Page 80 of Thorns of Blood
“You don’t say,” I said, sarcasm lacing my tone.
I met her eyes, studying the woman who looked my age, but polished and put together. There wasn’t a single piece of hair out of place, and her natural makeup accentuated her features. Dr. Freud came from old money, had had a carefree childhood, and likely still got along with her family. So what I was more interested in understanding was why, one day, she decided to work exclusively with criminals.
“We can do this two ways,” she stated calmly. “You drop the sarcasm and tell me how I can help you. Or we end this session, both of us going our separate ways.”
My head almost reared back in surprise. The woman had balls, and I was reluctant to admit I admired it. I liked a no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point attitude.
“That’s not very… doctor-like,” I pointed out. “I thought a doctor’s purpose was to never give up on a patient.”
She gave her head a shake. “Maybe, but me giving up on you wouldn’t be a matter of life or death for you, and I’d rather spend my time with someone who wants to be helped.”
I smiled. “Fair enough.”
Her gaze wavered. “So… what’s it going to be?”
She tapped a pen against the pad in front of her…Tap, tap, tap… in even stretches as she waited for my decision. I focused my stare on the shiny degree hanging behind her and released a tired sigh.
“I have nightmares.” There was a barely noticeable delay in her tapping before she resumed it. “Vivid ones that sometimes make me violent.”
She stopped her tapping.
“Violent?” she repeated slowly.
“I wake up with my hands around someone’s neck.” It was the reason I never allowed Amara to crawl into my bed at night. No matter what. “Or ready to fight someone.”
“I see.” I didn’t really think she did. “And how does that make you feel?”
I let out a sardonic breath. That question must be woven into every graduate thesis.
“Maybe you should ask how the person sleeping next to me feels about it,” I retorted dryly.
“You’re married, right?” I was about to shake my head when I paused. It was instinctive for me to keep parts of my life hidden, but Dr. Freud probably knew about my marital status, considering Giovanni was the one who called her.
“Yes.”
“Does that concern you for the safety of your husband?” she asked.
“No.”Yes.
She paused.
“You do understand caring for someone isn’t a weakness?” I gave her a blank look. She was so wrong, because itwasa weakness. Your enemy could take it and manipulate it—use it to fuel their power over you. “Actually, one might argue it makes you stronger.”
The woman was so clueless living in her safe and insulated bubble.
“Let’s agree to disagree,” I muttered.
She raised a brow. “Funny, you don’t strike me as a woman who’d just give up.”
I shot her a glare. “I’m not.”
“Then don’t,” she stated. “Trust me, and most importantly, trust yourself. You can beat your demons or whatever is plaguing you, but not if you give up.”
Damn this woman.
“So what do I have to do?” I asked, crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to appear unbothered.
“Be honest. If not with me, then with yourself.” Her gaze held mine. “Do it for the people you love. Do it for yourself because you deserve it.” She raised a brow, as if she expected me to say something, and when I didn’t, she added, “Revenge can sometimes bring you more chaos than peace, Liana. Moving on is sweeter.”
