Page 5 of Filthy and Dirty with the Bikers

“Then why do you allow it from a man who claims to love you? Molly,” he clears his throat and reaches for my arm, “may I?”

I nod and rest my wrist in his warm hand, already knowing where this is going. He’s so gentle, and he smells so good, like spiced mandarin or something else expensive. Slowly, he pushes the sleeve of my sweater up, revealing the dark purple bruise that was left by Tyler a few days before.

“Do you think a man that loved you would do this… under any circumstance?”

I stare down at the bruise, then close my eyes as flashes of that night come rolling in. Tyler with his fevered stare, his teeth bared, the visible vein throbbing in his neck as he leaned in and gripped my wrist tight. I hadn’t intended for the argument to happen. I was only looking for reassurance. I’m only ever looking for reassurance.

A chill runs down my spine and tears stream down my face. “I didn’t know you saw this.”

Dr. Beck grabs the tissue box off the table in front of us and hands it to me. “Look,” his tone changes from formal to something deeper, more carnal, “you’re in a tough spot. I get it. You’ve been with this guy for a long time, and you want to believe things will change, but they’re not going to.” His dark eyes hold on mine. “I’ve listened to you talk. I’ve heard you cry. I’ve watched you struggle to find your worth, and I’ve been here, week after week, but this bruise on your arm is the last straw. That man shouldn’t be allowed your presence. This has to end.”

“I’ve tried leaving. I just end up in the same spot again, believing his apologies.”

“Is that what this is,” the doctor groans and nods toward my bruise, “an apology?” He’s never been this candid with me before, and it feels like some lines are being crossed. I wonder if he’s like this with all his patients, Or maybe, he saves this level offorwardness for the ones too thick in the head to see the wave in the painting.

“My brother’s friend, Rhett, came by today to drop off this feather.” I look down at my boots, focusing on the braided knots. “He said he was coming back with friends later tonight, and that he wanted me to leave, but I don’t know. That’s why I made the last-minute appointment. He said Tyler had a secret or something, but he wouldn’t say until I was safe. I…” I cover my face and lean forward, balancing my elbows on my knees. “Maybe romance and love aren’t real. Maybe it’s all just a fairytale, an adult version of the Easter Bunny. We’re told this magical feeling exists, that there’s someone special who’s going to hold your heart safe, dance with you in the kitchen, and protect you from pain. We’re told it’s meant to last forever and that if it’s real, nothing can tear it apart, but what if it’s not real? What if we’re all waiting on some magical Christmas morning that never comes?” Tears stream down my face as I rant. “This wasn’t supposed to be my life! I was supposed to fall in love and have this cute little marriage with a guy, and we were supposed to worship each other. We were supposed to have babies, laugh constantly, and live in a little farmhouse in the woods. For Halloween, we’d drive into town and dress in matching costumes, and—” Tears overwhelm me and soon I’m a blubbering mess of self-pity. I remind myself that this is what therapy is for, but I still feel guilty for letting go of my emotions so freely. That’s probably another symptom of the tornado of a relationship I’ve been in. Sharing my feelings with Tyler is asking for a fight. You’d think if you love someone, you’d want to know how they were feeling, so you could help, or at least know them better.

“Do you trust this Rhett guy?” Dr. Beck clears his throat.

“Yeah,” I wipe my nose and sit up, glancing toward the doctor before remembering my face is probably a puffy red mess with streaks of black mascara, “I can trust him.”

“Okay then.” The doctor leans back before standing, taking his warmth with him. “You should plan to go with him. You have my cell phone number, right?” He gave me his number a few sessions back, but I haven’t used it yet. There have been plenty of times I could, but I don’t want to be a burden.

I nod and push the soft tissue under my eyes, trying to clear off what I’m sure is a mess of black lines.

“Good,” he groans, pacing away, then back again. His jaw is buried under a short salt and pepper beard, but I watch it tense. “Use it, please. I want you to call me the second you’re leaving the house, and again when you’re safe with Rhett.”

I’m not sure why, but I still can’t believe this is actually my life. I never thought I’d let something like this happen to me. I never thought I’d be this girl. The girl who lets a man disrespect her to such a high degree. The girl trapped by her own terrible decisions.

Standing from the couch, I glance toward Dr. Beck, then away, but his dark gaze pulls me back again. All at once, there it is. That weird feeling in my stomach. The one where I’m either going to vomit or implode. The one where my heart is in my throat and my feet all at once. The one where I want him to pull me close and hold me tight, while I also run for the hills.

His hands land on the sides of my arms. This is the closest we’ve ever been, and the most informal, too. He stares down at the ground, then meets my gaze again. “Can I say something… off the record?”

I wet my lips and my heart chokes with unintentional desperation for something I can’t put into words. I’m not sure if it’s his warm touch or the long, knowing stare. Whatever it is, I feel it close, and like a massive game of hot and cold, I’mburning up. I nod my head, brushing a strand of hair away from my vision before staring up at my therapist, who I’m noticing now has tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves of his button-down.

Oh, damn… is there some edge to this guy?

“Molly,” there’s that deep, comforting tone again, “what’s Rhett’s phone number?”

“I appreciate it, Dr. Be—”

“Holden. You can call me Holden.”

My heart floods with something unfamiliar, but I like it. It’s warm and fuzzy and it makes me feel all kinds of accepted. “Okay, Holden.” I don’t even remember the question he was asking me now.

Holden stares down at me like a viper who’s holding back a strike. Like a beast who wants to break out of the collared shirt and rage. Like a man who’s stuck between honoring his code and protecting me from myself. “What’s Rhett’s number? I think he and I should be in touch, given the circumstances.”

Since the whole witness protection thing, Rhett’s been all about his privacy, and I’d never give his number to anyone without his permission. “I’ll text him your number. How’s that?”

He grumbles low. “You deserve more than what you’re getting, Molly. You deserve the love that you were talking about earlier. Someone who craves you. Someone who needs you as badly as you need them.” The timer he sets at the start of each session rings, and I stand motionless, staring up at the gruff expression on his face.

I know for sure now I have to leave Tyler…for good.I’m losing my mind. The thirst I have for real, genuine emotional connection is clearer than ever. I can’t live like this anymore. I need to feel desired, wanted, worth the effort,in love.

Holden swallows hard, and I swear he’s gotten closer. So close, that the dark aroma of his coffee is in my wheel of scents.So close, that I can feel his warm breath on my neck. So close, that if he wasn’t my therapist, and if I wasn’t a taken girl, I’d think we were about to kiss.

What’s happening?

Two soft knocks hit the office door before it creaks open. The woman at the front desk with short gray hair peeks inside. I think she might be related to Holden somehow. They sort of look alike. Maybe it’s the Grecian nose or the dark brown eyes. “Oh!” She steps back as though she too sees what I’m seeing. “Sorry to bother you, Dr. Beck, but we have a mental health emergency that needs attending to.”

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