Page 18 of Hold Me for Now

When Dr. D speaks, I want to scream, to shatter the window that separates us so I can strangle him with my bare hands. I’m unable to take responsibility, too busy wallowing in my misery, so I put the blame on him, on T.

“This is normal, Kristi,” he says. “All patients get attached. It’s part of the process.”

“He didn’t,” I sob. “T wasn’t attached. He just walked away like it was no big deal.”

“It’s just as hard on him as it is on you.” The doctor’s voice is surprisingly gentle. “He handles his pain differently, that’s all.”

“No,” I say stubbornly. My shadows are back, whispering, pointing out all my flaws. “He didn’t care. It was all a lie. He just needed to fuck me so he could get over his problem. Once it was solved, you saw what happened—how quickly he ran out of here, back to her.”

I take in a shuddering breath and scream at the mirror, “You shouldn’t mess with people’s feelings like this. It’s fucked up!”

“But you got what you wanted, right?” the voice says.

Did I? Get what I wanted?

Nothing is clear to me right now. I’m too overwhelmed. Too gutted to think rationally. Like an overstimulated teenager, I scream, “I hate you!” and run from the room, out into the street.

The moment I push through the doors, it’s like stepping onto another planet. The world is too bright, tooalive.Sunlight slants between scattered clouds. Car horns blare. Voices rise and fall in easy conversation. A gust of air carries the smell of the city—sweat, hot pavement, the sewer beneath my feet.

I stumble forward, vision swimming, dodging pedestrians who shoot me wary glances. Two blocks. That’s as far as I get before my body gives out. My knees buckle, and I sink to the sidewalk, back against a brick wall, gasping for breath.

No one stops. No one asks if I’m okay. And I’m grateful for it. The best—and worst—part of living in New York.

A sob claws its way up my throat. I clap my hands over my ears, desperate to shut it all out, but it’s useless. His words are still there. Replaying in my head, over and over.

“I love you.”

I can’t believe I listened.

Let myself hope.

Fucking liar.

No one loves me.

Least of all myself.

Chapter thirteen

Epilogue

One year later

Thesubwaytrain’sarrivalis announced first by a gust of wind, warm and smelling of the swamp this city is built on. Then there’s the squealing of metal wheels as it brakes. Finally, the train itself, tagged with layers of graffiti, lumbers into view. The double doors whoosh open, and strangers pile in. I shift my feet, shuffling in along with the nameless crowd. There are no seats available, and even if there were I wouldn’t take them. I’m young and healthy. There’s no reason for me to sit, not when other people need it more.

The doors close, and everyone clusters tightly together, a shifting mass of humanity. Since I’m shorter than average, I’m always at a disadvantage. The looped straps that hang overhead, the ones most people hold onto, are too high unless I’m on my toes. I reach for one now but miss it by a centimeter at the same moment that the train lurches into motion. Off balance, I fall backward with my arms windmilling, smacking people as I go down. I brace for the humiliation of hitting the dirty floor, but before that happens someone yells out a surprised, “Whoa!” Strong arms catch me, then right me, setting me gently on my feet.

I open my mouth to say thank you just as the scent of mint hits my nose.

My breath catches. My brain rewinds.

A white room.

Tangled sheets.

I turn sharply, my pulse hammering, and suddenly—he’s there before me. Not a memory, like the one I’ve replayed so many times. The real man, flesh and blood, tall and brown-haired. Warm brown eyes flung wide, staring at me like I’m a dream he just woke up from.

“K?” he breathes, searching my face. “Is that you?”

---