Black Lies
Page 75
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Today I’m not staring at three bleach-blonde heads, paranoid that we have taken too many pills, or that Dianna’s parents might come back from Cabo early. I’m not on a pharmaceutical mix of stupidity. I am, instead, shaking with nerves, waiting alone to see if my future husband comes back as two men or one.
I finally leave. Tell the receptionist I am headed home and to call me when it looks like they are close to wrapping up. I take Brant’s car and tear up the highway to Windere. When I arrive, I skip the shower and crawl into bed fully dressed. Pressing the button to close the blinds, the room darkens into pitch black, the hum of the fan my lullaby for sleep. I close my eyes, my legs twitchy and aching from pacing, and wrap a blanket around myself. Willing my mind to stop moving, I say a long prayer for Brant.
Somewhere during the prayer, I fall asleep.
My cell wakes me, my body jerking into consciousness, legs kicking the blanket off before my hand finds the phone. I answer it while moving off the bed, my hand groping through the dark for the light switch, my feet finding shoes before my hand finds wall. “Hello.”
“Ms. Fairmont, this is Irene from Dr. Terra’s office. He wanted me to tell you that he and Mr. Sharp are almost done.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Thanks Irene.” I hang up the cell and step out of the bedroom into the hall, my steps breaking into a jog. Soon, I will have him back. In whatever shape that comes in. I don’t even care at this point. I just want him.
When he walks out of the office, toward the idling car, the wind buffering his shirt back against his strong frame, I smile. Brant is back. The same Brant who shook my hand three years ago at the HYA Gala. The same Brant who repeatedly proposed to me despite my denials. The weight of his shoulders, the haunted look that had appeared the day I ruined his life, is gone. His confidence is back, the strong pull of his hand around my waist surprising, as is the possessive kiss he plants on my mouth.
“Everything okay?”
He studies me for a quick moment, his hand still gripped around me as if he has no plans of letting me go. Then he smiles. “We’re good. Let’s go, we can talk in the car.” He returns to my mouth without waiting for a response, my breath taken by the force of his kiss, stronger than I am used to from him, the type of kiss that guarantees a long and lengthy f**k the minute we step inside the house. He releases my mouth and my waist but pulls on my hand, heading for the car.
“What happened?” I speak the moment the car is in drive, hours of waiting and anxiety spilling out in two words.
“Dr. Terra spoke to Lee. He agreed to leave.”
I wait for more. Wait some more. “And?” I finally say.
“And he left.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s been seven hours.”
He frowns, glancing away from the road, his hands sliding effortlessly across the steering wheel as he downshifts, the smooth motion reminding me of his hands across my skin, and the fact that we haven’t been together in almost three weeks. “Seven hours?” He checks his watch. “Wow. I…” he glances at his watch again, then at the dash clock to verify. “He must have been in Lee’s head longer than I realized.”
I look away from him, out the window. “Dr. Terra didn’t tell you what was involved in Lee leaving?” For you, I’ll do it. I’ll f**king kill myself inside of him. Lee’s words come back to haunt me.
“No. I mean… other than the fact that Lee had to accept it. The likelihood of success is much more possible if he is a willing participant.”
“So, he’s gone? Won’t ever be back?” My words behave. Come out level and unaffected.
“I’m not cured. He’s keeping me on medication… the same drug I’ve been taking the last few weeks. My chances of reoccurrence are high, especially if my emotions or stress get out of control. And I’m to avoid alcohol. You know that; you were there when he went through those rules.”
I nod. While Brant has been in full-day therapy sessions for the last few weeks, most of my participation has been behind the glass wall, watching the sessions and getting to eavesdrop on some of the instruction. Brant’s new life involves lots of rules. Lots of structure. Opposite of the life Jillian had him leading. Brant’s subconscious had created additional personalities to take over when his mind felt overwhelmed. When he was young, it was because his brain couldn’t handle the constant assault of his intelligence, the nonstop brain functions causing a short of sorts that resulted in another personality, one that was slower and stupider and emotionally unstable. When he was older, it happened when he was under extreme stress, or in strange situations, or anxious over something. It was no coincidence he had switched the night before his initial proposal to me. Or the days before a new product release or company merger. A risk that was only increased by the medications fed to him by Jillian. With the new rules, new structure, and the fact that he now knows of his condition, we are hoping for him to live a relatively un-switching life. One that doesn’t include any outside presences, including one troublesome sex machine I already miss.
I watch the ivy-covered walls of Windere move by, the garage coming into view, the slow stop of the car final. I feel his fingers cup the back of my neck, threading through the mess of curls that spill over my shoulders. “You okay?”
