Page 3 of Vicious Hearts

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I screech, slamming a cushion into my face. “Fuck you, fucking Rand Holloway!”

* * *

My head is buriedin a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Choc chip cookie all the way. I think I’m going to be sick. I’m sure Michael is thinking the same thing because he’s watching me with a frown on his face, probably wondering at which point he’ll need to call an ambulance.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay,” I say, waving my spoon around and speaking through a mouthful of ice cream. I wash it down with a sloshy gulp of whiskey, grimacing at the taste. I grit my teeth like I’ve just eaten a sour lemon that’s burnt the insides of my mouth.

“Honey, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Nina says, moving the bottle away. I grab it and slide it back to its rightful place in front of me.

“Don’t shink so,” I slur.

“I think it would be therapeutic for you to talk about your feelings,” Michael says, putting a comforting hand on mine. I know he feels guilty about introducing me to the asshole. “I can’t treat you; that would be a conflict of interest.” Did I mention he’s a psychologist? “But I can recommend someone.”

“Will you pay for my sessions, too?” I snap.

On top of Rand ruining my life, I’ll also have to thank him for the thousands of dollars I’ll have to pay for the therapy to undo the damage he’s done to me.

“You won’t need that many sessions,” Nina offers. I’m glad my best friend doesn’t consider me fucked up beyond repair.

“Two years, Nina. Two years; do you have any idea the sort of damage a person can sustain in that sort of timeframe?”

“A lot,” Michael says, nodding as he looks at his girlfriend, agreeing with me. She shoots him a scathing look for making things worse because I let out a fresh wail, my tears coming hot and fast, falling into the tub of rapidly melting ice cream.

“Now see what you’ve done,” she snaps at him.

“I’m okay,” I say, wiping at my tears. “I’m okay.”

I dig the spoon into the tub, trying to convince myself that I am okay. They both fix me with a look of disbelief as I lift the spoon and scoop the ice cream, laced with my salty tears, into my mouth. I am not the queen of decorum. Never claimed to be.

“I think we’re onto something, Houston,” I say, between my tears. “Brand new B&J flavor. Who knew all it would take is tears?”

Nina puts a placating hand to my back as she shoots Michael a silent yet helpless look. We’ve known each other since we were seven, and I’ve held her hand through half a dozen or so breakups. She’s never had to help me through one because Rand was my first. Like, who meets their first boyfriend at twenty-five? That’s another fucked up thing I’ll have to thank my parents for.

“I really think I should give you this guy’s number,” Michael says, scrolling through his phone. “I’m sure he can help. And best thing is – he’s single.”

* * *

Michael is in the doghouse.

My tears haven’t even dried yet and already he’s setting me up with his colleague – an unattached shrink who I think must have his own issues if he’s thirty and still single. Nina banishes him to the study and tells him she’ll take it from here; he’s been enough help for the night. I don’t tell her he’s probably just added to my therapy sessions.

“I can help you with the therapy,” she whispers as we sit together on her sofa.

I’ve calmed down somewhat; the ice cream and whiskey helped to dull my senses, if I have to be honest. But every time I remember those four words Rand said to me, a new wave of tears overcomes me. Wrong four words, asshole!

“It’s okay,” I sigh. “I’ve got a little cushion I can fall back on if I need to. It’s just the thought of having to spend any more time, money or effort on anything to do with him that’s irritating me more than anything else.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t,” I tell her, shaking my head sadly as my tears come harder and faster. “He was my first boyfriend, Nina. My first and it was the worst experience. It’s not as easy for girls like me to start over.”

She frowns and shakes her head, asking me what I’m talking about. She looks genuinely confused. How could she possibly not see what others see?

“Look at you,” I continue, “You’re so beautiful with your red curls and green eyes. And those freckles. Boys have always fallen at your feet and treated you like a queen. They wouldn’t go near me.” I flick my hair as an example. “Me with my mousy hair and boring brown eyes, my ordinariness…”

Nina opens her mouth in shock. She starts to argue then quickly snaps her mouth shut and rethinks her words. She knows I’ve always had self-esteem issues. All through school, and well into adulthood. I’ve always been self-conscious.

“Honey, I don’t know which mirror you’re looking in,” she starts. “First, your eyes are hazel, not brown,” she corrects.

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