Page 58 of Rather: The Therapist

I won’t disagree with that. I thought.

“I’m leaving, Kleigh. Can you let me go?”

Her arms were wrapped around me as she looked up at me. She didn’t understand boundaries or personal space. Having a sister was a gift and a curse. Kleigh didn’t give a fuck. Physical touch was her love language and because she loved her brothers dearly, we were always in her underneath her palms, in her arms, under her lips, and against the side of her face.

“Say please.”

I placed a hand on her shoulders and pushed, slightly. Like a rag doll, she slid backward.

“Goodnight.”

“Rude!” She yelled behind me, “And, goodnight to you, too.”

Unbothered by her theatrics, I continued out of the door. I wouldn’t hear the end of our parents’ mouths tomorrow for departing without letting them know, but that was another obstacle for another day. Today, though, I had somewhere to be.

I shuffled around in the glove compartment of my latest addition to my fleet. Within the last two years, I’d upgraded my whip twice. My latest purchase and most frequent set of wheels housed the small garage opener. It transferred cars each time I did. I never left it behind in the event I received the call I’d been waiting two years for.

At the very last minute, I scheduled a visit to The Mansion. As I pulled into the gates, I noticed just how much had changed since my last visit. A new set of suites had been built on the property. The landscape layout had been changed. Though manicured, the lawn was much different.

The garage lifted at the push of a button. Once inside, I shut off my engine and lowered the door behind me.

9:55pm.

The time on the dash seemed bigger, bolder tonight. With five minutes to spare, I reclined my seat slightly and brushed a hand over my face. Everything was beginning to make sense. The odds of it being two years since I’d last saw Rose and it being two years since The Chemist had succumb to the consequences of falling for a Fed weren’t coincidental.

9:58pm.

I exited the car. Though I was expecting dust to clutter the shelf holding the masks, it was squeaky clean. For seconds, I contemplated, staring at the options presented. There were two additional masks, making six in total. Things had certainly changed. I made a mental note to check the updates I’d been sent through email.

Red.

My drug of choice. I slid the strap over my head and pulled it down my face. Simultaneously, a familiar voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Good to see you, Mr. Valentine.”

“Good evening, Ursula.”

“Is there anything we can do for you tonight? We weren’t expecting you.”

“Unless you can bring her to my suite within the next thirty minutes, no… There’s nothing you can do for me.”

“Goodnight then, Mr. Valentine.”

Goodnight. I thought, turning the knob of my suite door.

10:00pm.

I cracked open the door of my suite for the first time in two years. While everything was exactly the same, nothing truly was. Everything was different. I’d stepped onto foreign territory or so it seemed.

10:06pm.

I settled in with a glass of ice topped with Hennessy from a fresh bottle. The staff were quick on their feet. I’d notified them of my pending arrival less than an hour ago and my liquor was waiting along with snacks and a welcome package as if I was a new resident.

10:08pm.

I stood near the door, leaning on the counter with my irises fixed on the center. I waited, anxiously, to feel the prominence of Rose’s presence. I waited to hear the gentleness of her knock. I waited for the potency of her aura.

Waited for her to move when I said so.

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