Page 18 of Dancing With Delusion

“Your eyes were open, Victoria. You were looking right at me and seeing him. You were scrubbing invisible blood from your hands. It wasn’t a dream if you were wide awake.” Her chest heaves under the weight of my words, and for a second, she stares at me with confusion. “Now, sit down and listen,” I order. She does, so I release her. “Nik knows a woman who can help.”

“What’s the point when I can’t tell her the truth about what I did?”

“You can. She’s from our world. She’ll help you work through whatever it is you have going on in your head, and maybe talking about it will ease your guilt.”

“I don’t feel guilt,” she spits. “He deserved it.”

“So, why are you letting it haunt you?”

She avoids my eyes, folding her arms over her chest in that way she does when she’s shutting me out. “Because I’ve hidden it. I can’t tell the world what I’ve done and why I did it. I can’t tell my best friend that he’s never coming back because he’s fucking pig food. And because I’m not the same Tori I was before. It’s a lot to get my head around.”

“So, you agree, seeing someone and talking might help?” She gives a slight nod, and I place my finger under her chin, lifting her head to meet my gaze. “Good girl. Your first appointment is tomorrow. After we’ve eaten, maybe we can spend some time in the dungeon?” I suggest, knowing she’s been itching to get in there.

She shakes her head, taking me by surprise. “Actually, I’m not hungry, and I’m going to get an early night.” She stands. “Goodnight.”

Tori

Looking at my watch for about the hundredth time within the last ten minutes, I wonder why the hell I ever agreed to see a counsellor.

I went to bed early last night, but I tossed and turned throughout most of it, not wanting the nightmares to plague me. The constant worry about sitting down with a counsellor who’s on the books for one of the most dangerous men in the city weighed heavily.

I get up from the sofa again and make my way across to the window, watching for her arrival. My throat is dry and tight with anxiety, and the need to vomit is overwhelming, even though I couldn’t eat breakfast this morning.

Biting my nails, I make my way back across the lounge, back to the sofa. I’m sure my pacing over the last half-hour is wearing away the flooring beneath me.

Dmitry appears in the doorway offering me a weak smile, and there’s a look of pity in his eyes which just enrages me as I flop down on the sofa.

“This is a bad idea,” I sigh out to no one in particular.

Dmitry closes the gap between us and kneels in front of me. He reaches his hand out and gently strokes the side of my face, that same look still plaguing his eyes.

“Don’t pity me,” I spit. I know I’m taking out this nervous energy on him, but right now, all rational thinking has left. “I don’t need your damn sympathy.” Bunching his shirt up in my fist, I pull him closer. “But I know what I do need, Sir,” I whisper and lean in, loosening my grip and running my hands down his chest, then down to his crotch. He hisses, and I almost think I’ve got him right where I want him when he stands abruptly.

“As much as I want to be buried deep inside you, my krasota,” he runs his hands over his chin, almost as if fighting the beast within, “this is more important.”

There’s a knock at the door, pulling his attention away from me, and I take a nervous breath, rising to my feet to follow him.

Dmitry pulls open the door, and I eye the woman suspiciously. She’s a petite brunette, wearing the most impeccable fitted trouser suit. Her hair is bunched up in a messy bun with a few loose curls framing her face.

Dmitry stretches his hand out for her to shake and begins to introduce himself.

“I know who you are, Mr. Volkov,” she interrupts him, and he scowls. I can’t help but smirk, loving the fact she’s put him in his place. She’s oozing power as she enters, passing him without so much as a glance.

I point in the direction of the living room, and she heads that way. I press my lips together to stop the laugh that’s trying to escape me. Dmitry is completely shocked, and his expression shows as much. “I already like her. She can stay,” I whisper, following after her.

“You must be Victoria.” She walks towards me and offers her manicured hand, and I take it. “I’m Mrs. Steele, but you can call me Harriet.”

We shake, and her expression seems more friendly now, helping me to relax. “It’s Tori,” I tell her as I close the doors, giving Dmitry a quick wink.

Harriet takes a seat on one of the sofas, reaching into her bag and taking out a notepad and pen. I sit opposite her, watching as she places the pen between her lips before reaching back in her bag and pulling out a tape recorder.

I frown. Surely, Dmitry hasn’t agreed for these sessions to be recorded. My eyes flick to the camera in the corner of the room. Although I’m sure he’ll have his own copy. “We aren’t recording these sessions,” I say firmly. I fidget with my fingers nervously, swallowing hard as the gravity of the whole situation catches up with me.

She gives a nod, placing the tape recorder back into her bag without so much as another word. She clasps her hands together, resting them on the notepad. “I can’t say this process is going to be easy, and I certainly can’t say things won’t get worse before they get better but know that I will help you every step of the way.” She smiles, and I give a weak nod, my eyes already beginning to fill with unshed tears. “Where would you like to start?”

I scoff. Is she for real? “Well, given that you’re the professional,” I use air quotes to emphasise the word, “surely, you’re the most qualified to decide that.”

She doesn’t seem phased by my attitude. “I work very differently, Tori. My sessions are all client-led.” She pauses, pulling her hands apart and picking up her pen. “That means the pace of our sessions is dictated solely by you.” I relax a little, appreciating that I can decide how much to say. “So, for our first session, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

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