“On a first-name basis already?” Thelma teased, and my cheeks heated despite the lingering chill in the air.
“Aren’t you with your therapist?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation.
“Yes, but my therapist is older than me and resembles a dinosaur,” She chuckled, “Not nearly as handsome as Mr. Bradshaw. All the female patients notice, hell, probably some of the men as well.”
“He’s okay to look at, I guess,” I said, hoping that if she said something about my face reddening that I could blame it on the exercise. Truth was, he was more than just okay to look at, and I found myself thinking about him more frequently than I should. He was my therapist, not a slab of meat to gawk at. Those shoulders and arms are what kept coming back to my mind, the positions he’d be able to pin someone down in…. I scolded myself before letting that thought continue and blamed it on the amount of smut I read during my free time; it was obviously affecting my subconscious more than it should.
“If you think that man is just okay to look at, you need your eyes checked,” Kendi said from Thelma's other side, “He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.”
“Fine, he’s not bad. Definitely a step up from what my ex looks like. Unless you’re into the receding hairline and a beer belly physique.”
Both of them laughed at that, and thankfully the conversation turned to our plans for the afternoon. We had art therapy again after lunch with Nadia. Cindy had instructed us to wear clothes we didn’t mind getting pottery on, because it wouldn’t wash out as easily as the acrylic paints. I wouldn’t have time to write between lunch and art therapy, so I had hoped there would be time between dinner and the start of visitation hours. Writing about hurting Craig had proved to greatly improve my mood and outlook on the entire situation I found myself in. I was still terrified when I left here, in here I was still safe, and as long as I was safe, I could process the events however I needed to in order to just get through them.
December 26th 2020
Christmas was different this year than it has been in the past. Growing up, mom and dad were never too big on the holiday. Mom was always intent on making everyone as miserable as she was when we found ourselves spending time with her instead of our grandmother. Michelle and I found our own ways to celebrate and take back a little joy from something we never had growing up. It makes me nostalgic for my grandmother's traditions. We haven’t been to a communion since she passed away.
I can’t figure Craig out. He wanted me to come over to his apartment early Christmas morning to get my present, even though he was supposed to be coming to Mickey’s later, and he knew I was staying the night with her. We always spent Christmas Eve together, no matter what the circumstances were.
The gift he gave me really was too much. A beautiful and expensive handgun that I had seen when I went with him to a gun and knife show months ago. Guns weren’t really my thing, but I tried to put effort into liking them so we’d have something in common. I didn’t hate them, and I wasn’t against them. I even owned one, but I just wasn’t such a fanatic about them like he was.
Iaccidentally left it at his apartment while we went visiting with his family and Michelle that day. I was worried for a while that he wasn’t having a good time; he’s usually more sociable with my sister. We spent the morning at her place, Riley stayed in her guest room, and then went to his parents’ after lunch. I thought for a brief moment that it was going to be a nice and relaxing day, until after dinner, he reminded me I needed to go back to his apartment to get my present.
With the snow and how cold it was, he told me to wait in the car, that he would run in and get it really quick, so I wouldn’t have to get out of the warmth from the vehicle. He was gone long enough that I had started to get worried and was about to go check on him. When he finally exited his building, he didn’t just have the case in his hand. He carried a bulky towel, wrapped up in a bundle like a baby.
I rolled down my window to accept the case and questioned why he was handing me the towel. He told me all the pieces to my gun were wrapped up inside and that he wasn’t always going to be at the range to help me if my gun jammed. The deal was, if I wanted to keep the gun, I had to figure out how to put it back together without his help.
I spent all night trying to work on it. Countless YouTube videos and cuts on my fingers from the sharp edges of the metal happened before I finally figured it out. All he texted me this morning was if he needed to come back and get it, or if I had done as he asked. Crying from lack of sleep and confusion from the strings attached with my gift, I sent him a text telling him I was able to figure it out, and thanked him yet again for it.
After putting it back together, I put it away in my closet, never wanting to look at it again after how much blood and tears that had been shed over the worst gift I had ever received.
Chapterfifteen
The Vigilante
September 27th 2023
Fucking Brandon Everett. This time slot was supposed to be Raelynn’s, and it probably still would have been if I didn’t have the degenerate pedophile as a patient. Yesterday had been out of the norm for me. It wasn’t just because it was my day off; it was the first time I had ever gotten a phone call from the clinic requesting I talk to a patient in that capacity.
