Page 7 of Under Your Care

Dr. Cohen took a minute to process my words, tapping his fingers on his crossed leg. He looked troubled.

“Okay, let’s talk it through. No one knows the entry code besides you?” He inquired.

“Mhm, not even my parents or friend - Oliver,” I confirmed.

Upon hearing Oliver’s name, he seemed to tense up ever so slightly. “Your friend - Oliver - He’s just a friend?”

“Oh, um, yes, just a friend. We don’t see each other like that. I guess you can just tell I’m gay though?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean - honestly - you’d have to be blind to think I’m straight.

Dr. Cohen blushed - actually blushed - at that. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed your sexuality.”

“It’s okay, it would have come up anyways since you’re my therapist and all,” I made sure to softly smile so he knew I wasn’t offended. “But, yeah, just platonic feelings between us. He’s in no way my type. He’s like me, but even smaller and mousier and a hater of cute clothes.” I jokingly rolled my eyes. “By the way, I’m fine talking about this, but what does Oliver being my friend have to do with my tulip guy? Or tulip girl - I guess it could be either. Tulip person?” I brought my finger up to my chin in thought. “Yeah, tulip person.”

Back to being fully composed, Dr. Cohen said, “It sounds like an ex-lover who wants you back, or maybe someone who wants you but isn’t sure how to express that,” he gently smiled. “It doesn’t sound malicious, but unfortunately if it is a stalker, they tend to escalate things when they don’tget what they want.”

“What do you think the tulip person wants? I’d rather just give them it so it doesn’t get any worse. Although, I don’t think you’re supposed to give in? “Don’t negotiate with terrorists,” and all that?”

“Hm, well, from what it sounds like, I’d say the–,” he chuckled before continuing, “thetulip personwants a romantic relationship with you.”

I frowned, “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to give them that. I mean, I wasn’t even awake when they broke in. Why wouldn’t they just ask me out without scaring the shit out of me? You don’t think they’ll hurt me, right?”

I squirmed in my seat, suddenly thinking I should’ve called the police about it.

“Obviously, I can’t know this person’s true intentions, but I don’t think they want to kill you.”

I decided to ignore the fact that I hadn’t asked about being murdered and that he just skipped past the “hurting me” part of the question. I let out a big breath.

After the hour allotted for our appointment had passed, he walked me out to the lobby and handed me over to the receptionist. Dr. Cohen asked that I see him again in just four days, rather than seven, to make sure I was doing okay after the possible stalker thing. I scheduled with Amelia, waved goodbye to Dr. Cohen, and went to my car to start driving back home. I hoped he was right about me not being murdered.

Chapter 5

Lane

The next three days passed nearly without incident. There had been a few times when I walked out to my car and found a red tulip on the dash, but at least nothing had happened inside of my place. When I left my apartment the morning of the third day, I found not only another red tulip, but a gift card to my favorite local coffee shop. I looked around to see if I could see anyone suspicious, but as always, no one was around. I brought both items into my car, contemplating whether or not to use the gift card. The flower wasn’t even a thought since I had started putting them in a vase on my nightstand. Remembering that Oliver should’ve gotten back in town the night before, I sent him a quick message.

Me: Hey, sooo, theoretically, if I received a gift card from a stalker, would it be bad to use it?

Bestie: Bitch, what???

My phone immediately started ringing and, knowing it was Oliver about to interrogate me to the high heavens, I groaned and picked up.

“Hey, how was the convention?”

“Lane Everett Bennett! We’re not fucking talking about my fucking antique show when you justtextedme that you have a stalker! Who the fuck texts that?” My friend shouted into the phone.

I grimaced, quickly realizing I should’ve expected this. “Firstly, we’ve already discussed never using my middle name. Do you want me going around calling you Oliver Marie Lucchetti? I don’t think so.” Sighing, I continued, “It’s not that big of a deal, Ollie. It just started less than a week ago. It’s not like he’s threatening me or anything.”

Oliver whined, “Don’t remind me of the absolute horror of my middle name. Also, this starteddaysago and you had the audacity to not say anything about it? You know what - Just… Fuck. How much is the gift card for and where is it to?”

I grinned, “A hundred to Wild Roast.”

“A hundred dollars? You have a rich stalker? Jesus,” he let out a long – slightly dramatic – sigh, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re paying for breakfast. Meet me there in thirty and be ready to grovel for my forgiveness.”

Soon, I was pulling up to the curb beside the Wild Roast, which was the cafe I’d been frequenting ever since I moved to the area. It was a quiet, family-owned place. Seeing Oliver’s sticker-covered bike already chained to the small bike rack outside, I parked and went straight in. I found him at the counter, enthusiastically talking to the owner’s son, Josh.

Josh was looking at him with more than just interest in their conversation. As always, Oliver appeared to be completely oblivious. As I walked up behind him, I could hear that he was painstakingly listing every step to restoring the antiques he lovingly collected and sold in his store across town. I highly doubted that Josh, with his fuck-boy looks and baseball scholarship, was the least bit interested in Oliver’s top five favorite paint strippers. It looked instead like Josh was contemplating how to make Oliver shut up and start stripping his clothes off.

Clearing my throat and placing my hand on his shoulder, I said toOliver, “Hey, have you ordered yet?”

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