Page 27 of Absolution

“That’s right. He’s practically a stranger to me,” I lie in hopes she ends her interrogation.

“Being found pinned to the wall by this acquaintance outside of Willie’s bar doesn’t accurately explain a lack of familiarity with this man. Is he a boyfriend or perhaps, an ex-lover by chance? If his presence here is uncomfortable for you, I’d be happy to inform the police so you can file a restraining order.”

I internally laugh at the idea that the good doctor thinks a restraining order would keep him away from me. I’m almost positive that someone could bury him ten feet underground in a cement covered casket, and he would still find a way out and back to me. He’s never been one to give up easily, and I doubt that trait will ever fade away.

I fold my arms across my chest and huff my displeasure in how this conversation has turned from her interest in me to her interest in finding out if the gossip is true or some fabrication of bored housewives.

“All of the above,” I offer, knowing how much of a vague answer will frustrate her. One thing that I have learned in as many of these therapy sessions that I have attended over the years is that non-specific answers are like kryptonite to psychiatrists. The possible meaning being they will drive them off the wall. It’s a sick little game, but when she has the power to commit me at any moment, it evens the playing field in my opinion. “Why such an active interest in my possible relationship to this man, Doc? Are you inquiring whether or not his bed is occupied?”

Before the words finish rolling off my lips, the image of Ratchet and the doctor tangled up in bed together hits a nerve. The thought of Ratchet with another woman sends a wave of nausea straight towards my gut, making it a churning mess of confusion and jealousy.

“Of course not. I am simply concerned for you as your doctor, since you did not find his presence here enough of a significance to mention, when I asked the first time.”

“His being here is a temporary situation in, which I hope to remedy later today.”

“I don’t think that’s actually what you want. His leaving, I mean. I can tell by the change in your body language that this man means something to you. Even implying to yourself that he is unattached has made you visually shaken. I can assure you Miss Delmont, that my curiosity is simply in the regards of your mental and physical well-being. After our last session’s revelations, I have a great concern of your past derailing your recovery progress.”

“He may derail me in many things Dr. Matthews, but if anyone was going to keep me on the path of righteousness, it would be him.”

“Please elaborate on that.”

For nearly forty-five minutes, I retell my story. Just a general overview of course, but I explain how he saved me. Dr. Matthews doesn’t say a word as I speak candidly about how Ratchet saved my life and helped me get clean. Because of respect and a healthy dose of fear that I have of the Heaven’s Rejects, I leave them out completely. They are the last people I want hot on my trail for exposing their club secrets about the recent bloodshed and war between the cartel.

As I finish telling my story, Dr. Matthews remains quiet for several minutes. Her face remains neutral. The sound of the ticking wall clock is nearly deafening, before she breaks the silence.

“I have to tell you, Miss Delmont,” she starts as she removes her glasses and sets aside her notebook. “For the first time since we began our sessions, you have truly opened up about a piece of your past. The fear and the anger that usually lace every word you speak were gone. This man means more to you than someone who merely helped you recover from your past traumas and addiction, and I think that deep down you know that to be true. While I wouldn’t normally say this, I think he’s the kind of person that you need in your life right now.”

“You don’t know him, Doc. He’s not the kind of man that you can bring home to your parents and have family dinners with. He’s more of a caveman who imposes his will upon you until you succumb to his side of the argument,” I protest. “Don’t get me wrong, he did save me, but he’s not the kind of person I need around right now.”

“Is that you talking or your fear of giving up control to see what the two of you could become?”

Where in the hell is all of this coming from? It’s as if she’s shoving me towards him. Not that he would mind, but I do. I may need a push in the right direction sometimes, but his direction is the opposite place I need to go. At least for the time being.

“Trust me, Dr. Matthews. Ratchet isn’t the answer to my problems. He’s the catalyst to new problems.”

“Ratchet?” she questions. I note a flash of recognition in her eyes, when she repeats his name. Could she possibly know him? I mull over that thought, before I quickly dismiss it because how could she know him living here? It’s not like he’s a frequent flyer through these parts. Maybe my brain is finally starting to lose some of its marbles.

“I know,” I laugh. “Not the best name in the world for a guy, but it’s his nickname. I think.”

It hits me suddenly that I don’t even know the real name of the man who I shared so much with. How is that even possible? Then again, nothing about my relationship with Ratchet has been remotely normal.

The session timer chimes just as Dr. Matthews starts to ask another question. She quickly rises from her chair and ushers me out of the room with a sense of urgency. What in the fuck just happened?

The entire trek out to my truck I think about the odd exchange. It’s almost as if the mention of his name triggered a panicked response in Dr. Matthews. I can’t help, but wonder about it each step I take.

I fling open the door and slide into the truck when something else completely pushes into my train of thought, once I notice the time on the dashboard clock. The flashing numbers remind me that I have another meeting today that I have left to deal with.

As far as the score of today’s accomplishments goes, it is Ricca - zero and life - two. I guess it’s time to see if my promise to Ratchet will be my third strike.

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