Page 88 of Closer

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

DOCTOR KNOW-IT-ALL

ONE MONTH ON

LEVI

“Why don’t we talk aboutBrie?”

I give a humourless laugh. “Why don’t we not?”

“Levi, in the time I’ve been seeing you, we’ve talked about everything that’s transpired in your life, your mother, your addictions, the fact that you’ve been doing well in the month since leaving rehab, but your romantic relationships are the one thing you’ve skimmed over.”

“That’s not true, Doc.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Nope. I’ve told you all about how I like to fuck women. I told you about Ali and how that royally screwed me up.” Doc’s hot. Once upon a time I would have tried to fuck her, but not now. I have no desire to fuck any woman that doesn’t come with a French accent and an angry girl attitude.

Jesus. I need a fucking drink. Oh yeah, I can’t because . . . three months fucking sober.

“What are you thinking about right now?”

Not Brie. Not fucking her. Not the smooth slide of whisky down my throat.

Liar.

“What am I thinking about? I’m wondering if I could slit my wrists with your letter opener before we finish this session.”

Doc gives me a wry smile. She knows I’m talking out of my arse. I threaten shit like this all the time, it’s a “defence mechanism” using humour to mask my guilt, my shame. The truth is I have no desire to die. I fucked up. I hurt an arseload of people, some that took a while to forgive me, others who maybe never will. Which is why I have no fucking desire to bring up Brie with the good doc. “You’re using your suicide attempt to mask your pain. Are you thinking of harming yourself again, Levi?”

She always asks this too, because she has to, I suppose. “No. I’m not thinking of offing myself, Doc. Been there, done that, got the fucking scars to prove it.” I flex my hand, because while I don’t actually have any physical scars on the outside, I did lose a lot of the mobility in my right hand, and though I spend all day every day practicing long after Coop and Zed have gone home, my licks still aren’t where they should be. And if I can’t play, then I really do have nothing to live for.

“In our first session, you said something about a woman being unable to forgive you. Was that Brie you were referring to?”

“Jeez, Doc, anyone ever told you that you’ve got a one-track mind?”

“It’s my job to have a one-track mind, we only have an hour.”

“Tou-fucking-ché.” I blow out a noisy breath and lean back against the headrest. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

“What would you like me to know?”

“Jesus, do all shrinks answer questions with questions?”

“Yes, we’re taught to in order to mess with our clients.” She smiles again.

I grin and continue, because Doc knows how I like it when she stoops to my level. “I don’t know what to tell you about Brie, other than she’s the love of my life, and I don’t deserve her.”

“The love of your life? That’s quite the statement. But I’m curious, why do you feel you’re not deserving of her? Is she Mother Teresa? A saint? A goddess?”

“She’s everything. All of those things and more.”

“And you don’t deserve her because ...”

“Because I tried to kill myself.”

“You did, that’s true, but does that make you unworthy of forgiveness, or unworthy of redemption?”

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