Chapter
One
Court. Appointed. Therapy.
The day my high school peers had paraded across a stage, I’d stood in front of a judge in a moldy courtroom. They’d gotten a smile, a handshake, and a diploma. I’d got stapled papers demanding forced rehabilitationor else. How ominous.
I rolled my eyes and leaned on the steering wheel, looking at the brown office building in the night. Everyone else was going off to college while I had a year long date with cognitive behavioral therapy.
My new therapist I’d yet to meet, Doctor Orson, was sitting up in his office right this very minute, probably staring at his watch and wondering if he should call my probation officer to report me as a no show. Most of the offices were dark but on the second floor I saw one light on. Was that him? Maybe I could lob a molotov cocktail up there to find out.
Therapists were tedious and I hated them. I always had to balance on a tightrope to get the right result—sharingjustenough for them to be happy but not enough I’d end up involuntarily hospitalized. I definitely should be but that wasn'tmyproblem. Everyone else’s problem? Yes. Not minethough. I was perfectly okay being a free roaming terror one breath away from psychosis, even if it was lonely... Perhaps being institutionalized would let me meet some people I had something in common with. Fun food for thought.
I groaned. The choice was simple here and I couldn't keep putting it off. After a quick swig of warm energy drink that I nearly gagged back up, I opened my car door and got out. I smoothed my short skirt down as my pink platform boots hit the pavement. I couldn’t afford to piss my new therapist off for too long or I’d level up to incarceration. I’m sure that would do wonders for my rough edges…not.
Outside the office building was quiet. The sky was already black and a long dark pole held a bright yellow light with insects swarming the glass. The wind shook the leaves of the large tree that shaded the entrance. I liked the sense of solitude as I opened the front door to an empty, dim hall. It made me feel like I was trespassing, which was infinitely more interesting than the truth.
The large foyer smelled like cleaning solution and there were yellow signs cautioning me the floor was wet. The janitor had already come and gone.
The nine pm meeting time was pretty odd but I dragged myself up the stairs to suite 203. I’d rather listen to a therapist tell me everything that’s wrong with me than have six months of bright lights and bologna sandwiches in the adult justice system. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been to therapy, I'd survive. What's the worst that could happen?
I brushed long strands of red hair out of my eyes as I stomped into the office suite, starting to get pissed before I’d even met the guy. But seriously, screw whoever this dude was—making a fucking job out of judging me. I could just imagine him, Doctor Orson, some unwashed asshole who was going through the motions to get his government paycheck.
Luckily, being a bitch was my speciality and I was looking forward to making my case a special little nightmare. As long as I showed up for each meeting and avoided any more arrests, he couldn't easily do jackshit to get rid of me. So he and I were going to ride this ship to the bottom of the ocean and see just how miserable we could make each other before drowning in Hell.
The waiting room was empty and dark. Behind a plexiglass protected counter a buzzing light illuminated the gray carpet that I walked across. A blonde woman in scrubs looked up at me from her chair. The nametag read Katie. Her voice was marred behind the plexiglass, a sleepy mumbled collection of words. I understood enough to slide my court paper through the little hole and explain I was late for my very first appointment. I considered apologizing then allowed myself to forget that thought immediately.
“If it’s too late…” I trailed off, hopeful I could turn around and go back home.
“Not at all, come this way, Miss Hamilton.” Bleh, fuck this. She showed me down the hall and I was creeped out by the fact this place looked closed entirely. All the office doors were shut and the lights were off. There were no other doctors or patients here. Even the hall light was off for some strange reason I couldn’t fathom. Could they not afford their electricity bill?
“Here we are,” Katie said and I groaned internally while turning into the room. One year with Doctor Orson. I hoped I left him mentally scarred. Creepy office space, meet creepy stupid middle-aged therapi—
I blinked at the man standing in front of me.
“Miss Bree Hamilton, I was afraid you weren’t coming,” a smooth, deep voice said. I stood there blinking without a thought in my head as the most attractive man I'd ever seen stood ten feet away. “Please, have a seat,” his muscular armswept the room, his finger pointing at a chair. I nodded and quietly dropped in my seat while he went to his.
Doctor Orson sat in his chair with the grace of a prince. His shoulders were back and his back was straight. The vest he wore showed off a slightly tapered waist. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Where did I put my hands? Hang them limply beside the chair? Was I staring?
Why did he smell so good? I never thought people smelled good. The receptionist had smelled like chemical flowers trying to roughly assault my nostrils.
Why was every move he made precise and smooth? Most people walked around jerky and rough. His looks were otherworldly but his presence was something else. Nothing about him was abrasive or coarse. My therapist was refined, subtle, strong…
Was it an age thing? No, I’d known plenty of older men and none of them made my mind want to purr. I didn’t know anything anymore because he was now smiling at me. My throat started to close up as dimples appeared beside his perfectly sculpted lips.
He looked like he should live behind a paywall.
What was wrong with me?I frowned. I’d never in my life felt like this for someone I just saw. Why were his eyes violet? That couldn’t be real. I swallowed thickly, trying to convince myself he was an apparition—a tan body built on lies. But the facts were right there in front of me. Whereas nearly everyone I met was too loud and clumsy, smelled too strong, and just overall grated my sensitive nerves… he was not.
I was comfortable, I realized. Comfortable around someone else for maybe the very first time in my life because he spoke soft and smooth, because the lights were dim, because he walked gracefully, and smelled subtly divine. I didn’t have to ask him to do any of those things either. It was as if he knew I neededthat. Or maybe he was just like me and couldn’t stand buzzing overhead lights and strong scents.
Well, notjustlike me or I'd be in trouble.
Either way, it was so refreshing I was completely flabbergasted by it. Calm and relaxed weren’t things I experienced often but the feelings spread out across my limbs until I was subdued and warm in the nice leather chair that hugged me.
Even the walls were nice, a mellow taupe instead of harsh white. The entire room, really. Now that I took a moment to pull my eyes away from my therapist I was intrigued by his collection of things—modern woven tapestries hanging up, little round tables with collections of colored glass jars. A couch covered in a lush red blanket.
“Bree, before we get started I wanted to tell you,” he began. His hair was nice—black and cut stylishly. It looked like he used product to keep it up and out of his eyes. The front sat on his head in a soft wave. “I’m here to help you.”
