Page 44 of Shattered Fate

I ask them to fax over a visitation application to our office. I want to look the asshole in the eyes when I tell him he’ll never have his hands on Zarah again.

Then I drive out to the Maddoxes’ country house. I only go halfway down their drive and let the engine idle as I stare at the lights beaming through their windows. A woman walks the dogs across the yard, her figure glimmering in the moonlight like a vision. From this far away, I don’t know if it’s Zarah or Stella,even Lucille or Ingrid for that matter, but I don’t drive the rest of the way to find out.

I sit until the figure retreats from the cold and the lights in the house go out one by one.

CHAPTER TEN

Zarah

I’m nervous about my next session with Jerricka. I have a lot to tell her, and she reminded me that today we’d talk about sex. It’s good timing since I’ve been thinking about Gage and his endless patience more and more. The way he talked to me in the woods during our walk, answering my questions without making me feel stupid, or the way he smoothed my hair back while he waited for me to fall asleep. I wish he would have stayed, but it’s hard being scared of something you want.

Douglas drives me into the city, and I have the list Gage filled out tucked into my purse. I didn’t think of the ten reasons, but I’m sure Jerricka will be proud I willingly opened myself up to a relationship. That I took the initiative to invite Gage and Baby to the house.

I dressed the way I always do. Heels, dress slacks, blouse and jacket. Catching my reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator going up to Jerricka’s office, I look perfect. Expensive. Rich. Untouchable, though I guess I do that on purpose, to keep people from approaching me.

I don’t have friends, not anymore. I used to, high school classmates, other rich girls I would party with before Ash sold me, but they dropped off and don’t come around. Probably think I’m a slut or a whore, or their fathers used Ash’s escort service and they’re in prison and they blame me. Sometimes I miss going out, carefree, just being myself, not having anything to worry about. I’ll never have that again.

Not because of what Ash did to me, but after meeting Stella, I know that kind of life is a waste, and I need to start thinking about what I want to do. Having a purpose, a goal, a dream, my recovery could be all that more reachable. I would have something to work toward. I wonder why Gage went into private investigating. I bet he and Mel would have a lot in common, and I press my lips together against a sudden rush of tears.

Gage and I don’t have anything in common. We couldn’t be more different. People in meaningful relationships are supposed to have things they can talk about, activities they can share.

He won’t always want to walk the dogs. What would we do if we spent more time together?

This isn’t a good way to start a session, and I wipe my cheeks. I don’t need any help crying when I talk to Jerricka.

The receptionist shows me into her office, and she’s looking out her window, the city of King’s Crossing its own animal, vibrant and bursting with energy below her. A weekday, the streets are full of traffic, and being this high, I miss the Crowne’s rooftop pool. It’s closed now, because it’s winter, but maybe Gage would like to go up and look over the river. We could eat dinner at a restaurant on the water.

I sigh. He’s not going to want to do that. It sounds boring, even to me.

Jerricka turns from the window, and she looks sad. Her eyes are downcast and she’s pale. She’s always been steady and strong, and her melancholy surprises me.

“Are you getting sick?” I ask.

She forces a smile. “No, just a little out of sorts. We’ll have time for one more session and then I’m taking the rest of the year off to celebrate the holidays. Will you be okay during the break? I’ll give you some exercises to work on, like the list. Did you fill it out?”

Time off from therapy sounds appealing, but not having anyone to talk to for that many weeks is terrifying. I dump all my nightmares onto Jerricka. Stella will talk to me, and I take advantage of that all the time, but talking to a therapist is different. They’re paid to listen...and to keep their mouths shut. I doubt Stella tells Zane everything we talk about, but if I told her something that would indicate I’m struggling, she would let him know. Sometimes, even if Iamstruggling, I want to keep it private. Jerricka does.

She says it helps me grow stronger to push through certain things on my own, and I don’t disagree.

“Yes.” I pull the paper out of my purse, drop my bag onto the floor near the couch, and slide my jacket off.

“This isn’t your writing,” she says, skimming.

I perch on the edge of the couch’s cushion. “No. I met someone.” I say it out loud, and goosebumps zip along my skin like an electrical current. My fingertips buzz, and I capture my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking.

“Did you read what he wrote?” she asks, sitting next to me like she always does, and the session starts to feel normal.

“Yes.”

“Do you agree with all the attributes he gave you credit for?”

I frown. “Not some of them. Like being smart. I’m not educated, not like Stella or Zane. Because of what Ash did to me, I haven’t gone to college.”

“Do you think a person has to go to school to be intelligent?”

“Maybe. I think it helps prove you are if you have a degree.”

“You took a gap year,” she says, writing something on her tablet.

---