Okay so I have to sincerely apologize for the lack of updates on this story. I've been so busy and I kind of had blinders on where my other story Thin Line was concerned. I was working so hard on rewriting that one that I neglected F,L,O and all of it's fabulous readers. I promise I'm picking this back up and I've gotten better at balancing both so there will be regular updates in both stories and hopefully Lovesick in the very near future. Don't be too hard on me, I'm going through a stressful time right now. My mom just got out of the hospital so I'm kind of shaky. I actually wrote this because I couldn't go to sleep. But now I'm just babbling because I'm so tired. As always, Read, Enjoy, and Review my peeps!!!
Chapter 32...
2 Weeks Later...
"They look awesome," Troy said, looking up at the stage. The club wouldn't be open until the evening but Brooke and her dancers were rehearsing on the stage, doing a sound check and blocking. Brianna and Troy, along with some club employees, Brooke's entourage, and a few people from the record label were milling about. Everyone Troy had met so far seemed a bit on edge about Brooke's first club appearance but Brianna didn't look worried. She looked dead tired but not worried. Troy watched as she got up from the chair she was sitting in and walked closer to the stage. She'd always been good at hiding fatigue but for once, he could see the exhaustion written all over her face. The dark circles around her eyes were the only real color on her face. After Raquel's attack, they flew back to LA and Brianna had the show replace her for that week so that she could stay at home with Raquel. She only got to work with Brooke and the dancers twice that week which meant they had to work even more in the days leading up to the first show. Bri worked with Brooke and her dancers every day for the last 6 days for at the very least 3 hours. In addition to that, Wednesday marked the beginning of the most important week in the So You Think You Can Dance competition. The show was down to the final four which found Brianna choreographing four of the seven numbers for the voting finale. In addition to that, she had to do three new dances for the grand finale and the show wanted footage of her and the dancers revisiting 6 of her pieces from throughout the season that were going to be performed again. Troy guessed his cousin had slept maybe 15 hours in over a week.
"Janna will you please stop mouthing the words?" Brianna called up to the stage. "Brooke already has backup singers. You're a dancer. Dance."
"Sorry, I cant help it," Janna said from the stage, giving Brianna an apologetic smile.
Brianna rubbed her forehead, turning around and shutting her eyes tightly.
Troy got up, walking over to her, "Come on honey, let's go get some air."
She dutifully took his hand and followed him toward the door. It was times like these where Troy remembered how young his cousin really was. Sometimes he looked at her and wished she could just be a normal 22 year old college student with a set, structured schedule and a fun social life. He held the door open for her and she walked out, squinting against the brightness of the sun.
"You alright?" Troy asked.
She nodded, turning toward the door to get away from the bright light.
"Don't lie to me," Troy said. "I know you like the back of my hand."
"I'm just tired," she said. "Everything has been so hectic lately."
"I know," Troy sighed.
"Between Raquel and all this work, I don't remember the last time I slept through the night," Brianna admitted. "Listen to me, I'm getting whiny."
"You're not whining," Troy said. "You're spread too thin, sometimes you need to say it out loud."
Brianna shrugged, tugging a stray strand of hair back into her ponytail.
"How's Nick?"
She shrugged.
"That good, huh?" Troy laughed.
"I've barely seen him," she said. "We're both always working. I saw him this morning and felt like I was running into a stranger."
"That's better than fighting," Troy joked.
"Oh there's been fighting," Brianna shook her head, crossing her arms. "What little conversation there has been was tense."
"Why?"
"Why else?" she asked. "Because he still has these..issues with me and John. It's ridiculous. Even if he doesn't say it directly, I can tell that's what every argument is really about. It's ridiculous."
"It is?" Troy smirked.
Brianna obviously wasn't in a joking mood. She gave Troy a stern look, "I've barely seen John since we left the hospital. I haven't even had time to talk to him."
"Has he called?" Troy asked, though he already knew the answer to that question.
"A couple times," Brianna shrugged. "I was busy."
"That must be tough," Troy said.
"What?" she looked up at him.
"Wanting to talk to someone as badly as I know you wanna talk to him and not being able to," Troy said. "It's gotta be tough."
She looked like she wanted to argue but she was too tired. Instead she looked down at the ground, arms still crossed. She looked back up at him with sad green eyes and nodded, "Yeah..it is."
That was the most honest admission of her feelings for John that Troy had been able to get out of her in quite some time. He'd have to question her when she was ready to pass out from fatigue more often.
"Is he coming tonight?" Troy asked, smoothing her hair.
"I don't know," Brianna said. "I know Maria's coming with us and that's it."
