Page 19 of Keeping My Girl

CHAPTER13

Selina

I’VE NEVER HAD physical therapy before, so I’m a little apprehensive when I make my way into the gym on the lower level of the compound. But the moment I walk through the door and see a tall, handsome, young man waving me over with the biggest grin on his face that I’ve ever seen in my life, all the trepidation in my veins slowly melts away.

He has short brown hair and matching soft brown eyes. “You must be Selina. I’m Dwayne.” He holds his hand out, and I take it. He shakes it, never losing his smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from the Vitale family.”

I don’t even know what to say, but Dwayne doesn’t even let a second of awkward silence get in between us. “Let’s start with some light stretching,” he offers.

We start out simple enough. I didn’t realize how out of shape I was until we do some light exercises and I’m already out of breath.

Living on a yacht nine months out of a year makes it hard to get in normal exercise. And sometimes, if I wasn’t a good girl, Constantine would lock me in a small utility closet for days or weeks at a time. Being confined and cramped for long periods of time obviously did a number on my muscles. I just didn’t realize the damage that was done until today. Now I understand why the doctor recommended physical therapy in the first place.

From the start, I can tell Dwayne is very passionate about his job, and I love that about him. Our hour-long therapy session flies by because Dwayne is quite the talker. It turns out he’s the nicest, kindest, purest soul on this earth, and I can see why the Vitales hired him. He spends the hour talking about everything under the sun, including gushing about his boyfriend of four years.

“So, do you think you guys will get married?” I ask him as I go through our final stretches.

An idle smile plays over his lips as he nods. “Oh, someday,” he says before adding, “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

Standing, Dwayne asks me, “So, how do you feel?”

“Better,” I confess. Even though I’m used to being confined to a room or small spaces, I would much rather be doing something like this with my time. “My muscles feel sore but good,” I tell him.

He nods in understanding. “We’ll keep building up your stamina until we can get some real workouts in,” he tells me.

“That sounds great.”

Glancing at his watch, he says, “It’s almost time for your appointment with Dr. Graham. She’s just down the hall and on the left in the library. I’m sure she’ll have the door open for you, waiting.”

My face falls. This is what I have been dreading as soon as Dr. Catalano had mentioned me speaking with a psychiatrist. I don’t want anyone delving into my mind and trying to pluck out everything that’s wrong with me. God, what isn’t wrong with me?

“Don’t worry, Selina. She won’t bite. I promise,” Dwayne assures me with a wink. “She really is the best. She’s not one of those weird quacks.”

Well, if Dwayne likes her, then I guess I can give her a chance. I mean, what other choice do I have really? If I want to stay here, even if it’s not for much longer, then I need to do whatever the Vitales want me to do. And if they want me to see a psychiatrist, then that’s what I’ll do.

Besides, the psychiatrist might prescribe me some medication so that my brain can go offline again and I won’t have to face the truth of my past or my demons that still haunt me. Deep down that’s what I truly want — I want to be numb. I don’t want to feel anything ever again.

* * *

Dr. Moira Graham readies her pen on a notepad resting on her lap. She’s short and plump with red hair, brown eyes and glasses that match her hair color.

She has a nice smile and soothing voice, which should make it easy for me to talk to her, but I’ve been shut up like a clam since the moment I walked in the door. She seems patient enough, though, not forcing me to bare my soul or talk about anything in particular, really.

“I notice you keep looking at the door, like you’re afraid someone is going to step through it at any moment.”

My eyes, which were locked on the door, suddenly avert to her face. Shit. I didn’t even know I was doing that.

“Who are you picturing coming through that door, Selina?” she asks gently.

I swallow hard. Speaking his name out loud usually has dire consequences, so I keep my mouth shut and nervously wring my hands in my lap.

She watches my movements with hawk-eyed scrutiny. Then, she questions, “Do you not feel safe here?”

“No,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“And why not, Selina?” she asks.

Shit.Why did I tell her no? No always leads to more questions. Questions I don’t want to answer, because then my deepest darkest secret will be out on the table, and I can’t deal with remembering what happened that awful day.

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