Page 3 of Turbo

“I would say Dreamer is working hard to get the school where she wants it.” Porsche avoided the question and looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to talk about New Mexico. While there was good once she got with the Steel MC, the rest of the time had a lot of trauma. even though the question was vague enough she could have talked about the fun she had with Dell and Sal and the others, that wasn’t what Doc was eluding to and they both knew it.

“Yes, Dreamer, is working hard to get the school where she wants it. Now tell me about your time in New Mexico.” Doc wouldn’t let up, her tone shifting since the woman did know how to deal with the difficult and stubborn.

Military trained, the psychiatrist had gone through residency with their Prez Red. While he was all about being a surgeon and putting people back together, Doc had chosen the mind. Sealing cracks with talk therapy and quieting the voices with drugs that allowed one to process trauma. Drugs Porsche was currently trying to remember if she’d taken recently.

The wandering nature of her thoughts hinted toward her not taking it, but then again she wasn’t completely distracted by shining objects and the ambient noises in the room. Even with it being new above the clinic she was still acutely aware of every part of her trying to avoid the topic that had her skin raising and bits of burning trickling down her spine as if each question was a poker stabbing into a smoldering log. The embers sending stings of pain making her twitch in the overstuffed chair.

While Red pushed for those with a past to reach out to Doc, to the point she would be shorted shifts at the Roadside Bar where she danced if she didn’t, somehow their sessions had hit the main problem. The time in her life she didn’t want to talk about. Couldn’t Doc just reup her meds and let her be on her way. They’d danced around the subject a few times, flippant comments she’d been able to write off and avoid. Only Doc had more than her as a client and when Dreamer joined the patient list Porsche knew the ex they both shared, Clive, could no longer be a dark figure tucked away in the shadow of her closet. The man who had abused her for a time, moved on once he was released from the charge, she put on him and into the arms of the unsuspecting Dreamer. Until she found the Steel MC and Dell it was a really dark time.

“Nightingale’s kids are sure cute. I just love that little Maisie. The other day she was—”

“Porsche, stop talking about everybody else, but yourself. While I appreciate the insights you have to the gossip and goings on of the club, this isn’t why you come to my office,” she said, the strict tone laced with caring made Porsche’s palms itch. “You always have when you find the time to come see me, but that tends to coincide with your med refill.”

“About that,” she said, Doc raised her hand, palm out to stop her.

“We need to work through some of your stuff.” Doc’s jaw tightened and Porsche turned her head to the side to avoid the eye contact. “I’m not going to prescribe you meds if you don’t use them the way I intend. To be in concert with breaking down the root cause of your bi-polar issues.”

Porsche bristled at the diagnosis. Tears pinpricking the corner of her eyes with salty stings. Her chest seized a bit as if putting a label on why she went from high to low, manic to calm, fun to inconsolable could no longer be written off because it had a name. She should be happy there was a cause, an imbalance of chemicals she needed to manage only it was never that simple. Free was a perfect example. That woman had to be bi-polar or something worse. Sure the hormones she had to inject in an attempt to have a kid weren’t helping, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own manic issues.

Right as Porsche was about to redirect and question about Free’s recent dip into the crazy pool a digital glow gave her an out.

“Oh, times up. I can’t believe an hour already went by. Let’s chat again soon.” Porsche grabbed her purse and stood. “It was great seeing you again Doc.”

“Porsche,” Doc warned, not getting up from her desk. “How many pills do you have left?”

“I’m good Doc, really,” she lied, settling the crossbody strap of her purse in place and digging for her keys.

“They are daily, not as you feel like it,” she stated. “How many?”

“Like six, seven.”

“Then I expect you back here and ready to talk within a week. I’ll have your prescription here for you to pick up.”

Going cold turkey wasn’t the same with SSRI’s as it was with alcohol or crack. Not that she’d ever done crack, but she knew the withdrawals were a bitch to deal with and so did Doc. There was no cozying up to Red anymore to get her refill because Doc was local now. Local and trapping her into a place she didn’t want to be. Dangling her mental health and ability to function at the end of a stick. Rock; hard place; she was right there with no chance of getting out without giving a bit of herself.

Bits at a time. Like when she danced only Doc wasn’t looking for a flash of nipple, she wanted something deeper, more invasive and exposing. The thought alone had Porsche’s heart racing and mouth becoming arid.

“I’ll set an appointment up at the front desk,” she said, hoping she’d find the strength by the time she made her way downstairs into the clinic proper.

Stepping out of the new office which was set up where an apartment had been above the clinic. A mix of offices and an outpatient surgical suite at the far end the place was a mishmash of one stop care growing with the needs of the community. Triggered by necessity and a mix of insanity from the two doctors, Red and Doc. The therapy part was separated off a bit with its own waiting room. Sharing the space with a holistic professional in the second office. Out in the waiting area Topaz and Zoe sat in the brightly colored chairs making it impossible for anyone to just slip from a session without being noticed. Then again, they were here for either brain shrinking or some sort of chanting she supposed in the other office.

“Hey Porsche, I need to talk to you about your schedule.” Topaz stood.

“Do you have time now?” Porsche questioned.

“No, I’m here for a massage, Brenda should be out in a minute to get me.” Topaz glanced at her wrist watch.

“Right, you weren’t just stalking me in the waiting room,” Porsche said, Topaz gave her a confused look. “More shifts or less?”

Had Doc already put the word out she wasn’t allowed to dance? That would be fucked up if she had. Paranoia, maybe she hadn’t taken her meds.

“Swaps,” Topaz said. “Free’s gotta take Ruby to Billings for dialysis and is going to be seeing her own specialist I guess. It’s an overnight deal.”

“Text me once your balanced and gooey from the witch doctor over there,” Porsche said as she flicked her hand toward the second office. “How the hell do we have an acupuncturist and masseuse in Turnabout?”

“Don’t worry,” Zoe said arching her back to stretch a bit in her chair. “Pretty sure Brenda’s not giving happy endings so you don’t have to worry about losing those customers.”

“Aren’t you a fucking comedian,” Porsche jibed. “Can’t wait to see your act on stage.”

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