"Why don't you call him now?" Troy suggested.
She shrugged again.
Troy laughed a little. She was indecisive enough wide awake but tired..it was nearly impossible to get something out of her. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding it out to her, "You've got a minute...call him."
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Raquel looked around the office that had become so familiar to her over the last few weeks and found herself wondering if Dr. Cronin had ever considered hiring a decorator. The room was depressing. If people didn't come in suicidal, they might leave that way. The walls were a dark, sterile gray color, the same as the floor. The doctor had a large, ornate dark wood desk that had a very ominous and looming presence. The first time Raquel sat down across from it she felt like she was in court, sitting at the defendant's table, waiting to be sentenced. Bookshelves lined the walls behind the desk, during one visit Raquel was scanning the shelves and discovered that they were all books on the psychiatric field. It never quite made sense to her that doctors would have their offices lined with books about their area of expertise. If they were trained enough to be an expert, why did they need books about the subject within reach at all times? The couch that Raquel was sitting on was gray also, though to the doctor's credit, it was a lighter shade than the walls and carpet. There were two black throw pillows, presumably put there to match the doctor's black leather chair. There was a painting on the wall closest to the door, a white background with big, dark red flowers. Every time Raquel entered the office, it caught her eye. Not because it was particularly beautiful but because she figured a psychiatrist would have a picture of something more deep and meaningful not just..flowers. When Raquel looked up at the painting she could see her reflection in the glass. She looked just as pitiful as the last time she looked in a mirror only a few hours before. She was wearing a gray long sleeved t-shirt that was a few sizes too big for her, black sweatpants and gym shoes. Before that night at the club she hadn't left her house in sweats and gym shoes since..ever but it seemed like lately that was all she wore. Her hair was limp and pulled up into a ponytail, her roots in need of a touch up. She still bore the marks of her ordeal. The bruises on her face were fading but there were still dark patches along the left side of her face and around her right eye. Her split lip had almost completely healed but it was still a little sore. So many of her nails broke that she had to file them all the way down and now she was looking at them, thinking how small her hands looked without her usual manicure.
"Raquel," Dr. Cronin sighed, folding her hands together and leaning forward. Her tone was calm but she was sitting the way she always did when she was growing impatient.
"Hmm?" she looked up at the older woman.
"Have you remembered anything since our last session?"
Raquel pulled her feet up onto the couch, looking down at her nails again. After a few seconds, she looked back up at the doctor's expectant face. She was leaning forward so much that her glasses were starting to slide down her nose.
"If I remembered something, I would have mentioned it," Raquel said quietly. She knew her response, especially her tone, was a little rude but to be perfectly frank, she didn't like Dr. Cronin. The police suggested she see a psychiatrist, hoping that it would help her remember something about her attacker. Her father's contribution to her recovery was getting her in to see Dr. Angela Cronin. She was usually booked solid but as a favor to Dr. Kavner, she agreed to see Raquel every three days for two hours. Their sessions never really went anywhere. Raquel's memories stopped as she and her friends were getting into the car to go to the club and they started back up in her hospital room, vomiting so much her throat was raw and bleeding. Dr. Cronin would ask questions, trying to draw some information from Raquel's subconscious but it wasn't working. And the longer it took, the more Dr. Cronin seemed to push. Weren't psychiatrists supposed to be patient? Dr. Cronin wasn't. She wasn't patient and though she did her best to act comforting, Raquel didn't really buy it. She got a feeling from her that she saw so many damaged people that they were all the same to her. Sure, she felt bad but she didn't really feel for each person individually. She just pitied all the poor souls as if they were one.
"I don't even see a point to these sessions," Raquel pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "There's not some deep reason that I cant remember. I didn't just block it out. I was on so much GHB I almost died. I don't remember because I'm physically unable to not because I blocked it out."
"We don't know for sure why you cant remember Raquel," Dr. Cronin said in a low, even tone.
"If I could don't you think I would?" Raquel asked, growing agitated. "The drugs damaged my memory. I didn't choose to forget!"
"Raquel, I understand what you're feeling right-"
"Really?" Raquel asked, her eyes locking with the doctor's. "When was the last time you were drugged, beaten, held at knifepoint and almost raped, hmm? When was the last time someone made you feel violated? The last time you thought that you would never see anyone you love ever again?"
She didn't respond.
"That wasn't a rhetorical question, I really wanna know," Raquel moved forward on the couch, putting her feet back on the ground. "If you're so understanding, if you know what I'm going through, then let's hear it...what's your story Dr. Cronin? What's your traumatic experience?"
