Page 12 of Wicked Duty
“I’m afraid that we’re out of time.” I stand up too quickly. “I have an event later today, so I need to get going.”
“Lucy?” Dr. Shaw rises, concern in her voice. “We can go slower if you need to. You don’t have to rush off?—”
She steps toward me, and I instinctively throw my arm out, knocking the notebook from her hand.
Mortification freezes me in place.
Now, I’m not just the woman who’s falling apart. I’m the woman who might get shipped off to a mental hospital for accosting a doctor.
“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“That’s all right.” Betty’s tone suggests otherwise.
With tears pricking the back of my eyes, I drop to my knees and grab her notebook. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m just on edge today.”
I begin to rise but halt when my eyes catch on the open page. I take my time, slowly regaining my feet while scanning the words my therapist wrote.
What affects her most?
Hyper-vigilance. Paranoia. Trust issues. Need for control over her environment. Occasional panic attacks. Difficulty with unexpected touch. Putting on a front to come across as more confident.
The moment I’m upright, Dr. Shaw snatches the book from me, her expression apologetic and uneasy. “It’s really okay. Lucy?—”
But I’m already gone. It’s one thing to feel pathetic every day of my life. It’s a completely different thing to reveal this pathetic side of myself to a virtual stranger.
Some darkness should never be exposed to the light of day.
I flee to the quiet, warm corridor beyond the office. The symphony of hushed fuzz created by white noise machines fills my ears as I jog the length of the hall and burst into the seventh-floor atrium.
Heart pounding, I press the elevator’s call button like a game controller, praying Dr. Shaw doesn’t follow me.
Nausea roils in my stomach. Panic attack number two for the day hovers on the horizon.
A century passes before the elevator finally arrives. I don’t allow myself to breathe again until I’m safely in the main lobby, outside of the moving coffin.
Trying not to blank my mind, I hurry toward the exit, maneuvering through the throngs of workers, customers, and clients on the first floor of this ten-story office park.
I’m three seconds away from marking today as a total loss. Then I remember, and a teensy bit of smugness spreads through me.
My day may be a total shit show, but at least I escaped fromhim.I snuck right past Callum’s arrogant nose.
I shove through the building doors with a bit more pep and inhale that familiar, grimy New York City air.
Smells like grit out here. A city full of survivors.
I’m still congratulating myself on giving my guard dog the slip when two hands clamp down on my arms, ripping me clean off the street.
Chapter 4
Callum
I yank Lucy’s infuriating ass right off the sidewalk in front of her shrink’s office building and drag my leggy, purple-haired client into the nearby alley, covering her mouth while she unleashes a muffled scream against my hand.
She digs her teeth into my palm violently enough to draw blood and elbows me in the chest with impressive force. If this were my first rodeo, she might’ve loosened my grip.
Pain radiates through my hand, but I don’t release her until we’re deep enough in the alleyway to hide from any passersby.
Putrid privacy brought to us by Manhattan dumpsters.
