There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock."
-Charles Bukowski
I glance to the clock on the wall, just behind Rosalie as she speaks. The time reads 4:32 pm.
I'm just minutes away from seeing him again. After a sleepless night of tossing and turning, deliberating exactly how I'll handle this, I've formed the perfect plan.
"I've been doing fine…I mean I don't even think of him, and nothing reminds me of him anymore. But then I have dreams… these heavy black dreams, that are skewed with gray light and layered in fear, and my heart'll start pounding so hard that I rush out of bed wide-awake and breathing hard. And that's when I think of him." She shudders and continues. "That's when I remember the sounds of my clothes being ripped from my body as his friends looked on, encouraging him for more. That's when I'm reminded of the pleasure he took from my pain as the vile, disgusting men he called friends, looked on— each touching a different part of me— while Royce took what he wanted."
She wipes a loose tear and I don't interrupt her with any therapeutic notions or sympathy. It's been awhile since we broached this subject. I'm quite proud of her for bringing it up. This is something she usually blocks out, pushes away and doesn't give any of her time, though it certainly takes up space in her head.
"I think about those things and the anger begins to build inside me, Isa." Her eyes relay her regret. "I can't control it. Once the anger starts building it turns into this huge fantasy of revenge which gets bigger and more realistic each time I have it. It scares me sometimes how real it feels. How certain I feel it. And nights like that, the dreams that wake me are forgotten and all that's anything is the adrenaline rushing through my veins and the need for retribution. The need for vengeance. The need to take back what he stole from me." She pauses for a minute before speaking again. "I think about killing him."
She looks to me earnestly and I know this isn't something she would carry out, she's simply divulging the depths of her pain to me. She trusts me. And I trust her. I don't need to pick up the phone and alert authorities. He's protected more than her, anyhow.
"In those moments, it's impossible to find sleep again."
Her eyes are filled with pain and anger as she continues. "It isn't fair that after all these years, he still robs me of life. It's not fair that I still think about him."
Our time was up two minutes ago, but I can see the agony on her face and although I know she would be fine to leave, we can't end on this note.
I stand, gesturing for her to come and grab my hands.
"I want you to do an exercise with me before you go. Come join me."
We stand hand in hand, face to face.
"Okay." Her voice is soft, it matches her pretty face.
I squeeze her hands, "Rosalie, I want to thank you for being so brave. For being so open and honest with me today. I know it's not something you want to talk about… ever, and I know how hard this is for you, but I also know how cleansing it is. To acknowledge the pain. To let it out. To admit that, yes, it happened. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it still affects you. And no, there's nothing that will ever take it back or make it go away. I know that's hard. But you know what? Of all that was taken, of all the pain, anger, resentment and frustration that you've felt, you've never let it take you. You're still here, Rosalie. You're still standing. And you aren't broken. You aren't chained to this pain and incapable of functioning. No, Rosalie. You are strong. You are resilient and you faced your strongest opponent head on and you made it through, Rosalie. You didn't lie down and let it destroy you. So it's okay, Rosalie. It's okay to reflect on the battle you've won. Because that's just what this is, Rosalie. It is a battle. And you know who came out the victor? Not the guy rotting in a jail cell, Rosalie. Not him."
I squeeze her hands again and give her a soft smile before placing both of my hands on her shoulders.
"Rosalie Hale is the victor. And Rosalie Hale has much more of her beautiful life to conquer. Look at you, how beautiful you are with this big round belly. Look at all you went through to make it through this pregnancy. Look at your amazing marriage to Emmett. Look at this beautiful life you have. You have fought so damn hard for this beautiful life that you have, Rosalie. So if you find yourself reflecting on that big battle you won from time to time, don't you give yourself a hard time about it. You own that victory, Rosalie, and you remind yourself each time you reflect on that fight, you remind yourself of the conquer. You rub your belly, you look in this baby's eyes when it's born and you look at your handsome husband and you remember what that fight was for. Don't ever discount yourself of this victory."
I release her hands to pull her into my chest, hugging her tight, as she softly says, "Thank you," and I bring her back to arms length, taking her hands in mine once again.
"You are a victor, Rosalie. The most beautiful victor I know, as a matter-of-fact," I laugh lightly, twisting one of her silky blonde curls in my finger before taking her hand again. This makes her smile, shyly.
"On my count, we're going to breathe together, okay?"
.
.
.
It's 4:52 when Rosalie leaves and I know that I have exactly six minutes to use the restroom, freshen up and try to calm my heart rate down before I welcome Edward Cullen into my office again.
Last night, I reveled in the words on the note after burning it, leaving no trace. I didn't need his evidence as a reminder of what he had written. His words and his handwriting are permanently etched into my mind.
