Page 22 of Salace

I know that therapy is my only chance to save myself from this dark hole I am in. My mind races with memories of the past and present, but I try to push them aside and stay focused on the road ahead. The route to her office is familiar, yet every time I make this trip, I feel as if I'm navigating a foreign land. My mind is so consumed with thoughts of Aimee's dad and the looming court case that I barely notice the scenery passing by. Trees, buildings, and people all blend together into a meaningless blur.

Finally, I pull into the parking lot of the office building. I take a deep breath and compose myself, straightening my clothes and fixing my hair. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror and force a smile. I can do this. I can face whatever demons lie ahead.

I push open the door and step into the cool, clinical atmosphere of the lobby. The receptionist nods at me and I sign in, my hand shaking slightly as I do so.

I take a seat in the waiting area, my eyes darting around nervously. The other patients seem so much more put together than I am. I sink deeper into my seat, trying to become invisible.

Finally, the door to the therapist's office opens and my name is called. I stand up, my legs feeling like lead, and follow the therapist into his office. It's a small, cozy room with a couch, a couple of chairs, and a bookcase.

"You made it," Dr. Richardson says.

I nod.

"How are you feeling?"

I shrug. "Tired."I hate these appointments.

I take a deep breath, my eyes scanning the room. Her bookshelf is filled with self-help books, some of them I even recognize. I wonder how many people have sat on this couch, seeking the same help that I am.

She nods at me. “You look tired. How are you handling your sobriety?”

I shift in my seat, feeling the sweat begin to form on my forehead. "It's been a struggle," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've had some moments of weakness, but I'm trying my best to stay strong."Moments of weakness might be a bit of an exaggeration.

Dr. Richardson leans forward, her eyes fixed on mine. "That's good to hear, but it's important to remember that recovery is a process. It's not something that happens overnight. You need to be patient with yourself." I nod, feeling a knot form in my stomach. “And your meds. You’re taking everything as prescribed? Keeping up with them?”

I nod again, my eyes glued to the floor. "Yes, I'm taking everything as prescribed."Lies. You, Julia, are a liar.

Dr. Richardson leans back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on me. "That's good. It's important to stay on top of your medication.”

It hits me then. The photos, the video I texted. They were for Kasey. Everything my drunk mind strives to forget comes flooding back from the night before. Sweat beads on my forehead.

Dr. Richardson sees the sudden shift in my demeanor and leans forward once more. "Is everything okay, Julia?”

I swallow hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts. "Yes, everything is fine," I lie again, my heart pounding in my chest.

Dr. Richardson studies me for a moment before nodding. "Alright then. But if you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here for you."

I force a smile, knowing that I can't let anyone know what happened last night.Especially not about Kasey.

KASEY

Iforce a smile onto my face when Eden waltzes into the ice cream parlor. It’s actually more of a grimace, but I don’t think she notices either way.

She’s more than likely here sans money, expecting me to pay for whatever she wants.

And I will.

One last time, as a parting gift for the attention she gave me, even if I had to beg for it to be undivided.

At least I know I’m good for groveling,I think, as she walks over and waits for me to pull a chair out for her.

Ever the fucking princess.

“Eden—”

“What are you drinking?” she asks, cutting me off, and flipping her hair over her shoulders.

“A shake, but listen—”

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