Page 147 of Let the Game Begin
The horrible Muzak in the clinic’s waiting room did nothing but get on my nerves.
The plump receptionist with the saggy ass was observing me over the top of her black-framed glasses, looking like a watch dog just waiting to attack the moment I stepped out of line.
“I’m nervous.” Next to me, Chloe swung her ankles to relieve some of the tension coursing through her. She was just about to go in for her second session with my old shrink, and I was with her because I’d decided I was always going to go to the clinic with her.
I was the only one of us who understood what it meant to go through something like this.
At least the Carter issue was resolved. I’d gone to visit him in the hospital and blackmailed him with some pictures immortalizing his drug-dealing career. If he mentioned my name to any cops, I’d immediately go to the station with my overwhelming evidence against him. He’d accepted my deal; the matter was closed as far as I was concerned, though my sister was still suffering the aftereffects of trauma.
“Everything’s going to be okay. Dr. Lively is a good person. You said it yourself,” I told her reassuringly. In truth, I was feeling anxious and short ofbreath myself. I needed a smoke and to clean myself. It had been fifty-eight minutes since I’d last been in contact with water.
“Who were you with last night?” My sister kept her face tilted down, and for a second, I thought I’d imagined her question, so I gave her a confused look.
“What?” I muttered in a weak voice I barely recognized as my own.
Shit!
“Last night, I heard strange noises coming from your room. You were with a girl.” Chloe blushed.
“Are you sure it was coming from my room?” The house was huge, and our bedrooms were pretty widely spaced, but that didn’t exclude the possibility of other people overhearing what went on in my bed. It had happened before, but knowing that it was Selene this time made me worry.
“I’m sure, Neil. I may be inexperienced and a virgin, but I’m not an idiot,” she grumbled, giving me the stink eye. Chloe was possessive of me and Logan the same way we were with her. I smiled at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Kiddo, that was just me training on the heavy bag, like usual,” I told her, trying to sound casual and lighten the mood. Discussing sex with my sister was hardly my idea of a good time.
“Sure. Of course.” She rolled her eyes, and I pressed a kiss to her temple. Just then, Dr. Lively’s office door opened, and he approached us with a beaming smile. He greeted me first, then Chloe.
“Ready?” he asked kindly, and she nodded as she got to her feet. She took a deep breath and then looked back at me.
“I’ll wait right here,” I said softly, reassuring her.
Chloe followed the doctor into his office, and I was left by myself, huffing at the vaguely classical music that continued to bug the shit out of me.
“What’s going on with you?” carped the receptionist, who continued to watch me from a distance.
“The Muzak. Instead of relaxing a patient, it just boils his piss,” I snapped, scandalizing her with my vulgar language. I got off the couch, which suddenly felt uncomfortable, and poked around the room, ignoring the bulldog in a wig seated a few feet away from me.
White walls, potted plants, abstract paintings, windows made of safety glass up to the ceiling, cameras everywhere, reinforced doors to prevent access from one part of the building into another, a top-of-the-line alarm system… All of it made me feel like I was in prison. In fact, the suffocating feeling I got whenever I was there was one of the reasons I’d stopped therapy. My “therapy” was dredging up old memories, talking about myself, analyzing my personality on an introspective journey that Dr. Lively assured me would help me but had done nothing but damage me even further.
I paced the waiting room in agitation, and when the bulldog wandered away with some paperwork in hand, I began to feel freer. I glanced around cautiously before approaching the office adjacent to Dr. Lively’s. On the door (entirely white, of course) was a gold nameplate inscribed with “Dr. John Keller.”
I saw that the door was slightly open, and I moved closer, sure I would see the clinic’s other shrink inside, but the office was empty. I frowned and looked quickly back at the reception desk. She wasn’t back yet, so I pushed the door the rest of the way open and went inside.
I was very clearly trespassing in a space I was not permitted to enter, but I didn’t give a damn about the rules. I examined the room’s furnishings first. There was a huge desk in the middle of the room with two stylish armchairs positioned in front of it. The walls were white with a blue undertone that was illuminated by the large windows. Apparently, Keller was an art lover. I was particularly struck by one painting, which appeared to be a photorealistic rendering of a shell on a beach at sunset. I leaned in to get a better look at it until someone behind me cleared their throat, making me jump.
“Hey, my office got more interesting in my absence.” Dr. Keller walked into the room, wearing a tasteful blue suit without a tie. His bright hazel eyes examined me carefully as he stood there, holding a steaming cup of something in one hand and using the other to swirl a teaspoon around in it.
“I got bored out there,” I admitted, poker-faced. Then I went back to looking at the picture with the shell in the foreground.
“You know, kid, Blaise Pascal once said that all humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone,” he murmured,sounding amused before taking a determined step forward. He came over to stand next to me and joined me in staring at the painting. I moved back slightly to put some distance between us.
“What did you say your name was? I’ve only met you once, and my memory isn’t what it used to be,” he said, sipping on what I presumed was some kind of herbal tea.
I kept quiet and looked at the steaming mug in his left hand. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring on that hand, so he presumably wasn’t married. Probably didn’t have kids.
“This is one of the best tea blends they make at the café here in the clinic; you should try it. It’s passionflower,” he continued, making me cock an eyebrow.
“So do you just habitually have conversations with yourself or what?” I asked, somewhat coldly. He brought the mug to his lips, which pulled up in a tiny smile.
