Not Broken: The Happily Ever After(7)

I frowned in her direction. “Of course I want to be helped. I wouldn’t keep coming here and paying you two-hundred an hour if I didn’t.”

“Okay. Well, I know the relationship you had with Seth was abusive, both mentally, and physically at times. But, I get the distinct feeling that although you’ve told me some of what went on, you haven’t told me everything. And whatever you’re holding back is what is also keeping you from being open to the idea of being in a relationship. Whether it’s with Malcolm or anyone.”

Dr. Carr sat back in her chair and gave me her “I see through you” look. Again, she was trying to know more about my relationship with Seth. What I’d told her was sufficient. I’d had two serious relationships with men that hurt me. That alone was enough to support my reason for not wanting to try again, but she didn’t see it that way. No one saw it that way. I was in the minority on what I thought was best for me. Intimacy, sex, both of those came with relationships, and both were something I wanted to avoid. However, I couldn’t tell Dr. Carr that, because she’d want to know why, and some demons I’d rather not talk about.

I rose from my seat. “Thanks for fitting me in last minute.”

She mirrored my actions. “I always keep one or two slots open in my day in case of an emergency.”

“I’ll see you next week.” I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.

“Calida.”

I turned to look at her.

“For the record, he didn’t take away your right to choose. You allowed the choice to be made by not saying how you really felt.”

I gave a small nod and exited the office, and waved bye to her receptionist, before heading to the ladies room. I rushed into the nearest stall, and leaned my back against the closed door. Deep breath in, slow breath out. In. Out. I massaged my temples and tried to let the silence of the restroom seep into me and bring some peace.

Why was the success of my life, of my recovery, measured by whether or not I was in a relationship? I was here, continuing to live each day. I hadn’t given in to those suicidal thoughts that had once plagued me. Why wasn’t my success measured by that? Because no one knew about those thoughts. Malcolm did take away my choice. He knew having our families there would put me on the spot. Regardless of what Dr. Carr thought, he’d taken advantage.

As I lightly banged the back of my head against the stall door, the nagging acknowledgment that Dr. Carr was right wormed its way in. I had let him take advantage. But what was I supposed to do? Tell him I rather be an old maid the rest of my life than risk my heart and body again? That would have opened up a whole other can of worms. The buzzing sound of my phone vibrating distracted me before I could start down that self-destructive path. Malcolm’s name flashed across the screen. I squeezed my eyes together, trying to will away the persistent dull ache in my head. I thought about sending it to voicemail, but I took a breath and put on my happy face before answering.

“Hey, Mal.”

“Hey, whatcha up to? I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Oh, sorry. My phone was on vibrate, so I didn’t hear it. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I wanted to know what time you wanted to see the house.”

“House?”

“You said you’d take a tour.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear as I let out a muffled groan. “Oh, right. Um, whenever’s good.”

“Okay, well, how ‘bout I come by and pick you up. We can grab a bite to eat and head over afterwards.”

“Can I meet you? I…I’m not home.”

“Where are you?”

I couldn’t tell him I was at Dr. Carr’s office. My weekly sessions were common knowledge. If I told him I’d come in for an additional session, he’d ask why, and I didn’t want to get into that.

“Just out running errands. Where do you want to meet?”

“Flying Biscuit on Piedmont.”

After hanging up, I took a few steady breaths before heading out to meet him.





Chapter 3


Malcolm





I sat in my truck in the parking lot behind the restaurant while I waited on Ginger. Turning up the radio, I rested my head against the black leather headrest and started jamming along to Jason Derulo’s “Talk Dirty to Me.” A few minutes later I heard a tapping on my window. I looked over to see Ginger’s smiling face. She stepped back as I opened the door.

“Having a dance party?”

“Nope. Practicing up for my career as a rapper,” I responded, and leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Well, don’t quit your day job just yet,” she replied, smoothing down the back of her hair.

I reached out to touch one of the shortened strands. I remembered the shock I’d had the first time I saw her after she’d hacked it all off. The cut she wore now looked cute on her, but I liked it longer.

“Are you ever going to let it grow out?”

She shrugged and took a step back. “This is really easy to care for. Why? You don’t like it?” She ran her fingers down the back of her head again.

I grabbed her hand and kissed the palm. “I like it just fine. Come on, I’m starving.”

I held her hand while we walked the short distance to the front entrance. Luckily, we’d missed the morning rush, which meant we got seated without having to wait. The windows were open, allowing for a cross breeze to flow through. The lively sounds of Piedmont Ave. drifted in, drowning out the music playing from the speakers.