Page 60 of Kane's Awakening
Ryker gave a dry laugh. “Really? That’s not what you said last time.”
I’d screwed everything up. I had lied so many times that now that I was actually telling the truth, he didn’t believe me. The fucking boy who cried wolf.
“I’m serious, Ry—”
“You and the wordseriousdo not go together, Kane,” he snapped. “I refuse to play your games anymore. Plus, I’m seeing someone else. Someone who wants more than just my ass.”
My face heated and a buzzing sounded in my ears. “Y-you’re seeing someone? Since when? Who is he?”
“That’s none of your damn business,” Ryker said, back to his harsh tone. “You had your chance and you fucking blew it, Kane. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
The call ended, but I still stood there holding the phone to my ear and wishing he’d call me back.
“I need you, Rye,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear me. From what he’d told me, I doubted it would matter even if he could.
It was over between us—not that there’d been much to begin with. He’d moved on and probably found his fucking Mr. Right. It was something I’d once wished for, when I was too damn terrified to take that step with him.
But now? It just made me want to punch something.
“Whores don’t get to run off with the prince and get their happily ever after,”Devon had once told me. And he was right.
I set the phone down, but didn’t move from my spot. The coffee had finished brewing and sizzled as a drop ran down the pot and landed on the burner.
Cars drove down the street in front of my house. A person jogged by on the sidewalk, all bundled up. All of those things moved around me, and yet I stayed still. I felt numb. There were things I needed to do—eat breakfast, shower, get dressed, and go to my appointment—but I couldn’t find the motivation to do any of them.
No one was to blame for the shitstorm my life had become except for me.
“I did this.”
***
“Your attitude is different today,” Dr. Chase pointed out in a conversational manner. “What’s on your mind?”
Staring at the tree outside the window, I noticed the little bit of snow that had been there previously had melted, leaving it bare once again. A blue jay landed on one of the branches, its blue feathers the only pop of color in the dreary scenery. The cloudy sky didn’t help. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of the day.
“Life,” I answered, tearing my gaze from the tree and focusing on him. He eyed me questionably. “Like how unpredictable it is. Nothing lasts forever and things can change in the blink of an eye. Or with the pulling of a trigger. One day you can be covered in snow, and the next day, you’re bare and empty.”
“Is that how you feel? Empty?”
I shrugged.
“You mentioned pulling a trigger,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “Do you want to talk more about that?”
With my thumb and forefinger, I squeezed the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, remembering the dead guy from my nightmare. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I saw him… the guy I shot. But in the dream, he wasn’t dead.” Sighing, I opened my eyes and looked back outside. “I mean, hewasdead. He was all bloody and pale, and his jaw kept falling off. But he was talking to me. Taunting me kind of.”
Dr. Chase pressed his lips into a thin line and tapped his pen on the chair. Clicking and unclicking it. “His jaw fell off?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He was talking to me, but then his jaw detached, and all I heard was gurgling.”
“Maybe that was your subconscious mind portraying your struggle with having killed him. Silencing him, so to speak,” he suggested before giving a small smile. “Dreams are not my expertise, so I might be far off with that interpretation, but Idoknow the mind and the horrors it can conjure when dealing with grief and distress. Talking might seem pointless to you, but it really does help relieve some of that built-up tension.”
Fuck it. Might as well.
“I’ve never been as scared in my entire life as I was that night,” I admitted, moving my stare back to him. “Every time I hear a loud noise now, I jump, and it can take me forever to calm down. Sometimes food doesn’t taste the same, and I’d rather just not eat. And just the thought of holding a gun again makes me feel like puking my guts everywhere.”
He seemed stunned at first—probably because I was actually talking to him and not dismissing him like usual. “Everyone is different in terms with how they deal with traumatic experiences, but those feelings are normal. Has your daily routine changed much?”
“I don’t really have a routine,” I answered. “Well, other than going to work and the gym. But I guess work doesn’t count right now because I’m still on leave.”
