your agreement with Mr. Knyght."

  The shock of her knowing about our agreement must be clear on my face.

  "I've already talked with Mr. Knyght. He's very open about the situation. I was actually quite surprised by it. Now, tell me your point of view." Her eyes roam my face, examining my reaction.

  "W-what do you mean?"

  She grins.

  "Let's start with how you ended up married to Mr. Knyght."

  "A great deal of alcohol and manipulation on his part," I huff.

  "So, it's his fault you're in this situation?" One well-sculpted brow rises.

  "I didn't say that, but he did orchestrate as much as he could," I defend.

  "Miss Harlow, you aren't being accused of anything or judged. I want you to feel relaxed enough to answer with how you honestly feel. I may question you, but it's only for me to get a little deeper and gain perspective on your feelings. If I've made you feel defensive or wrong, I apologize."

  I inhale deeply and hold the breath for a moment.

  "Are you prepared to continue?" She smiles.

  Exhaling, my muscles relax. I nod, my eyes focusing on my hands in my lap.

  "Good. Please tell me about Vegas and please be as detailed and honest as you can."

  The click of her pen draws my attention before I launch into my tale.

  Once I finish, she asks about other situations. Occurrences like Damon showing up for the first time, the trip to New York, the dates, the night we conceived the child growing inside me, nothing is off limits. Surprisingly, my answers begin to come easier and easier. The rhythm of talking and unburdening myself is unexpected.

  "Who is Isaac?" She looks up from the notes she's been taking.

  The shock of his name catches me off guard.

  "Wh-what?" I stammer, twisting my hands in my lap.

  "You mentioned an Isaac a couple of times while talking. Who is he?"

  She doesn't press or ask again. She waits patiently, allowing me a moment to process her request. I supply my standard response.

  "He was a close friend."

  Grabbing the water bottle, I drink a large gulp.

  "How close?" This time, she presses.

  Tears form, threatening to spill over my cheeks.

  "It's okay if you prefer not to discuss him. I can see it's a very emotional topic. We could—"

  "I loved him so much." Sadness thickens my throat, distorting my voice. "We were in a motorcycle accident. He was killed."

  A tear finally escape as my body shudders from the million that want free.

  Dr. Livingston pushes a box of tissues toward me. I take two and pat my damp face.

  "So, you lost someone you loved very early in your life? That's a hard thing to overcome. Did you seek help at that time to cope?"

  I shake my head.

  "Not until after I lost the baby," I sniffle.

  "You lost a child?" Her voice is gentle and soothing.

  Unable to talk for fear of bursting into sobs, I close my eyes and nod.

  "How did you cope with that loss?"

  Swallowing down the tears and sadness, I open my eyes and look at her.

  "It was like losing him twice." The tears now pour down my face. I grab more tissues and try to catch them all. It's impossible to contain them. "I'm losing him again," I sob.

  Dr. Livingston's arms wrap around me in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

  "Shh, it's okay. It's all in the past. You've built a nice and safe place to live."

  "Safe?" I snort, wiping my eyes. "Look where I'm at now."

  She pulls back and offers me a small smile.<
br />
  "What?" I ask, curious about her smile.

  "Did you hear what you said a moment ago?"

  "That I lost him twice," I hiccup.

  "You also said you are losing him again."

  My eyes widen.

  "Why do you feel like you're losing him again? What is causing you to feel this way?"

  "I…I don't know."

  Her hand rubs my forearm right before she stands up.

  "Our time is up today," she concludes our discussion.

  "But, I don't understand—"

  "Only you can figure out why you feel like you're losing Isaac again. I cannot provide you the answers to how or why you feel."

  Leaving her office, I feel cheated. I spill my guts to this woman and breakdown in her office, but she's helped with nothing. I want to call this whole thing off.

  Days pass after the therapy session. Damon stays in touch by phone or text every day and evening. Before I realize it, it's been almost a week. I'm standing in the bakery kitchen working on constructing the pineapple cake for Alex's SpongeBob birthday party. After sliding the cake into the cooling case, I step into Mercedes’ office.

