Page 73 of Color of Love

“Dr. Hall is wonderful. He’s going to do great work wi-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked away. He shook his head and when he turned back to her, his expression blank, his eyes emotionless. “To hell with this, and to hell with you.” He walked out, slamming the door behind him as he went.

She sank down onto the couch and buried her face in her hands and cried the tears she had been too stubborn to shed for days. Hours later, when she picked herself up, she realized that she’d missed at least two appointments. There was a soft knock on the door before Hilda poked her head in.

“I’ve canceled all your sessions for today,” she said.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Justine replied, trying to sound like she hadn’t been crying for two hours.

“Yes, I did.” The kindness in Hilda’s face brought about a fresh wave of tears.

“I’ve been so stupid,” she said, her voice cracking as a fresh sob broke through.

“Nonsense.” The word came out so matter of fact that Justine nearly smiled. “You’ve been living, dear. I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been to see you so happy these last few months. I had been so worried about you before.” Hilda said.

“But I’ve done something terrible!” Justine cried. “I slept with a client.”

Hilda just shrugged. “Eh! What’re you gonna do? Come on, let’s go to my place. You might be teaching me traditional Mexican cuisine, but I’ve been working on my cocktails. I’ve got Palomas!” Hilda winked at her.

“Hilda, it’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“Well, it’s five somewhere. Come on, let’s go.”

Justine smiled. She didn’t think she could face Christy and Taylor just yet. She knew they would be sympathetic and supportive, but she felt so stupid. She had ignored their advice and done the opposite of what they told her. She wiped her tears and grabbed her belongings as Hilda got ready to lock up.

That day she drank a shitload of Palomas while she poured her heart out to Hilda who was a fantastic listener. By the time Justine stumbled home that evening, she was convinced that in the morning she would feel fine. She would be fine without Blake, in fact, she was pretty sure she was already over him.

However as soon as she got into her bed, and smelled his lingering scent on her sheets, she promptly burst into tears and realized alcohol was a dirty liar. She wasn’t over him at all and she decided to go and cry herself to sleep on the couch instead.

*

Blake had a face like thunder for the rest of the week, although there were positives to this: it meant everyone left him the fuck alone. His mood was getting darker by the day and no amount of cuddles with Penny or workouts were calming him down. And he knew exactly who was to blame. He couldn’t even think her name without nearing a rage blackout. Now he was mad again, goddammit!

How could she do this to him? They had been doing so well. He’d trusted her, he had opened up to her and let her inside the battlefield of his mind. And she’d abandoned him, right when he was making progress.

Blake stomped around his office, pacing back and forth. He had barely slept since his encounter with Justine and counted three panic attacks in four days. He overcame them all but only by using the techniques she taught him, fixating on the color orange again and of course all that did was bring about images of her. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, she had worked her way inside, hollowed him out and then left him to pick up the pieces. He hated to admit that at the core of his anger was hurt.

There was a knock at his door.

“What?” he barked.

The door opened, Jim poked his head around and Blake instantly felt guilty at his display of temper.

“I’ve got that report you wanted, on the Monday night incident,” Jim held the file out and Blake sighed, ushering him in. Jim placed the report on Blake’s desk and hung back. “Everything okay, Deputy?” he asked. Blake sighed again, a regular noise he was making this week.

“Yes, thank you, Jim. Just a few things on my mind. How are you?”

The older man looked surprised to be asked. “I’m fine, son,” Jim replied, he kept talking but Blake didn’t hear anything else. For some reason, definitely nothing to do with the fact that Jim called him son, he got a lump in his throat.

“…so what do you think?” Jim’s thick, southern drawl brought him back.

“About what?”

“Fishing tomorrow? My buddy Len can’t make it and I need someone to take his place.”

Blake had never been fishing in his life, hadn’t really had any interest in it before, but suddenly he wanted to go more than anything.

“Sounds great,” he replied, and clapped Jim on the back, the older man smiling like a loon.

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