Page 29 of Dancing With Delusion

“Hmm . . . looks that way.” I frown at him, rubbing my hands over my tired face. “Someone just sent me a picture of him kissing Vivian. He told me he was with his father at a men-only meeting, but that picture looked like a cosy fucking dinner for two.” I groan as a pain hits my chest, squeezing my heart. “I need to leave. I need to go. I can’t do this dance anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. At least let him explain. Besides, you can’t leave.” I scoff, and he sighs again, this time heavier. “You know I can’t let you leave.”

“Fuck off, Marshall.” I stand from the floor, returning to packing my bag. Marshall places his hands over the top of it, trying to prevent me stuffing anything else inside.

I scream in frustration. I’m spiralling, I know I am. I can feel the anger radiating through me, making me want to do something crazy, but I can’t get Marshall into trouble again. He’s only just started healing because of my last little escapade. I’d never forgive myself if I got him killed.

I close my eyes and take some deep breaths. It’s what Harriet advised. Suddenly, my eyes shoot open in realisation. “Could you at least drive me to Harriet’s, please?” I ask, looking at the floor as more tears sting my eyes. My heart thumps heavy in my chest. I’ve never admitted I need help, but right now, I don’t know what else to do.

Marshall stands, placing his hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “That sounds like the most rational decision you’ve made for some time.” He laughs, and I join him, feeling some of the earlier tension ease.

Pacing the floor outside Harriet’s office, I wait for her to finish with her client. Marshall eyes me wearily as he stands by the door, watching my every move. These fuckers all think I’m losing my mind, watching me like they’re ready to catch me. Maybe I am losing it.

I crouch on the floor with my head in my hands, pulling on the roots of my hair so I can feel something, anything. I relish in that little bit of pain as I grip it tighter.

I stand abruptly, the urge to run kicking in. “Fuck this, let’s go,” I say, making my way towards Marshall just as Harriet’s office door opens. I shake my head at Marshall, my eyes pleading. “Forget it, let’s just go.”

He places his hands on each shoulder, looking me dead in my eyes. “You came this far. This is the right move. Don’t make me use my safe word.” He grins and turns me around to face Harriet, who’s watching me tentatively. She steps aside, opening the door wider. “Come in, Tori.”

I glance back at Marshall, and he nods towards the door. I exhale loudly as I make my way into her office.

“Take a seat.” She smiles at me, and I instantly relax. My mind is racing. Why the hell am I here? She can’t change anything. He’s fucking Vivian, and I should just leave. Start again. Away from him.

She pours me a glass of water from the jug, placing it in front of me on the small coffee table.

“Now, tell me what’s got you so flustered that you had to book an urgent, last-minute appointment.”

I take a deep breath, gaining some courage to explain my crazy. “He’s still fucking her,” I whisper, my voice breaking slightly with emotion.

“Who is?” She picks up her pen from the table, opening her notepad.

I stare at her, frowning. Really? “Dmitry. Who do you think I mean, the fucking Pope?” My sarcasm knows no bounds right now. I pick up my glass and take a sip. “He’s fucking Vivian.”

She scribbles some words down on her notepad. “How do you know this?”

“Someone sent me a picture of them together. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to leave.”

She nods, glancing up from her notes. “Well, you did the right thing, Tori. You’ve been running from something your entire life, but today, you’ve made the right choice.” I slump in the plush chair, resting my head against the back and staring at the ceiling. “Where did you think he was this evening?”

“He told me he was meeting his father for a business dinner. Just men, apparently.” I roll my eyes.

“Do you have the picture? Maybe we can dissect it together.”

I give an unamused laugh. “No, I threw my phone across the room. It’s in a hundred pieces.”

“Tori,” I pull my gaze down to hers and see she’s frowning, “who sent the pictures?”

“How do I know? They didn’t sign them with love.”

“But they were there, on your phone?”

My jaw ticks. What’s she trying to imply, that I’m making this up? “Of course.”

“It’s just that you saw your brother when he wasn’t there, so I want you to be certain the picture was real. We talked before about destructive patterns and how sometimes our brains can conjure things to help us self-destruct.”

I groan then go to stand. This was a bad idea. I should have gone with my gut and just ran. It would have been easier that way.

She puts her hand up to stop me. “It’s just a question, Tori. You’ve been through so much, no one would blame you for falling into old patterns.”

---