  "So, what's going on this week?" I sit in the familiar seat across from her.

  "Well, you have your first consultation with Mrs. Manson tomorrow, late morning. Then you—"

  "Who's Mrs. Manson?"

  "The mother planning a wedding for her daughter who lives in New York." Mercedes looks up from her schedule book.

  "That name sounds so familiar. Did we do something for them before?"

  "No. This is a first time deal and they are a very wealthy family. Maybe you just remember when I first mentioned the appointment a couple weeks ago."

  Mercedes shrugs and continues going over the schedule. Three consultations and a meeting with Felicity to go over the last of the hockey player's wedding are coming up.

  Leaving Mercedes’ office, I get to work on the wedding cake and have Angela work on the groom’s hockey-inspired cake.

  I lounge awake in bed, exhausted from the day in the bakery and Alex being as energetic as ever, but unable to sleep. I browse through the latest Bridal and wedding magazines. I'm halfway through the first when I realize I haven't even been paying attention.

  Closing the magazine, I toss it on top of the pile next to me and rest my head against the headboard. My mind wanders back to my session with Dr. Livingston.

  How can I lose Isaac again? He's gone, been gone. Why did I say that?

  My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand before the ringtone begins. Without looking, I reach over and answer.

  "Hello?"

  My free hand grabs the previously discarded magazine and I start leafing through it again.

  "Olivia." Damon's voice is soft and sad, but it stirs fluttering in my stomach.

  "Damon?"

  I sit up straight, ignoring the magazine as it slides from my lap to the floor next to the bed.

  "Yes," he sighs.

  "Are you okay?"

  "No," he answers quickly.

  "What's wrong?"

  Silence lingers.

  "Damon?" Worry turns the fluttering to knots.

  "Olivia, please let me in."

  "What are you—?”

  There's a knocking sound from his end of the phone.

  "Can I please come in?"

  "You're here?"

  As I ask, I slip from the bed and pad quietly down the hall. I pull the door open and take in Damon standing with his head leaning against the doorframe.

  "What's wrong?"

  The sorrow in his eyes tugs at me.

  "Please?" He closes his eyes, clenches his fists, and breathes deeply.

  Stepping back, I motion for him to enter.

  His arms wrap around me the second he crosses the threshold.

  "Thank you," he mumbles into my hair, tightening his embrace.

  I lose the battle to remain neutral; instead, I encircle him in my arms. Running my hands over his back, my hope is to comfort, but it also makes me feel so many things I shouldn't feel for a man who's done creepy and manipulative things. He's stalked me, scared me, and made me feel.

  "Let's get you settled into the spare room," I whisper and pull away.

  Taking his hand, I lead him to the extra room and leave him to settle in for the night. Refusing to look back, I wipe rogue tears from my face.

  Back in my room, I go to the bathroom to splash my face with water. After cleaning up the magazines, I curl into bed on my side. With absolute certainty, I know what's going to happen. So, when he taps on my bedroom door, I'm not surprised.

  Olivia

  The door opens and I pretend to be asleep. I fight to keep my breathing even and my eyes shut. Peeking out, I watch the shadow of him crawl until he lays low on the bed. With the top of his head almost reaching my breasts, he presses his face against my stomach. One hand grasps my hip and he whispers something I can’t make out. His fingers flex into my cotton-covered flesh as his mouth presses against the small baby bump.

  The nuzzling and caressing sends a jolt to my heart and causes my pulse to race. The anticipation of wanting more flushes my skin. I'm glad the room is too dark for him to see it.

  Why does his touch cause so many emotions, so much feeling?

  "Damon," I rasp.

  I need him to give me space to gain composure.

  "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you."

  "What are you doing?" The question is harsh, but I don't mean it that way. I'm just so frustrated from his touch, his presence, and my reactions.

  "I can't sleep."

