“People like to talk, and, tragically, lots of people know what you do with your blond poodle and the other one…” She waved a hand in the air, referring to Jennifer and Alexia. “If you let Selene get away, you’ll go right back to fucking those two boring chicks who only tolerate your perversions because they want you to dom them,” she finished, giving me a serious look.
Of course, I knew all that already. The Krew girls lusted after me just like all the others, drawn in by my looks and attracted to the way I was in bed, nothing more. They didn’t know anything real about me because I myself had erected an impenetrable wall around myself to keep them out of my life.
“Selene couldn’t handle me.” I gave a thoughtful shake of my head.
I was positive that Babygirl would never be able to give me orders or domesticate me like a fucking dog. I wasn’t like other men who fell in love and lost all authority in the relationship, letting women bewitch them.
I was different than all the rest, someone who eschewed convention, and I’d never change just to be accepted by the world at large.
“Selene already knows you’ve got a very strong personality. And I don’t think she wants to control you, just to understand you.” Megan shrugged and continued to stare me down. I began to think that it wasn’t so bad, having her around. When she wasn’t fucking with me, that is. She had the ability to look deep inside me without me even having to say anything.
There had always been a sense of shared empathy between the two of us ever since we were kids, and it was particularly intense in that moment.
“So, in your opinion, I should keep going on with thisthingwe have, Selene and I?” I asked, cocking my head slightly.
“Do you seriously call your relationship ‘this thing’?” She laughed and smirked at me again.
“Yes, and we don’t have a relationship,” I chided her. “We have athing.I prefer to call it that because it’s undefined but still understandable, you know?” I explained haltingly, trying to make sense of the idea myself. Megan narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and rubbed her chin, not remotely convinced.
“Yeah, I get it. I remember how much you hate defining concepts,” she answered.
“Hey, you two!” someone called out to us, halting the conversation before I could answer her. When the guy stuck his head out the door, I recognized him as a staff member at the clinic. He gestured for us to come inside, so, after one last drag, I put out my cigarette and headed back in.
“Come on, Head Case, time to go in,” I told her roughly.
“Sir, yes, sir! You know, Miller, I’ve always thought you’d look very charming in uniform. You’d look like a dude who had his shit together; you’d get to order everyone around… Yeah, I think that’d be just the thing for you,” Megan answered, going right back to teasing me.
Clearly our truce hadn’t lasted long. For her, at least.
“Don’t start,” I shot back at her, proceeding forward without a glance. I knew she was following me; I could hear the irritating sound of her boots on the floor.
“Real talk—instead of architecture, you should consider the armed forces,” she went on blithely.
I spun around abruptly, and she slammed right into my chest. She gave a little grunt of pain and rubbed her forehead as I stared down at her. I didn’t give a shit that we were in a room full of people who might be watching us.
“You are getting on my nerves,” I informed her. “You’ve earned a good spanking. One you’d remember for the rest of your life. So, if you want to keep me from losing my patience, don’t keep needling me,” I said in a menacing rasp. She cocked an eyebrow, unbothered as ever, and brushed past me with a shoulder-check that didn’t budge me an inch.
“Let’s get a move on, Miller.” She gestured for me to follow her, and I did, but only because there was nothing else to do.
I didn’t know exactly where we were going. The staff member talked to Megan and told her something, and after she nodded at him, he fuckedoff without saying anything else. As if the uncertainty wasn’t sufficient, the sterile walls, warm air, and too-narrow halls were also affecting my mood. I sped up abruptly, grabbing Megan by the wrist. I tried not to show her the sudden state of agitation into which I had been plunged, but I must not have looked too good because Megan stared at me warily.
“Where are you going?” I demanded of her, and the troubled note in my voice told her how anxious I’d become. She examined first the fingers that I had wrapped tightly around her wrist and then my eyes. It occurred to me that I was probably hurting her, and I dropped her wrist.
“Relax and come with me.” Megan rubbed her wrist and made a face. Then, with a gentle smile, she continued walking down the hallway that led to some other room in the clinic.
I hated the place. And not for anything could I pretend that everything was fine. I knew that I had failed miserably in my attempts to take back control of my life—the same life that had been slipping through my fingers for a while now and that I needed to take back to keep the worst from happening. Instead, I would continue to deny the evidence and prevent myself from doing what I needed to do to get better, all because I’d already tried for years, and it had done fuck-all.
“Here we are. It’s the music therapy room.” Megan stopped abruptly, and I almost crashed into her. She gestured around the big room with lots of empty chairs arranged in a big circle. There was nothing grim or uncanny about it. There was a giant stereo system, a grand piano, a drum kit, and a guitar. Two large windows allowed the sunlight to filter in, but the shadows were present, nonetheless. I could see them all around me, and soon they’d be sitting in that circle, baring their very souls in the futile hope of getting a little bit better.
But that hope, like love, was just a story they told themselves. An illusion. The past was a terminal disease, a cancer in its final stages.
It could not be destroyed, and there was no escaping it.
Megan smiled and looked at the room in front of her, a peaceful brightness in her eyes. She was happy to be there. I was not.
“How long has it been since you participated in one of our meetings with the lovely music in the background?” she asked, and I sighed.
“About three years,” I answered sharply.
