Taylor laughed, but Emma moved closer. The serious look on her face was anything but funny.
“Your husband has been so worried about you.”
A feeling of guilt washed over her. With Dr. Porter’s help, she understood that she was experiencing some post-traumatic stress. It was the reason she was having trouble sleeping. She’d lost her appetite for food, social events, and even sex. Even though she was positive that she was driving Victor crazy, he had been nothing but supportive and understanding. It wasn’t until she lost her shit that he showed the slightest bit of impatience.
“I know,” Taylor admitted with a sigh.
“You haven’t left the apartment, except to go fishing. You stay in your room most day, and you won’t let your friends visit. After the horrible things you must’ve witnessed, a little anxiety is expected. Just try not to shut out the people who can help you get through it.”
Taylor exhaled and opened her apple juice.
“You listening to me?”
“Yes, Dr. Emma. I’m listening,” Taylor grumbled.
Emma turned and resumed the task of cleaning the counters, done kitchen shrinking her.
Taylor understood. Emma lived under their room. Of course, she knew what went on behind their closed door. Admittedly, she was surprised Emma had spoken to her about it. But she wasn’t mad, and Emma was right.
“You sure you don’t want any lunch?” Emma asked without turning around.
“Nah. But, thanks. I’m going out to lunch.”
Taylor finished her juice and tossed the bottle in the trash can. As she hurried from the kitchen to her bedroom, she went over what she was going to wear in her head.