  He rolls to his back, allowing me a moment to collect myself, but he misinterprets my silence.

  "Please don't send me away."

  Covering his face with his hands, he sighs.

  "I don't want to be like my mother, having pushed everyone away to the point where I die alone."

  "You aren't alone," I whisper, sitting up against the headboard. "You have Hugh, Scarlett, Heidi, and your father. Heidi is your true mother."

  "You're my family."

  "They are your family," I stress.

  Rolling back toward me, he presses one hand to my stomach.

  "You are family to me, Olivia."

  His eyes look up and meet mine with the same burning desire I fight inside. I'm tired, frustrated, and oh-so-very scared of this man.

  "Stop." I shove his hand away and slip from the bed, keeping my back to him.

  The slap against the mattress causes me to spin around.

  "Damn it, Olivia, why do you do this? Why can't you just try?" he growls in a low whisper as he climbs off the bed.

  "Try what, Damon? To accept that I married a stalker obsessed with recreating a family he lost?"

  The moment it's out of my mouth, I feel horrible and want to take it back.

  He snorts.

  "Don't forget you also slept with this obsessed stalker twice."

  He holds two fingers up, staring at me with fierce intensity. The determination in his eyes causes me to take a step back.

  "Yeah, I did. But it was under the influence of alcohol and manipulation both times." I mean for it to sound more ferocious, but the guilt from my previous outburst tempers me.

  "It didn't take too much manipulation and you know it." He smirks.

  In three long strides, he's backed me against the wall.

  "You felt the connection in New York. We were connecting before you left."

  His arms trap me against the walls.

  "You're delusional," I snap. "It was all just to keep my end of the deal. You know, the deal you broke after you lied to me?"

  "Stop running from me."

  His face is so close, just one tongue lick away. The close proximity strokes the slow burning desire within me. This attraction to him, these feelings, are perilous.

  "Stop running from me."

  The heat of his breath caresses my lips. I lick them and his gaze slips to my mouth. He lea
ns closer, running his nose against mine. My head falls back and eyes shut. His lips ghost over my ear.

  "I want you."

  He pulls back, but leaves less than an inch between us.

  Desire engulfs my body. Instinctively, my body gravitates to his. His heat saturates me. His scent fills the air. I can hear my heart beat in my ears. Pushing away from the wall, I weave my hands into his hair and claim his mouth.

  I pull back to catch my breath. His mouth drops to my neck.

  "I love you," he mumbles against my skin.

  His words are like a bucket of ice water. I freeze, dropping my hands from his hair.

  He brings his head up, cups my face, and looks into my eyes.

  "What's wrong?"

  "No." I shake my head.

  "No, what?" His brow furrows.

  "No to this." I shove at his chest.

  "Stop fighting this. Stop running." His thumb rubs my cheek.

  I push his hands away.

  "I don't love you. I can't love you," I cry.

  Tears blur my vision, but I still see the devastation on his face. My stomach turns and I rush for the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I try to calm myself. But the sobs won't subside and there's no stopping the vomit.

  Kneeling on the floor, my stomach now empty, my body shudders.

  Why did he say it? How could I feel the words he so easily spoke?

  My lie broke him. I saw it on his face.

  New sobs wrack my body.

  When I finally exit the bathroom, Damon is gone. I don't have to check to know he left the apartment completely.

  Two days pass without a word from Damon. On day three, when I convince myself I'm only calling to discuss Alex's birthday, I dial his cell number. I pretend not to be hurt when my call is sent to voicemail after two rings or dwell on the thought that he sent it to voicemail when he saw it was me calling.

  After a week, I'm sick and tired of thinking about, longing to hear from, and feeling rejected by mother trucking Damon Knyght. I never asked to feel this way. All I want is for my life to be as it was before, but…could I ever really go back to before Damon?

  Sitting in the therapist's office, my leg shakes from nervousness. Waiting for our first joint appointment has put me on edge. Today is the first time we will speak in a week.