I even allowed myself to get lost in the fantasy of it all last night as I smiled against my pillow at the thought of him. But this morning was a different story. The time was near and this was impossible. This could never happen. I had to stop this. And the only way I knew how was to back things up to before he left that note. When everything was still professional and no lines had been crossed. So as I brushed my teeth and slicked rose tinted gloss across my lips, I found the perfect solution to this impossible conundrum.
I would deny it all.
Deny.
Deny.
Deny.
I was about to do the very thing I try to talk patients out of doing daily. Whether it be lying or being in denial, those two things never benefit anyone. But I can't see it any other way. There's no going forward from that note and there's no going back from it.
With my heartbeat already stuttering I make it to my office before him.
With perfect timing, a knock sounds at 5:00 pm.
I walk slowly to the door, heart pounding, praying that my lip doesn't twitch or my eyes, or my whole body for that matter.
When I open the door it's a rush. A heavy, powerful, scary rush.
He's taller than he's ever been. More dapper than ever before, hauntingly gorgeous and the smell of him hints at a love spell.
Edward," I say looking over to his chair… nerves scouring my system.
"Bella." I can't see the look in his eyes when he says it, but the softness in his voice makes my tummy turn. I've gone by Isa my entire life. My friends, colleagues, family and co-workers all call me Isa. Edward Cullen is the only person who calls me Bella.
And I like it.
I feel him behind me as I walk to my chair.
Though I have no plans to perpetuate any of the fantasies I have, nor Edward's note… I dressed with a little more umph today than I typically do. My heels are one inch higher than I usually wear. My skirt has a split at my thigh, certainly not something I normally wear to work, but maybe for a glass of wine with the girls. I chose a slinky, silky blouse that has a deep v that shows my cleavage and I've constantly regretted that choice today with my earlier male clients. This is the first time all day that I've felt comfortable in it. Sexy even.
I sit, tucking my legs together and I watch as he proceeds with his normal routine.
He's wearing a grey suit today. Dark grey on light grey on lighter grey. I admire how it fits him like a glove as the tie whispers from the grips of his collar and falls into the side of the over-sized chair.
His keys clink together onto his phone as he places them beside his tie. He pulls his chair a little closer to me, as if it weren't close enough, and pulses of heat flare at the surface of my skin… all over.
A light sweat beads on my forehead as he sits, extending his legs under my chair, crossing his feet at the ankles. It almost seems that he's here to question me this time, and not the other way around. The coin has flipped. It feels like he's in control.
When he reaches to place his phone on silent, my eyes go straight to his crotch and I'm caught before I can look away, but instantly recover by asking him a normal question.
"How was your day, Edward?"
"It was long."
I nod in agreement. There's never been a longer day.
"How was your day?" He never asks, and there's a little bit of a tease in his voice, a little lift in the corner of his smile.
"It was long." I reply with an organic smile and feeling of happiness as I remind myself that we are the same two normal people that we were yesterday, not a Psycho therapist having immoral thoughts about her patient and one extremely gorgeous patient coming onto his therapist.
"I've got a great session planned for you today, and it means you'll get out of here, early. I know you're excited to hear that."
He looks at me puzzled. "Is this going to get me closer to my goal?" His eyes are intent and the fizzle of nerves pop inside as I unfold phase one of my plan.
I look to him surprised. "I'm sorry… did you leave me a list yesterday?"
"I left it right there," He speaks calmly and points to my desk, "Right in the center." And then he stares right through me.
"Oh no." I grab my forehead and pretend to be disappointed. "This isn't the first time this has happened… I had an intense session with my last client yesterday and must have forgotten to grab it. I looked for it this morning and I didn't see anything, so I just assumed you didn't leave one. The cleaning lady must have gotten it."
I look down to my notebook as I spill my web of lies. My nerves almost have me asking him if he'd like to tell me what his goal was, because obviously that's the solution, but what a disaster that would be.
"Is that so?" He asks in disbelief.
"Happens all the time, I don't know why we still use that company. I'll have to say something when I get the chance."
"That's certainly strange. I can imagine exactly what the cleaning lady's face looked like while she read it."
He says this is a mocking manner. And he knows. He knows exactly what I'm doing but I can't not do it. This is the only way. I feel like it would be too inappropriate to just face this.
In all honesty, I can't face it. I don't have a choice. Because I know what would happen if I chose to discuss this with him face to face. He's intimidating, in charge, gets what he wants, and he would get me. He would get all of me and it wouldn't take much. And that's what scares me the most. I would risk everything for just moments with him.
Please accept this half-chapter as a token of my appreciation to all of you who have read and reviewed. I've had some unexpected things come my way which I'm having to devote a lot of my time to lately, and this has left me no time to write. I miss it dearly! Trying to bang some out today. I hope you enjoy... and I'll see you soon with the rest of this chapter.