Page 36 of Unhinged

I smile because she’s overly excited about dinner. “Then I guess I can’t say no.”

I watch her texting on her phone, wait a beat, and then smile at me. “Amos agreed to dinner. Meet me there after work. Tell the hostess you’re there for Abramson.”

“Okay.” She returns to a file, and my mind returns to obsessing about that night in my bedroom. Thinking about the normalcy of Dr. Abramson’s relationship with her son reminds me of Greg. As much as burning anger and massive guilt engulf me, he broke my heart in so many ways. But he also suffered so much.

Setting down a folder, I blurt, “Can I ask you a question?”

Dr. Abramson looks up from her papers with another warm smile. “Of course.”

“I need a professional opinion for a friend.”

Her smile grows, but she tries to restrain it this time. “A friend?”

I nod and take the seat across from her desk. “My friend…Rod.”

Dr. Abramson rolls her lips together as she looks at her papers, and then she’s instantly attentive. “What about…Rod?”

I swallow, suddenly wracked with more guilt. Even though I’m not using his real name, I’m still sharing his secret. But it’s not something I can hold on to alone, nor should he. Still, I won’t share his identity. I can’t even tell Amos. I won’t do that to Greg, no matter if I’ll never see him again. But Dr. Abramson is a professional. Maybe I need advice for closure. In some ways, I feel traumatized by that night, knowing the abuse Greg suffered and how he’s been hiding it for so long and alone. It humbled me for him to share that pain with only me until he regretted my existence.

“Simone?” Dr. Abramson says, prompting me from zoning.

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“How close are you and Rod?” That’s an odd question and one I don’t want to answer truthfully.

“Friends.” I omit most of that night and focus on Greg’s pain. “I’ve been feeling guilty because I accidentally found out a tragic secret of his.”

“A tragic secret? Like…a death?” Dr. Abramson’s smile disappears, and her eyes hone in on me like my milkshake called all the boys to the parking lot.

I struggle with saying more. I should shut my mouth, yet I can’t. “Rod would murder me if he knew I told someone about this.”

Dr. Abramson’s voice is practically a whisper. “A secret?” I nod and look away from her. She shifts closer, and her breathing is jagged. “Um, I… Is Rod a friend in Richmond?”

I roll my teary eyes but nod. “I think I… I wanted… I played softball with him. His best friend is a coworker of his and my sister-in-law. I wanted to help him, but he refused. Is there hope for him to deal with this? For me?”

Dr. Abramson stares at me, almost as if in shock. “What did he tell you?”

“He confessed to me that soon after his high school graduation, a group of classmates drugged him and…”

“And, what?” Her voice shakes, but she clears her throat and inhales. Her attention is laser-focused on me, and it’s overwhelming.

I look at the door and then back to her, seeing she’s leaning forward more like we’re gossiping about a hot guy with a big dick. I suppose I am. “They abused him.”

She chokes, “Physically?”

“Jesus,” I mutter as I shake in my DKNY boots and look at my lap, thinking about it. “Worse.”

When I look up, Dr. Abramson shakes her head as the color drains from her face. “God, no.”

“They were younger than him. He’s mortified he couldn’t fight back. Two of them assaulted him while others watched.” I pause to calm the wave of despair pummeling me. Poor Greg. “He thinks it’s his fault for being there.” I imagine ripping that whore away from Greg before she got on top of him, destroying a part of his soul. My nails dig into my skin. I softly whimper from my pain and his as the pendulum swings in his favor again.

Dr. Abramson abruptly stands. Papers slip onto her desk, and she fumbles for the bottom drawer. “I’m sorry, Simone. I need to leave.”

“Um, okay,” I say, my voice falling. I must’ve bored her. Shit. I hope she doesn’t bill me for this session. What a rip-off. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her voice cracks, and she seems lost. Is she sick? The incident disgusts me, too, but damn. Not even pretending to listen is bitchy. She yanks her purse from the drawer, dropping it once, and then rushing to her coat on the fancy-schmancy coat rack near the door, which she nearly knocks onto the floor.

When she leaves her office, I sit in shock. I know she locks her door before leaving. “Fuck,” I mumble, feeling idiotic for opening my mouth without a dick in it. Maybe that’s all I’m good for, after all. Although a doctor, this woman is still a stranger to me. Why in the hell would I tell her about a guy I hate?

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