I didn’t have many questions then, I still suffered from shock. So I mostly listened. Cried. Mumbled some questions. Cried some more. All the while, Trace filled me in and asked me about what happened at the warehouse.
An examination of the vehicle that we crashed in also uncovered the cut brake line. Stu had survived and confessed to cutting the brake line, but he had been silent as to why he did it. Trace was sure that Scarlett was behind this, but without a confession from Stu and with no physical evidence tracing her to anything, the authorities wouldn’t press any charges.
I had told Trace about what Scarlett had done at the warehouse and what she had said to me. Surely what I knew would help, but he told me Dirk did not want me to say anything to the police. Per his instructions, when two detectives came by to talk to me, I played dumb. I remembered the crash and waking up in a hospital. Nothing else came out of my mouth, although I felt awkward and nervous lying to the police.
When the hospital dismissed me, I went to Dirk’s hospital to see him, but they said he had been dismissed. Trace told me they had moved him to a private facility and didn’t want any visitors while he recovered. He did set an appointment, our tenth and final one, for today. Monday. At 1:00 PM rather than our normal time of four.
In the two weeks that passed, I thought of many questions I wanted to ask him. Only some of them could be asked in this professional setting, though.
I got up slowly and strode to my chair, notebook in hand. After setting down and gathering myself, I met his intense gaze, took a deep breath, and began our last session.
“So. How are you feeling physically?”
“I’m recovering. I should be good as new in a week or so.”
“That’s good. I’m so glad.” A sigh followed. I could barely keep my voice from shaking. This in no way resembled being professional. I just wanted to straddle him on the couch and kiss him all over his face.
He remained stoic, but his eyes still burned like black fire.
We talked more about his health. His thoughts about Scarlet. His marriage. Then I moved into more intimate topics. His feelings.
“And how are you feeling emotionally?”
“I’m doing fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Better than fine.”
“How is that? Your wife tried to kill you?”
“She didn’t succeed, though. I’m fine.”
“You’re not angry? You’re not sad? Curious why she tried to kill you?”
“No. None of those.”
“How can you be so calm? I’ve been freaked out almost every day since the car crash.”
“I meditate every morning.” He smiled. The first break in his granite face came after he informed me of his secret. Was he serious or just cracking a joke?
I couldn’t help but smile back. It was important that he process his feelings, though. I knew that. But did he? Maybe, as a war veteran, what he went through with the car wreck was minor compared to what he experienced in Iraq.
“Maybe I need to meditate?” I smirked.
“It can help put everything into a clearer perspective.”
“Good. Let’s get back to the reason you came to me in the first place. How is your libido?”
“My libido?”
“Yes. Your sex drive. Trauma can decrease your desire to have sex. It might inhibit your ability to get an erection.” I sounded so clinical, but the entire time I was talking, I was remembering his length and his hardness when we had been together. I felt my girly parts tighten at the memory.
“I’m not having any problems with that, either.” He smirked back at me.
“Tell me more.”
“Really. You want to know how often I get hard now after my wife tried to kill me? How often I masturbate?”
