A Time for Hope (Lexi, #3)
T. Gephart
Prologue
The knock came too soon. Groaning, I stretched out of the chair I had been curled up on and made my way to the door of Alex’s apartment. He hated it when I called it “his” apartment but it had never really felt like home, not mine anyway. The walls that had once seemed so welcoming were now a reminder of how separated I was from the outside world. While I needed a barrier from the chaos that surrounded my life right now, I also resented the protection it afforded me. It reminded me of my own inadequacies. My head was a f*cked-up mess, a loop on constant replay that I couldn’t stop. My once carefree and confident self had since dissolved and now a scared little girl was in its place.
I knew exactly what waited for me on the other side of that door. I knew what opening it meant and it was for this reason I hesitated at the threshold. I was looking forward to therapy like I was looking forward to a root canal. It’s not that I thought it was bullshit, I just didn’t subscribe to it for myself. In my head, I couldn’t reconcile with the fact that I might need some assistance to work these issues out. I had been sorting through my own “crazy” for so long that having a professional to help me now seemed almost redundant. Where to even start?
“Lexi.” Dr. Sarah Hart stretched out her hand. Her bright smile was warm but professional, as was her tailored suit. She was a beautiful woman in a very understated way. Her mousy brown hair was swept neatly in a chignon that was secured at the back of her head. Her hazel eyes seemed kind. “I’m glad you finally made time for me.”
“Hello, Dr. Hart. Please come in.” I failed miserably at trying to contain my displeasure with the situation as I guided her into the living room, a room I spent little time in these days. The clean lines and minimalism of the room made the space seem almost sterile. Alex was simplistic in his design choices. My husband was into function over form and despised clutter and this was reflected in his choice of furniture. It hadn’t really bothered me in the past, but now it seemed amplified. Stark. Cold.
“Lexi, call me Sarah.” She shrugged off her jacket as I gestured to the couch. “I’m guessing you still aren’t pleased with the prospect of therapy?” She settled into position as she watched me carefully.
“I’m trying.” I lied as she eased into her seat across from me. Honestly, the thought of cracking myself open terrified me. I sunk into my own seat, unsure of where this would lead.
“That’s all I ask.” She pulled out a note pad and pen from her briefcase. I had no idea she was going to be taking notes. I thought we were just going to be talking, what were the notes for? I was already regretting this decision. I was not down with being a lab rat. The thought of being analyzed made me want to hyperventilate but I swallowed the emotion. I could pretend, I could give her enough to satisfy her.
“Are you ok with me taking some notes?” I wondered if she had sensed my hesitation or if it was just protocol. I gave her a permissive nod even though I really didn’t want my thoughts about our discussion archived.
“So. How are you sleeping?” She smiled. Glad to see we’ve jumped right in and are not wasting time with the “how are you feeling?” bullshit. I was expecting a little friendly foreplay, maybe an inkblot test or something, where I try to pretend I see a snail instead of a penis. I had even practiced some quick response words that were decidedly inoffensive on the off chance we did word association.
“Fine.” Lie. I barely slept unless I swallowed one of the sleeping pills she had prescribed and when I did close my eyes, the nightmares were on a constant loop.
“What about your appetite? Are you eating regularly?” She paused awaiting my response.
“Fine.” Another lie. Food made my stomach turn, its nourishment seemed almost offensive to me right now. I was doing well, wasn’t I? So much for giving it a try, Lexi. I just didn’t want her to see the truth, and the lies just seemed easier to say. I excused the fact I was sprouting bullshit with the knowledge that I was protecting myself, but the dishonesty still simmered uncomfortably within me. I felt like a fraud.
“How are things with you and Alex?” Sarah eyed me curiously as she scribbled furiously on her pad.
“Fine.” My mouth was now on autopilot and the word flew straight out. I didn’t even think as it spilled from my lips. It had been too rehearsed, I should have hesitated.
Sarah closed her notepad and put down her pen. “I thought you were going to give this a try?” It seemed that my thinly veiled ruse was up, the disappointment carried in her tone.
“What do you want me to say?” I shrugged. Jesus, when did I turn into such an *? My evasive behaviour wasn’t fooling anyone and I was already sick of myself.
“You can start by being honest with me. This only works if you trust me. What would you like to talk about?” Sarah tented her fingers in front of her, her voice level despite me wasting her time. She seemed sincere, though I wondered why. Why did she want to help me? What did she stand to gain? She was going to be paid either way so why feel the need to push it? Push me? There were too many ways I saw this ending badly if I opened my mouth, plus it was angering me that I hadn’t been convincing enough, that she had seen through my fa?ade.
“I don’t think you really want to hear what I have to say.”