I turn and look into his eyes. See the man who I fell in love with before I knew of Lee. The man who, in Belize, I was prepared to marry. “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m good.”
I finally leave. Tell the receptionist I am headed home and to call me when it looks like they are close to wrapping up. I take Brant’s car and tear up the highway to Windere. When I arrive, I skip the shower and crawl into bed fully dressed. Pressing the button to close the blinds, the room darkens into pitch black, the hum of the fan my lullaby for sleep. I close my eyes, my legs twitchy and aching from pacing, and wrap a blanket around myself. Willing my mind to stop moving, I say a long prayer for Brant.
Somewhere during the prayer, I fall asleep.
My cell wakes me, my body jerking into consciousness, legs kicking the blanket off before my hand finds the phone. I answer it while moving off the bed, my hand groping through the dark for the light switch, my feet finding shoes before my hand finds wall. “Hello.”
“Ms. Fairmont, this is Irene from Dr. Terra’s office. He wanted me to tell you that he and Mr. Sharp are almost done.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Thanks Irene.” I hang up the cell and step out of the bedroom into the hall, my steps breaking into a jog. Soon, I will have him back. In whatever shape that comes in. I don’t even care at this point. I just want him.
When he walks out of the office, toward the idling car, the wind buffering his shirt back against his strong frame, I smile. Brant is back. The same Brant who shook my hand three years ago at the HYA Gala. The same Brant who repeatedly proposed to me despite my denials. The weight of his shoulders, the haunted look that had appeared the day I ruined his life, is gone. His confidence is back, the strong pull of his hand around my waist surprising, as is the possessive kiss he plants on my mouth.
“Everything okay?”
He studies me for a quick moment, his hand still gripped around me as if he has no plans of letting me go. Then he smiles. “We’re good. Let’s go, we can talk in the car.” He returns to my mouth without waiting for a response, my breath taken by the force of his kiss, stronger than I am used to from him, the type of kiss that guarantees a long and lengthy f**k the minute we step inside the house. He releases my mouth and my waist but pulls on my hand, heading for the car.
“What happened?” I speak the moment the car is in drive, hours of waiting and anxiety spilling out in two words.
“Dr. Terra spoke to Lee. He agreed to leave.”
I wait for more. Wait some more. “And?” I finally say.
“And he left.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s been seven hours.”
He frowns, glancing away from the road, his hands sliding effortlessly across the steering wheel as he downshifts, the smooth motion reminding me of his hands across my skin, and the fact that we haven’t been together in almost three weeks. “Seven hours?” He checks his watch. “Wow. I…” he glances at his watch again, then at the dash clock to verify. “He must have been in Lee’s head longer than I realized.”
I look away from him, out the window. “Dr. Terra didn’t tell you what was involved in Lee leaving?” For you, I’ll do it. I’ll f**king kill myself inside of him. Lee’s words come back to haunt me.
“No. I mean… other than the fact that Lee had to accept it. The likelihood of success is much more possible if he is a willing participant.”
“So, he’s gone? Won’t ever be back?” My words behave. Come out level and unaffected.
“I’m not cured. He’s keeping me on medication… the same drug I’ve been taking the last few weeks. My chances of reoccurrence are high, especially if my emotions or stress get out of control. And I’m to avoid alcohol. You know that; you were there when he went through those rules.”
I nod. While Brant has been in full-day therapy sessions for the last few weeks, most of my participation has been behind the glass wall, watching the sessions and getting to eavesdrop on some of the instruction. Brant’s new life involves lots of rules. Lots of structure. Opposite of the life Jillian had him leading. Brant’s subconscious had created additional personalities to take over when his mind felt overwhelmed. When he was young, it was because his brain couldn’t handle the constant assault of his intelligence, the nonstop brain functions causing a short of sorts that resulted in another personality, one that was slower and stupider and emotionally unstable. When he was older, it happened when he was under extreme stress, or in strange situations, or anxious over something. It was no coincidence he had switched the night before his initial proposal to me. Or the days before a new product release or company merger. A risk that was only increased by the medications fed to him by Jillian. With the new rules, new structure, and the fact that he now knows of his condition, we are hoping for him to live a relatively un-switching life. One that doesn’t include any outside presences, including one troublesome sex machine I already miss.
I watch the ivy-covered walls of Windere move by, the garage coming into view, the slow stop of the car final. I feel his fingers cup the back of my neck, threading through the mess of curls that spill over my shoulders. “You okay?”
I turn and look into his eyes. See the man who I fell in love with before I knew of Lee. The man who, in Belize, I was prepared to marry. “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m good.”