Dr. Cronin looked rattled for a second but then she took a deep breath, "I cant say that I've ever had one."
Raquel picked up her purse, walking toward the door, "That's what I thought."
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John walked over to his bag, finishing off a bottle of water. He was trying to get in a good long work out while he actually had the time. He didn't have to be anywhere for a few hours. He was reaching in for a towel when his cell phone started ringing. He pulled a towel out of the bag first and then found the phone, answering it without looking at the display, "Hello?"
He wiped some of the sweat off of his face waiting for a response, "Hello?"
"Hey."
He froze for a second when he heard Brianna's voice.
"John?"
He shook his head a little, putting the towel down, "Hey, sorry, I couldn't hear you for a second."
"It's okay," she said.
Something was wrong. She didn't sound right. She'd only said two words but that was all he needed, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said. "I was just..calling to say hi...I um...I just.."
She took a deep breath and John waited for her to continue.
"I don't really know why I'm calling," she admitted.
John sat down, concerned. She sounded drained and..sad.
"I think you're calling because you missed me," he joked.
He heard what could have been a laugh, "That might be it."
Then she sniffed.
"Are you crying?" he asked.
"No," she answered but her wavering pitch told him otherwise. She took a deep, shaky breath.
"Bri, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he implored.
"I don't even know," she admitted, sniffing again. This time when she spoke he could clearly tell she was crying, "I don't know what's wrong with me...I'm just..It's nothing. Nevermind."
"No, not nevermind," John said, growing more anxious. "Brianna-"
"Are you gonna make it to Brooke's show tonight?" she asked. He could hear in her voice that she was doing her best to calm herself down.
John hated having to answer that question. He sighed, "I'm in Texas, I have a signing at 6."
"Oh," she sounded disappointed and John wished he could change it.
"I'm sorry Bri," he said, running his hand over his hair.
"It's okay," she said. "Listen, I gotta go, they're calling me back in...I'll see you later."
Before he could say anything else she was gone. John sighed, putting his phone back in his bag. If he knew Brianna she was working herself to the bone, probably not eating much, definitely not sleeping, and doing everything she could for Raquel without taking a second for herself. And Nick was probably doing nothing to help her. John zipped his gym bag and walked back to the weights, trying to figure out how soon he could get to her. She obviously needed him.
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7:30 PM
"And you just walked out?" Jeff asked. He was sitting in Raquel's living room, and she'd just recounted her latest session with Dr. Cronin. She was curled up on the couch across from him, her knees pulled up to her chest.
Raquel nodded, "I couldn't stay in there anymore. I hate the way she says she understands."
"She's trying to help," Jeff said gently. "Give her a chance."
"I have Jeff," she said, running a hand through her hair. "She's not helping. She's getting paid to tell me she understands but she isn't doing a damn thing that actually helps me."
"Maybe just talking about it will help," he suggested.
"It doesn't," she shook her head.
"You may not realize it yet but-"
"Jeff I haven't remembered anything," she said, looking down at her hands. "No matter what I do. No matter who I talk to or how hard I try I cant remember."
She shook her head, "I go over it every day...I remember getting dressed with Trish, Maria and Bri...then Bri and Maria left and it was just me and Trish and I remember picking the green dress and telling Trish how you helped me decide to buy it. I remember curling my hair, doing my makeup..I remember all of us getting in the car. Maria and Bri in the front, me and Trish in the back. I remember us all singing Livin on a Prayer at the top of our lungs and Maria calling us weirdos and then...then it's just..black. The next thing I know, I'm in the hospital room and my whole body hurts and I cant stop crying and I know something's wrong but I don't know what. I remember throwing up, I remember Bri crying and seeing you and the doctors and everything but I cant remember the part that's the most important."
"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said. "You cant expect a miracle in two weeks."
"You don't understand Jeff," she met his gaze and the look in her eyes made Jeff want to put his arms around her and protect her from the rest of the world. "The only thing keeping the police from catching this guy is..is me."
Her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek, "He beat me..I thought he was gonna kill me...and I cant even manage to remember his face...You see those victims on TV that help catch their attackers because they fought and because they could remember everything he did and said and how they looked and I cant...I cant do that. I'm useless."
She buried her face in her hands, sobs taking over.
"You are not useless," Jeff walked over, kneeling in front of her. He put his arms around her and she leaned on him, crying, her small, thin frame shaking.
"It shouldn't have to be a miracle," she cried. "I should know this. It should be burned in my brain. I should be able to help them catch him."
"We'll catch him Raquel," he smoothed her hair. He sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap. "I promise, we'll catch him."
