Page 195 of Branded
Marin fell silent then, still and silent and studying me like I was a puzzle and she knew exactly where all the pieces went.
But I already knew so many of the pieces were lost and missing that what was inside me wouldn’t ever make a complete picture.
“Don’t you?” Marin pressed softly, moving to the bed, and leaning a hip to the edge.
“No,” I said, holding tight to the argument. “I don’t.”
“Hmm.”
An inhale held for a long moment. Then an exhale going on for just as long.
“You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”
My chin came up, and I struggled to keep my tone even. “I’m not stupid. I know what happened wasn’t good or normal, so I’m happy to talk to you.”
Piercing gray eyes on mine. “Or you’ll give me just enough to get me to back off so that you can go back to”—air quotes here—“normal.”
Marin was good at her job.
But I wasn’t going to admit anything.
“You might get that normal back, Beth. Hell”—respect in her eyes—“you strike me as a survivor, so I’m guessing that you probably will get it back. At least for a little while,” she added, with such certainty that my gut twisted. “But sooner or later,” Marin went on. “Sooner or later, this is going to happen again. You can’t bottle everything up forever and expect it to not eventually work itself free again.”
I could damned well try.
I could carry these babies and help Raph and get the fuck out of Baltimore before it happened again.
“But I saw you come in…”
My hands clenched into fists.
Which Marin saw, if the way her gaze darted there was any indication.
Bitch.
I meant that in the nicest way possible, meant it to be a self-protective shield because all I wanted was to get the fuck out of this hospital and get away from Marin, and to go back to fucking normal…
Marin’s face was placid. “I know I’m not going to get through those walls in one day, in a few hours. And I know that me knowing Hazel?—”
“You can’t tell Hazel anything,” I snapped. “It’s patient-client privilege.”
Half of Marin’s mouth curved. “No, I can’t. And I wouldn’t. But that wouldn’t matter, anyway. Me knowing Hazel means that I would never get through your walls, would I?”
Fuck.
My outburst was stupid. It wasn’t normal. It revealed too much.
And Marin knew it.
“So, I know I won’t get in there. Just like I know that people don’t have the kind of trauma you do without it being something big. So even though you won’t let me in, won’t let them in”—a wave to the glass door through which Hazel and Raph had disappeared—“even though you obviously have some things twisted in that head of yours, I’m begging—begging—you to keep these”—she pulled two cards out of her pocket and slid them onto the rolling table—“or at least keep one of them close and to use it when the time comes.”
My eyes slanted down, and I studied the business cards.
One was Marin’s, a bunch of letters following her name. The other was for another trauma therapist.
Fuck.
“And I’ll say this before I sign off on the doctor discharging you and leave you to it. Aside from keeping them close”—a nod to the cards—“aside from using one of them when that darkness ramps again, preferably before it ramps again, I want you to know that everyone deserves to be happy.” A beat. “Even those who think, for some reason, they don’t.”
