Trying not to vomit, I grab my phone out of my tote bag where I shakily call the paramedics to the home. When they see the mess, I work to quickly explain it away. Stating I tripped, disoriented possibly from falling down the stairs last week - the same excuse I'd given urgent care.
The paramedics take me to the hospital for testing and order me to go on a brief bed rest.
I get out of the hospital around one in the morning and drive straight to my office, falling onto the couch, and sleeping almost immediately. My stomach continues to cramp, and I wake up the next morning crying, not even able to open my eyes before fresh tears glide down my cheeks with the memory of last night.
I can’t believe he pushed me through a glass table.
I stand wearily in my office bathroom, trying my hardest to make myself presentable in the bathroom mirror.
I arrive at Dr. Richardson’s office at just before six in the evening, exhausted, and limping slightly. Overcompensating. Trying to hide the extent of my pain. I’d performed my usual hair and make-up routine, making sure that nothing's out of place. I had to use more concealer than I'm comfortable with. Inspecting my skin in the reflection of the mirror in the elevator, I frown, thinking it looks too caked on.
I cry further when I see the damage on my back. I'd donned a cardigan to hide the injuries, but in my haste I’d grabbed the wrong one. A sheer one that shows more of my skin than I'd wanted, but it was too late to go back and switch it. So I pray he won’t see.
I wait in the lobby again, much more dejected than I was last week.
Sitting in the same seat as before, I attempt to straighten my spine, but the effort's too great, forcing me to slump forward again and sigh heavily, further defeated. Entertaining thoughts of leaving, I put my head in my hand as I lean hunched over my lap. The only way I can be even semi-comfortable. My features pinch tight, thinking if I’d just been able to have the appointment like planned last week, then I could be in bed comfortably right now.
I frown.No, not in bed. On the itty-bitty uncomfortable loveseat in my office.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to be patient. Icanbe patient. Because this won't be the rest of my life.
Chapter twelve
Pathologizers
God,I'minsucha good mood at the thought of seeing Sarah again.
This week has been absoluteshit, and my heart was racing out of control last night for some reason. I spent most of the night tossing and turning in discomfort, but I chalked it up to my excitement for our meeting today and got up a full two hours earlier than usual since I couldn’t sleep anyways.
Though I'm not one who normally has anxiety attacks, I also can't help but wonder if this shit with Hannah and my son is about to come to a nasty head, contributing to why I've been so off-kilter this past week. But I put all that to the back of my mind because I'm about to see her after seven long days.
At the realization, my heart tingles, and all the other bullshit…it falls away with every step that brings me down the hallway and closer to her. My heart beats harder with every step, and I feel so crazy I might let her bite my head off over this client if that means I can be near her.
Floating on cloud nine, I can't exactly help the pep in my step as I round the corner into the lobby of my practice. Which is so not like me. I’ve been anxiously thinking about how our next visit is going to go all week, and to be honest, I'm a little surprised by how elated I am that it's now six o'clock.
Self-consciously yanking the lapels of my light gray suit, I pause at the sight of Sarah sitting in the same leather chair she was in last time. Except this time she looks much stiffer, and curled in on herself…
Hunched over legs that are not crossed...
In heels that are much lower than the ones she had last week…
Her fingers are clenched tight in her lap.
So tight, the skin at her knuckles are pale, and so lost in thought is she that she hasn't realized I've come in the lobby to join her.
I clench my jaw as my skin becomes hot, and my chest tightens with worry that I feel might be inappropriate, due to the fact Idon't really know her, to be so concerned with her demeanor. However, my eyes narrow slightly, not caring for her posture.
Finding my legs again, I walk halfway through the lobby and stand patiently, waiting for her to notice me. But just like last week, she doesn’t.
“Ms. Johnson." I tilt my head as she unfolds her limbs and reaches down for her bag, still not looking up at me.. "Are you ready? Good to see you again,” I offer kindly, beginning to wonder if I’ve offended her beyond forgiveness.
My brow furrows as she continues to stare off to the side, and I take another step forward, doing a quick assessment across her body. That sensation from last night returns.
Something's wrong.
At her continued silence, my peppy mood begins to dissipate. My jaw works, my good mood souring. Playing it safe, I'd masturbated this morning and felt I had a pretty good grip on my lust…even feeling more mentally clear than I did last week. But seeing her again, I'm wrong. I harden again as soon as my body realizes the source of its desire is but mere feet away. Until she stands up, that is, and she's just moving…wrong. It almost kills me to keep a neutral expression on my face.
"Hi,"I say softly when she finally looks up, but refuses to meet my eye.
