Page 84 of Till The Sun Dies (Checkmate 2)

17

Laine

Four Weeks Later

“Hi, Laine.” Sonia stops at her office door with a smile. “I’m ready for you now. Come on in.”

I stand from the waiting room chair and snicker when Jess slaps my ass. The loud crack echoes through the room and draws the attention of others that are waiting.

“Jessica.” Turning, I lean forward and get in her face the way moms have been doing for all time; with a gritted smile and crazy eyes. “Do that again, young lady, and you’re gonna be in a lot of trouble.”

She pokes her tongue out. “Go talk to your crazy doctor. Tell her I said hey. Tell her that thing we said and make sure she says it’s okay.”

“What if I don’t? What if I ask her to sign something that says we’re not allowed to hang out anymore? You’re a bad influence on me, Jessie. You and your thug boyfriend are no good for me.”

She scoffs. “Me and my thug boyfriend are good for everyone. And it wouldn’t be the first time you and I went against doctor’s orders.” Laughing, she turns me around and slaps my ass a second time. “Ride on!”

Sonia watches us with a motherly smile. Her work is work, but her heart is invested. I pass beside her when she steps aside, and the door closes with a soft snick as she follows.

I stop beside the chair I’ve sat in countless times before and grin – at the cup of stinky tea, at the box of tissues. “I don’t think I’m going to cry today.” I pick the tissues up and offer them. “I’m taking a stand. No more crying.”

She accepts the box with a smile. “Alright then, sit down and tell me everything. It’s so good to see you again.”

My life is changing; I’m smiling more, my hands don’t itch as much. The world just doesn’t seem as heavy lately.

Freedom never felt so good.

“You look good.”

I grin. “Ifeelgood. I’m smiling more.”

She places the tissue box on a little table to her left and sits back with an elegant cross of her ankles. “That makes me happier than you know. Tell me what’s happening. Our sessions are decreasing now, so I’ve missed you.”

“The Buick’s coming along. Not long till it’s finished.”

“Really?” She sounds surprised. “How long have you been going? That feels like it happened really fast.”

“It doesn’t take so long when you’re going eight hours a day. Even when it’s just me, and Ang is at his garage doing actual paid work.”

Her lips turn up into a conspiratorial smile. “Angelo’s still helping?”

“Yeah, it’s technically his car. I’m just sticking my nose in places it wasn’t invited. I’ve found a kind of utopia. A place to hang out all day, listen to music, use my mind, and because I always have some kind of heavy tool in my hand, I’m not scared anymore. Even if someone snuck up on me, I’d turn fast and whack them with a wrench.”

She coughs nervously. “You feel the need to carry a weapon?”

It’s been four weeks since Angelo took me to meet Spence, and since my therapy sessions have thinned out from daily, to weekly, to twice a month, those sessions have been replaced with hours at the gun range.

But there’s no way in hell I’m telling my therapist about that.

I don’t go there because I want to hurt people. I don’t even go because I have the constant meltdowns I used to. Now, I simply go because independence and power surge through my veins and provide a boost that no medication could manage.

Angelo insists on going, and when I go, he goes. When he goes, he holds my hips and steers me through the simulation yard.

My brain says boys are bad. They hurt and control. They’ll stop at nothing until you’re a submissive mess lying on the bathroom floor with an aching body, a bleeding vagina, and a broken heart.

But this tiny little sliver of my heart says that’s not who Angelo is.

And that tiny little sliver encourages me to explore the hip holding.

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