Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Sit down,” he says in a stern voice. “You are here for a reason. Let’s see it through.”
I roll my lips, unimpressed, and look around before finally sitting down.
“Tell me about yourself, Henley. What do you do for work?”
“I’m an engineer.”
“You work for someone?”
“I have my own company.” I look over to the window as I plan my escape.
He nods. “I see.”
“And you are single, married? Gay or straight?”
“Straight and single,” I reply curtly.
“Okay . . .” He smiles and waits for me to say something.
I don’t.
“And how would you describe yourself?”
I scratch my head in frustration. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Normal.”
“Okay, good.” He smiles as he watches me intently. “And what brought you here today?”
“My friend.” I shrug, embarrassed. “Made the appointment for me.”
“And what’s his name?”
“Blake.”
“Blake who?”
“Blake Grayson.”
“Yes, I know Dr. Grayson. He asked me to squeeze you in as a matter of urgency.”
“He’s rather dramatic.”
“Does he have reason to be?”
“Nope.” I look around the room—anywhere but at him.
“So there has been something happening that has made him concerned about you?”
“In his mind.”
“And what was that?”
I shrug. “I stopped seeing someone. It’s no big deal. He’s overdramatizing it.”
“This has upset you?”
I cut him off. “I really don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“Answer the question, please,” he fires back. “Are you upset by the breakup? What is her name?”
“Juliet.”
I roll my lips, unimpressed.
Fuck this prick.
“Are you upset by the breakup?”
“Disappointed, yes.”
“Who broke it off?”
I hesitate before answering. “I did.”
He nods. “I see. You don’t have feelings for Juliet anymore?” He shrugs.
Sadness comes over me like a heavy blanket.
“I adore her.”
A frown flashes across his face. “And yet you ended the relationship?”
“It had run its course.”
“Okay.” He nods. “When was your last committed relationship before this one?”
I clench my jaw. Enough with the fucking questions.
“Take your time.”
“I haven’t had a committed relationship. I have”—I pause—“sexual relationships.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
He sits back in his chair. “Since what age?”
“Fifteen.”
“At what age did you become sexually active?”
“Same age.”
“Was there a significant event that happened around that time?”
I roll my eyes. Here we go. “It’s unrelated.”
“But there was an event?”
“My mother died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
He pauses for a moment as if collecting his thoughts.
“Do you have any siblings, Henley?”
“No.”
He nods. “Is your biological father alive?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in contact with him?”
I pause, unsure how to answer this question. “Yes and no.”
Juliet
I sit on the floor of my living room and hold the remote up to the television as I skip through the channels.
No, no, no, no, no . . .
I let out a deep sigh. “Why is there nothing on television worth watching anymore?” I throw the remote onto the couch and lie back and look up at the ceiling.
It’s been a long week. No contact at all.
So close but so far.
The sky has fallen. The world is gray.
And Henley James doesn’t love me . . . just ask him, he’ll tell you.
I shouldn’t be this devastated. It was only two weeks. I should be over it by now, putting it down to a bad experience.
But that’s the thing: How do you casually dismiss an emotion that you have waited to feel for your entire life?
It wasn’t real for him, but it was so real for me.
Love in spectacular Technicolor, beautiful and raw.
Only it wasn’t.
I get a lump in my throat, and my stupid eyes well with tears. I hate that he hurt me, and more than that, I hate that I let him. I knew exactly what I was walking into, and yet I went all in anyway.
This is on me. My fault.
The logical part of my brain is angry, furious that he got away with the perfect crime. I remember us laughing and rolling around in the sheets, dancing naked in the kitchen at midnight.
He hooked me good. I took the bait hook, line, and sinker.
My poor pathetic heart keeps reminding me of his baggage and pleading with me to forgive him for running.
Go inside and fuck Mason. It will make you feel better.
I close my eyes at the memory of his hurtful words. How could he even say that? He obviously doesn’t respect me.
He never did.
I know what I need to do, but how do you forget someone who is so burned into your soul that they are all you can think about?
I lie on the floor and stare into space. I’ll let myself wallow in self-pity for a few more days, and then I’ll pick myself up and dust myself off. Just like the old saying goes, this too shall pass.
It’s been five days without him now. It’s going to get better soon . . .
It has to.
Saturday afternoon, I drive home from day shift at the hospital. It was hectic and ridiculously busy. Everything that could have gone wrong today did. I turn the corner into my street and see the boys in the middle of the cul-de-sac putting a golf ball onto a tee. They are drinking beer and laughing and joking.