Page 24 of Misery and Ecstasy

Turning around to grab the notepad off my desk, I tear my eyes from him. My brain is trying to convince me to ask him what time he left last night. But I manage to contain my curiosity, intent on forgetting all about what happened. If I ask him, it could bring attention to my unfortunate behavior and that’s the last thing I want to do right now.

“Okay.” I clear my throat and look through the notes I took yesterday. “We were talking about your brother and how you aren’t close any longer.”

When I look back at Draven, his arms are crossed, and his head is tilted back, resting on the top of the sofa. His features are pinched, like he’s in absolute agony, as though therapy is the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

It pisses me off.

He could be in jail or dead because of what he did. I was forced into a situation I really don’t want to be inbecause of what he did.

A situation that brought forth one of the most intense, erotic orgasms I’ve ever had.

Suddenly, I’m back in that parking lot the night we met. His command for me to get in the car like a good girl plays on a loop in his low, sexy rumble.

Clearing my throat, I flick away an invisible speck of nothing on my pants in an effort to distract my thoughts in a way that appears totally and completely innocent.

I catch a flash of something in his stare, leading me to think he noticed. And I’m not happy about it.

Don’t lose yourself, McK. You’re here to help him, not to catch feelings and drive him away like you’ve done with every other guy in your life.

We need to focus on a topic that will keep my mind from the continuous replay of my orgasm. And I need to realize that he came here for a reason. Regardless of whether I want to help him or not, he needs it. And the oath I took when I became a therapist, as well as my conscience and my desire to help others, are rooting me to this seat right now.

“Let’s back up for a second. Tell me a little about your adolescence. What kind of kid were you? What were you into? Yesterday, you mentioned you were good in school, and you worked hard at home on your family’s farm.”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer I get.

“What about for fun? What did you like to do?”

I have a feeling I’m going to have to lure the information I need from him somehow. This happens with patients from time to time. Some who are uncomfortable opening up and being vulnerable will come back almost more tight-lipped than the first time. They often feel regret over divulging information about themselves. Especially when it paints them in a negative light.

“I don’t know. I used to play baseball. Ride my bike.”

“I guess some things don’t change. Only now your bike has a little more power.” I smile, trying to lighten the vibe in the room, but it doesn’t work.

“Currently, my bike hasnopower. But I guess I don’t have anyone to blame for that but myself.”

“While yes, you are responsible for your own actions, I’m hoping I can help you understand why you resorted to the behavior you exhibited. But it’s also important for you to realize that no one was hurt. The situationcouldhave been worse.”

His arms still crossed and his eyes on me, the only reaction to what I just said is a slight puckering of his lips. As though he’s skeptical about my position. As though he thinks I should be saying something to shame him into feeling guilty for his actions rather than giving him any measure of reassurance.

“Are you still a baseball fan? Do you go to any games or anything like that?”

“No.”

“What about friends? Did you have a best friend growing up?”

“Tommy Holt.”

“What did you and Tommy used to do together?”

“Play baseball and ride bikes.” Finally unfolding his arms, he huffs out an irritated sigh. “What does this have to do with anything? I can’t see how talking about dumb shit I did when I was twelve will be instrumental in myrecovery.”

He runs his hands over his legs, as though he’s wiping sweat away before rubbing his thumb back-and-forth over the seam of his jeans. That and the way his leg starts bouncing screams of anxiety. As though there is something in his past he doesn’t want to unearth.

“We have ninety days together, Draven. That’s ninety hours of deep diving into your life to figure out the crux of the reason you went on a death ride through this town. To help you figure out safer, smarter ways to handle your grief so your actions don’t force someone else into the grieving process when you kill yourself or others next time.”

I grip the pen tightly in my fist as I work to calm myself down. It won’t do any good for me to get angry or irritated. I just need to keep moving forward and get this assignment done and over with so I can go back to a life that’s mostly free from the MC.

“I was working my way toward understanding who you have in your life that you can lean on right now. But if you don’t want to go back that far yet, it’s okay. We can get there later.”

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