Page 12 of Look, Don't Touch

I gasp and cover my mouth, trapping my scream between my lips and turning into a moan.

No. No. No.

What a way to find out Matt succeeded. That he is no more. I can’t do this right now. Another patient needs me to get my ever-loving shit together. As fast as I can, I shove my emotions in a tiny box in the recesses of my mind and hold the lid down tight. The small box holds so much. I’m afraid this latest won’t fit.

I draw a shallow breath. It can’t go deep, or I’ll explode. The box will burst.

“I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.” I swat at a tear and am thankful Mr. Judge is behind me. I shove my phone under my thigh, hide any trace of it behind my trousers, and straighten.

“It’s fine. We were done anyway.”

I would look at my watch, but I don’t want to see the notifications. “We weren’t,” I insist. Whether we were out of time or not, we were in the middle of something big. His big fucking trauma.

“Then I was,” he counters.

My lips part, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can say anything without sobbing. So I let him go. The door whispers open and, after a moment, closes with an abrupt snap.

I crumple. My hands engulf my face, and I wail. Thoughts of Matt’s handsome face and his bright and tortured eyes haunt me. Sobs burn in and out of my lungs as though they might catch fire. I cry for what seems like forever. My abs cramp, and my fingers begin to tingle.

“Fuck!” I scream for all I’m worth, thankful for soundproofing, and wish I could have it installed in my brain. Where I could turn it on with the click of a button.

Sobs pull a vacuum on my lungs. My chest feels like it may cave in on itself. If I pass out, I can at least avoid this for a little while.

“Hailey?”

My epic cries stop instantly, caught in my shock.

The heavy whispering voice is still in the room and closer than ever. He’s just over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

I leap from my seat and rush to the window, wiping at my tears and commanding control over my sorrow as I go. My legs wobble but hold me up.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” My shaking hands smooth down my pants. “The door opened and closed. I thought you were gone.”

“Your aunt…I was going to get her for you, but she’s not here.”

I’m nodding and not understanding anything.

Why is he still here? Why is Matt dead? Why couldn’t I save him?

I stare out at the endless sky.

Mr. Judge’s large frame fills my periphery. He stands no more than a foot away to my left. He faces the window.

“I could tell the call you got wasn’t a good one. I thought your aunt could help.”

No one can help.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminds me as if I’m the patient and he’s my therapist. It’s apt for the moment.

I swallow, knowing I shouldn’t say anything. Knowing I can corrupt his treatment more than I already have. If he knows I’ve failed one client, what would that mean for him? Plus, confiding goes beyond the realm of professionalism.

“I just lost a patient.” I choke down a sob. “My first.”

He stuffs his hand into nice slacks. “Patient or loss?”

“First patient and first patient loss.” He’s taller than me by a lot, and I’m not considered short.

“How long have you been doing this?”

---