Shemar had apologized, over and over, asking if I just wanted to talk to her on the phone. I had been the one to insist on seeing her in person. Maybe if I hadn’t and had settled for a phone call, I would still have her as my patient this morning. I could never regret the decision to come in, even if the clinic saw fit to change the schedule with our impromptu session yesterday and Jessica’s illness today.
I wasn’t complaining about seeing her for a session off the routine schedule yesterday. Truthfully, despite the circumstances, a part of me was thrilled she had called, that she had needed me. Most men —true men— needed to feel needed. It was one of the things that made us feel accomplished in life, like our contributionsmattered. My job made me feel needed on a daily basis, my extracurricular activities made me feel needed even more so. Raelynn admitting she needed me was on a different level, even if she hadn’t spoken the words aloud.
When I listened to her, at times she allowed her vulnerable side to surface, but her exterior mask—the one she wore so well around everyone—was so well put together it was hard to think she ever needed anyone. She had flaws and weaknesses, but she covered them up with her sarcasm and wicked tongue. Strong independent women were worth a lot in my book—a rare commodity to discover amongst so many carbon copies cut from the same cloth. If you could make them need you, bring out their soft, feminine side, then you would have something special.
Having to give up additional time with her just to talk to a man whom I’ve already sentenced to death boiled my blood. Tonight, Raelynn’s sister was due to bring her journals to me. After talking with her briefly about what she was writing before we began yesterday, curiosity had me gnawing at the bit to get my hands on them. It was one thing to read about her day-to-day life, another if she had included any fictional writing with the truth to give me a better glimpse of how she viewed the world.
I desired to know more about how she would punish the man who had done her so wrong. Did she share the same bloodlust for justice as me? Did she crave to see bad things happen to deserving people, or was it selfishly just what she would dish outupon someone who had hurt her? Would she participate in it, or was it strictly just fantasy for her to write about? The questions I wanted answers to weren’t easy ones, I could try and slip in unnoticed into our sessions. Hopefully, her journals will give me more insight before I meet with her again.
Raelynn was a mystery to me that I wanted to not only solve, but also to unlock the secrets of. The way her blue eyes hardened in defiance and how she used sarcasm as a shield made my hands itch to show her who was in charge. She needed someone to be in charge—not in a way that lessened who she was, but to build her up into the most powerful woman she could become. Even if she didn’t see it yet. The freedom she could experience by relinquishing that control to me would be close to euphoric.
Routinely, I would have gone to get Brandon for our session, only there was nothing routine about Brandon as a patient. After his last outburst, he’s had an orderly assigned to him at all times to help keep him under control. Most of his outbursts have been contained so far; he hasn’t inflicted any lasting damage on any of the other patients or staff, however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of it.
Per the email this morning, Thomas would be escorting Mr. Everett to my office after their group walk outside. The thought of him alone with any of the women in that group had me clenching my fists on top of my desk. When would the idiots that ran this place get it through their heads that the safety of their patientswasn’t worth the political bullshit they let sway their decisions? Brandon's little episodes alone should have been enough to either keep him in solitary confinement or, at the very least, have him moved to the criminal ward while he was awaiting trial. Money may have bought him a more comfortable stay while he was undergoing his evaluation, but it couldn’t buy him out of his death sentence.
A knock on the door prompted me out of my thoughts and brought me back into the present. Mr. Everett's time was almost up; that should be enough to calm me down from the rage I felt building at all the injustices being allowed. I stood and made my way to the door. Other than the board of directors, no other staff could scan their badge to enter my office.
I forced myself to take a deep breath through my nose and exhale through my mouth, counting to six before striding to the door. Thomas was almost as tall as I was, which was an impressive feat, though he had me beat in sheer mass. He wouldn’t have been out of place in a wrestling match with the way he was built. Brandon, on the other hand, well, slimy was a good word to describe him. He wasn’t slimy in the literal sense; his demeanor was just snake-like, a lowlife who wasn’t evolved enough to have legs, but a creature forced to slither around, mingling with garbage. He didn't even try to hide it. I hadn’t reached a conclusion yet whether he projected it on purpose, as a show for his stay here, or if it really was his personality.
