Page 133 of Nikola
Funny, you could know a person your entire life, but then learn a whole new side of them when you lived together.
For example, I’d never realized—until now—how routine-driven Nikola was. He rose early, exercised, then showered, only to eat breakfast while he worked before breaking for lunch. He also attended his physical therapy sessions, and lastly, his and my least favorite, phone calls from his therapist. He didn’t want to talk to her, but she kept calling.
Unlike Dr. Freud who had helped me, this therapist, Dr. MaryAnn Spot, was totally unhelpful.
I made a mental note to talk to Isabella about it, because I didn’t think that woman was good for Nikola. Not that he talked to her much. From what I gathered, he only sat there and let her yap, and he did it only to keep his mom happy.
“Do you have physical therapy today?” I asked, although I already knew.
“Yes, at two p.m. Want to come with me?”
I smiled. “Sure, why not, but while you’re doing that, I’ll run a few errands if that’s okay.”
He nodded. “Make sure you carry the knife Sasha gifted you.”
Thirty minutes later, I was showered, dressed in jeans, a pink top, and pink pumps, ready to get the day going.
Dr. MaryAnn Spot.
I stared at the golden plate with the list of credentials.
It took me a bit to find this place, leaving me with fifteen minutes to spare before Nikola was scheduled for a session here right after his physical therapy, which meant I didn’t have much time.
I didn’t know what I thought I’d accomplish by coming here, but I hoped that maybe Dr. MaryAnn needed a chance to understand Nikola better. I didn’t like the toll the sessions took on him.
Every time he finished, he’d shut down and call himself a cripple. Unlike my sessions with Dr. Freud which helped me feel better, Nikola’s sessions with Dr. MaryAnn were making him feel worse.
And that just wouldn’t do.
I knocked and opened the door. It wasn’t as if I could hear if someone invited me in.
I found Dr. MaryAnn, a woman of maybe forty years old, standing by her window and watering her plants.
Our eyes met and her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not taking any walk-ins.”
It was then I realized my rookie mistake. I wasdeaf. How in the fuck would I talk to this woman if she didn’t know ASL? I mentally slapped my forehead.
Instead, I shut the door behind me, fished out my phone, and pulled up my notes app, then started typing.
I’m here to talk to you about Nikola Nikolaev.
I showed her the message and her whole face scrunched with distaste.
Her thin lips moved and I read her lips. “That boy belongs in prison, or even better, six feet under.”
My jaw dropped while I stared at the woman.
Anger bubbled inside me, but I ignored it as I pounded hard on my phone, typing my next message.
Why don’t you refer him to another therapist? Or better yet, stop calling him?
I was tempted to shove the phone into her face, but I didn’t. Instead, I maintained my composure.
“I know better than to get on the wrong side of the Russian mafia.” I stared at the woman who seemed oblivious. “But I have a plan.”
My brows furrowed, then I typed:A plan?
She pinned me with a look. “Who are you, anyhow?”
