Page 6 of Serpent & Saviors

“I’m serious. His therapist helped him deal with depression with daily sessions in hypnosis and positive suggestion therapy.”

“Seriously? He had a therapist who did hypnosis?” I shook my head before adding. “Look at you—you’re a wealth of knowledge. Tell me, do you know why he was so depressed?”

“I do, actually.” She beamed, another nugget of information that had her in her element. “He was despondent because his first symphony was a disaster. The pieces weren’t received well. He got overwhelmingly negative responses. It was so bad he actually walked out of the performance early. The experience crushed him.”

“Again, a wealth of knowledge. I love it.”

“Just with composers, I assure you. If you ask me anything else, I’ll more than likely disappoint you with my lack of knowledge.”

“I doubt that very much. You’re actually quite fascinating, you know. And I swear to God, I’ve met you before.”

“We’ve gone over that.” She tensed. “Can I ask how old you are? I assume you’re close in age to…well, you know who?” She gave me a shy grin.

“Thirty-one.”

“Yup, same age.”

“And have you lived in London your entire life?” I asked, probing to see if her answers would match the info we collected.

“Just for the last five years. We moved back shortly before Declan was born. Prior to that, I lived in Italy with my father and visited my mother and grandmother in Ireland on occasion.”

“So your parents divorced, I’m assuming.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding nervous at the direction of the conversation.

She moved her fingers ever so slightly down her legs, stopping at her upper thighs. Rubbing her forefinger and thumb together, she made a pinching motion. The therapist in me immediately recognized the gesture.

She self-harms.

Damn, it sucked. Being so observant and knowing that our conversation had her struggling and needing to feel that release increased my guilt. I would look at her thighs tonight to confirm it and then bring it up later.

“What about friends? What do you and your friends like to do?”

“I don’t have any. Declan is a huge part of my life. The best part really and well, being a wife can be demanding.”

“None? Not even from when you were a child?”

“No, making friends was really hard for me. I’m an introvert through and through. What can I say?” She tried to laugh it off.

“I can relate, honestly, to not having many friends as a child. It’s true. Hell, I didn’t have any friends until I was thirteen.” She looked at me skeptically. “And that is the exact look I always get when I tell people. It’s like they can’t imagine how that could be,” I said, adding the last part on a whim, my own emotional scars making a tiny appearance.

“I guess it’s only natural for people to make judgments about what we might have been like by looking at who we are today. With my speech issue, it made opening up and even general speaking hard. It was easy to keep quiet and not embarrass myself any more than I had to,” she said candidly.

“The more and more you open up, the more in common we seem to have with one another. I spent years trying to make myself invisible,” I replied, glancing at her before turning my attention back to the road.

It was the truth, and for once in my life outside my closest friends, I wanted to open up to her. Then, instantly, the internal struggle began. My defense mechanism kicked in and screamed not to over share.

The more I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I was ready for her to see me at five, at thirteen, and at every stage in between. We lapsed into a comfortable silence. The music seemed to soothe both of our souls. She’d relaxed her hands, and they sat still in her lap.

“I think the reason I had such a hard time making friends is that I had a group that I eventually spent every day with.” There was something in her voice, but before I could read anything more into it, she hastily added, “At boarding school, we became fast friends. They accepted me in ways I can’t really put into words. I lost touch with them. The pain of that made me closed off from others.”

Once more, her hands moved to smooth her dress, only to move and linger again on her upper thighs.

“How long has it been, if I may ask?”

“Since I’ve seen my friends? Gosh, it’s been twelve years now, 144 months, 626 weeks, or 4,380 days,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, and my heart went out to her.

“You must have had quite a strong bond if you keep track like that,” I murmured, thinking about my own bonds and how I could completely relate. I don’t know what I’d do without the guys in my life.