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Nick leaned against the wall, watching as Brianna finished her makeup. She didn't seem to notice that he'd come home. She was too caught up in preparing for Brooke's big night. That was all she seemed to care about. Brooke and the show and...everything but Nick and what he needed. She looked amazing in a very short sleeveless blue and black printed dress and black boots. She leaned forward a little, her skirt riding up and he took in the sight of her long tanned legs and perfectly rounded ass. The guys at the station were always going on at the station about what a lucky bastard Nick was and how he had the perfect girlfriend. Some lucky bastard. If only the guys that envied him knew he never got to touch his so-called perfect girlfriend.
She looked into the mirror and jumped, finally becoming aware of his presence. He smiled at her but she didn't smile back. She picked up her mascara, going back to what she was doing, "I didn't know you were home."
"I just got here a few minutes ago," he answered. "You look nice."
"Thanks," she said, standing up straight and surveying her appearance. She frowned then looked back down at the makeup strewn across the counter, picking up an eyeliner pencil and going back to work.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that her full attention was not on the menu for the evening and it was getting irritating.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
"You are talking to me," she reminded him.
"I feel like I'm talking at you," he said.
"Talking at me would imply that I'm not listening," she said. "I am...so go ahead."
He hated when she explained things to him like that.
"It'd be a lot easier to talk to you if you looked at me," he said, his jaw feeling tight.
"Nick, I'm a little busy right now," she said, touching up the smoky makeup around her eyes. "I have to be ready in 15 minutes."
"So fuck what I have to say, right?" he threw his hands up.
"No Nick, not fuck what you have to say," she turned around. "I told you I was listening. If you have something to say, you're more than welcome to say it."
With that, she turned back to the mirror and Nick fought the urge to grab her and shake her. She could be so god damn frustrating.
"God damn it I wanna have a conversation with my fiance, not her back while she ignores me," he said.
"I'm fucking listening to you!" she turned around, throwing whatever she had in her hand to the ground. "Stop acting like a little kid that needs attention. I am listening! I can do two things at once!"
"Don't fucking yell at me like that," he pointed.
She rolled her eyes, walking out of the bathroom, brushing past him.
He followed her out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
"Will you stop?!" he asked, rushing to keep up with her.
She stopped, turning around, "What? What do you want?"
"What the hell is your problem?" he asked. "I'm the one with a reason to be angry right now."
"You?" she stared. "You're the one with reason?"
"Yeah, yeah I am," he nodded.
She stalked up the steps, stopping on the one right in front of him, "I have been trying to help my sister, who, in case you've forgotten, was attacked two weeks ago. And I have been working practically 20 hours a day for over a week and you have not offered me one ounce of fucking support so please tell me why Saint Nicholas, do you have such a right to be angry and I don't?"
"You wanted support?" he asked. "How was I supposed to know that when you don't even talk to me?!"
"Are you blind?" she asked. "Can you not see what's going on around you?"
"I'm very good at seeing what's going on around me," he pointed. "I can see exactly what you're doing."
"If you bring up John I swear to God..." she glared.
"What?" he asked. "What are you gonna do Brianna?"
"You are obsessed!" she pointed. "How many times do I have to tell you John and I are just friends?"
"Well you're not giving me any, I just assume someone's getting it," Nick threw his hands up. Then he felt a hard slap across his face. He felt anger boiling in his stomach and he reached out, grabbing her wrist roughly.
"Don't you ever do that again!" he yelled.
"Or what Nick?" she glared at him.
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"Brianna," Maria sang cheerfully as she walked into the penthouse. Troy had handed her his key, staying downstairs to talk to the doorman while Maria came up to get Bri. The three of them were supposed to ride to the club together.
"Don't you ever do that again!"
Maria froze when she heard the yelling, "What the hell?"
"Or what Nick?"
When Maria heard Brianna's voice, she finally moved, walking toward the main area of the house, looking around for her friend. She finally spotted her on the stairs with Nick. They were glaring at each other, both of them red faced and Nick was holding Brianna's wrist so hard his knuckles were white. Before she knew what she was doing Maria was on her way up the stairs. Nick saw her and quickly let go.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Maria fumed, glaring at him.
Nick didn't say a word. He was breathing heavily and rubbing her wrist. Maria took her friend's hand, glaring at Nick, "If I ever see anything like that again...You'll regret it."
Maria didn't wait for a response. She led Brianna down the stairs, grabbing her friend's purse and walking toward the door. She had to get her the hell out of there before they both went to jail for murdering her fiancé.