"Hi, you okay?"she answers softly, causing my chest to loosen in relief.
Thank God.
"Hey, sis." I clear my throat uncomfortably. "You?"
"I'm good. Just making sure you're okay…" she trails off, leaving me space.
"What are you doing tonight around seven-thirty? Can we grab some dinner?" I ask.
"Sure, I'm free. Want to head out for our usual?" She pauses. "Hey, why so late?"
I blow out a relieved breath. "Sorry…it needs to be kind of late because I have an after-hours meeting with a pain in the ass therapist. I'm free after we're done; then we can catch up." I gosilent, placing my head into my hand, feeling my hands begin to tremble with nerves. "They're driving menuts,Aurora."
"I knoowww; I canfeelit." Aurora chuckles into the phone. "Sorry, it's not really funny. But remember when I offered to give her brain damage for you,and you didn't take it?Remember that?"
I laugh, remembering quite well. When she first brought it up I thought it was ajoke,but Aurora surprised me by telling me she was dead serious.Although I don't know why it came as such a surprise at the time, sheisthe evil twin, after all.
"Yeah,but then I would have been stuck taking care of her for the rest of her life. Could you imagine?"
She makes a little gagging sound in the phone. "Yuck. You already know I can't. Sounds like a straight nightmare. Alright, see you later at dinner. You make sure you keep your head up until I see you. And don'tbreakand give them any money," she says sternly.
I smile. "I won't. I've been firmly holding my boundaries. I love you, sis. Be safe."
"Love you, too."
Chapter nine
I Have To Be Okay
“Youtookanastytumble down the stairs, huh?”
The doctor at the urgent care looks over every inch of my body, tsking at the bruising on my back that I hadn't been able to makemyself look at since it happened. Until now. It feels a lot worse than it actually looks. I feel like I should be completely black and blue on my back and not able to see any of my light-brown skin amongst the shadows gracing my flesh.
He’d checked and made sure Bumpy was fine but told me I needed to rest for a few days, so that my body could start to return back to normal.
Stress is not good for babies, obviously.
I accept the prescription for pain medicine and get back in my car to head back home, wanting to clean up and make myself presentable for my meeting with Dr. Richardson. Knowing I have to be one hundred percent on my game for the stubborn man to take me seriously.
As I pull onto my street, my shoulders relax at the sight of the empty driveway. Parking, I inhale a shaky breath and turn off the car, thankful Brandon's gone for the day.
Once in the house, I try to ignore the slight, crampy burning in my stomach while taking extra care to brush out my hair. I accessorize with some sensible earrings, my best tank watch, a flowy blue skirt, a simple white tank top, and an almost sheer, light-blue camisole. Curiously, I turn my back to the little mirror in the bathroom and look over my shoulder, making sure my bruising can’t be seen. My hair hangs in a long curtain down my back skimming across the top of my butt. Thankfully it hides everything.
Picking up my phone, I request a ride service, not feeling confident I can make the longer drive myself, and take a second to swallow an extra-strength pain pill before putting on some makeup so I look normal. I'm determined to advocate for my client even if it kills me.
After a while, my phone pings letting me know my ride has arrived, and I ignore the pain with every step, clutching my bag tight to my body and making my way to the front door. Half anhour later I'm walking carefully through the marble lobby of the ultra-modern psychiatry building. I glance at the directory and quickly find Dr. Richardson’s name. He's in an office suite on the fifth floor.Of course he is.
He's at the very top, much like his attitude.
Trying not to limp, I can't help but roll my eyes as I make my way into the elevator. Grimacing painfully as I move to get the folder housing my client’s information out, I commence to flipping through it once more in a fit of OCD. Relieved, I nod, happy to see that I didn't forget any documents. It tookeverythinginside of me to make it to this meeting—this is how important it is to make sure my client gets what he needs. I just need Dr. Richardson to see my side.
I shove the folder back into my bag, right next to the DSM-V that I brought. I turn, anxious about my appearance, and work to smooth down my hair and tug at my cardigan anxiously. It's human nature that when you're going through some life-changing event, or even something relatively minor, that we tend to think other people can see exactly what we're going through.
Ipraythat this is not the case with this guy.
This is an open and shut case, so I shouldn't even have to be here that long, unless he's trying to be a jerk.
When the elevator opens, I walk out slowly, trying to appear like I'm not in pain. I press my hand briefly into my stomach over the slight swell of my tummy, right under my belly button that I've always detested, and blow out a breath to keep from the bad habit I have of sucking my stomach in. I've always been curvier and could never manage to get that flat, willowy look that all the other girls seemed to effortlessly attain.
