Chapter 15. Adonis stood outside the ominous granite structure with a scowl set firmly in place

Adonis stood outside the ominous granite structure with a scowl set firmly in place. A sharp headwind blustered down the street, causing the stream of foot traffic sweeping past him to cringe and burrow deeper into their coats. He took a long drag from his cigarette, too preoccupied with his current situation to be bothered by a little wind.

Fuck, he didn’t want to be here. What the hell would the shrink say that he didn’t already know?

More bullshit, that’s what.

Psychiatrists were a bunch of glib, sophomoric eggheads more concerned with numbers, be it those on the clock or the digits fattening their wallets, than the actual wellbeing of their patients. The longer their patients stayed fucked up, the more money they made.

Adonis crushed the butt beneath the sole of his shoe.

He might as well get this over with now.

After scanning the listing of specialists and health professionals posted behind a glass enclosure in the lobby’s atrium, Adonis took the elevator to the tenth floor.

Once it dinged at the appropriate level, he shoved off from the wall and located Dr. Brennan’s office at the end of the hall. The receptionist area was composed of contemporary furnishing and splashed with warm colors. How nice to make the loonies feel at home.

“Good morning sir. How may I be of assistance?” inquired the secretary, her smile brightening incrementally as her eyes skimmed over him.

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The woman was old enough to be his grandmother. “Adonis Benoit. I have an appointment at 9.”

Looking all too happy to oblige him, she pecked diligently away on her computer. “Ok, you’re all checked in. Hold one second.” She picked up the phone and punched a key. “Dr. Brennan, your 9 o’clock is here. I’ll let him through.” The secretary returned the phone to its cradle and winked. “You can go on in.”

Coughing into his sleeve, Adonis pushed open the door.

The psychiatrist rose from behind her half-moon desk. “You must be Mr. Benoit,” she said with a pleasant smile and offered her hand. “I’m Dr. Brennan. Please, have a seat.”

Shaking her hand, he mumbled a greeting and slumped into the furthermost couch.

She handed him a clipboard and pen. “Before we begin, I just need you to fill out a few forms-”

“No thanks.”

She blinked owlishly behind her spectacles. “Pardon?”

“I’ll save both of us some time and cut through the bullshit. I was put in rehab back in April for a heroin overdose. The doctors diagnosed me with cyclothymia. You can just write me a prescription and I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m sorry,” she smiled unblinkingly. “I don’t think the sign on my door reads your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. I am a psychiatrist.”

“You are what I pay you to be.”

“Technically you haven’t paid me anything.”

“Look,” he huffed impatiently, “I don’t need a doctor. I need meds.”

“And I would beg to disagree.” She removed her glasses. “Mr. Benoit, I understand your reservations, but I can assure you that there is no quick fix to managing a mental illness. If you decide to take me on as your psychiatrist, I will put you on a treatment regimen that you will abide by responsibly as well as attend therapy sessions with me once a week.”

“I go to school in another state,” he bristled, resistant.

“Then we’ll work something out. I don’t limit my practice to psychopharmacology. Talk therapy is a major component of my treatment.”

A cold sweat slicked his spine. He’d spent hours trapped in claustrophobic boxes while doctors barraged him with a patronizing train of questions. Everything that came out of his mind had a hidden meaning. Every action paralleled some subconscious need trying to extricate itself from his mangled soul.

Towards the end of his time there, it became a role-playing game. He learned to say what they wanted to hear and feed back their pretentious jargon under the guise that he truly wanted reform.

His gaze flicked toward the exit. Did he really want to voluntarily go through all of that again?

“Of course anything you’re not comfortable with, you don’t have to tell me,” Dr. Brennan went on, her tone gentle. “We’ll work in stages. The first step in the healing process is admitting to yourself that you need help. The second step is learning to trust someone to share that burden. And it just so happens that that’s what I’m here for.”

She seemed genuine. And medical school hadn’t lodged a stick up her ass like the shrinks who worked him over in rehab. “Fine,” he said dismissively. “Where do I sign?”

_________________

Unlike the rest of the student body, Tess dreaded the upcoming winter break.

Everything should’ve been squared away. She passed all of her finals. She and Cam had arrived at a happy medium. She made plans to visit Jade in DC over break. She was nearly done with Christmas shopping.

That alone should’ve been cause for celebration.

So what was the reason for her funk?

Sometimes Tess wished she and her mother shared a normal mother-daughter relationship. The smart thing would’ve been to apologize for a catastrophic Thanksgiving. Pride, however, kept her from admitting folly.

And so they continued to circle around one another like wary animals, aware of the neighboring competition, but deciding they weren’t worth the trouble.

They ate dinner at staggered times, usually with Tess raiding the fridge after everyone turned in. During the day, charity work and classes consumed Maia’s schedule. At night, Tess bartended at her usual place in the Village. Thankfully she was in good enough with the manager to be tossed a few hours every now and then when the semester ended.

Not in the mood for company, she minimized her interactions to text messages and social media. So when Tess saw Lydia’s name pop up on her cell a few days later, she felt doubly disinclined to answer. And so she didn’t.

Apparently Lydia was not someone to be casually blown off. After the seventeenth call, Tess caved, tired of debating whether to turn the phone off or chuck it out the window.

“I think this is called stalking.”

“I like to refer to it as aggressive shadowing,” Lydia chimed animatedly. “How’s life?”

“Not bad, except for the crazy person blowing up my phone every two seconds,” she mocked.

“Then answer next time. Anyway, this is just a friendly reminder that I’m having a Christmas slash housewarming party tonight and you simply must be in attendance. I want to introduce you to some fab people.”

The last thing she wanted to do was put on a happy front and mingle with strangers. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m coming down with something.” She faked a cough.

“That’s ok. I’ll make you soup and spike your orange juice with vodka. Trust me, you’ll feel a hell of a lot better.”

“Until morning.”

“Which is why it’s important to live in the now.” Lydia paused. “Does this have something to do with my brother?”

She didn’t say his name, but a shock reverberated through her system all the same. “No,” she said evenly, but curiosity prompted her to ask, “Why do you ask?”

“Because he’s been moodier than normal lately. Did you two have a lover’s spat?”

“We’re not lovers. And no, we didn’t get into a spat,” she said, forcing composure.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Adonis won’t be in attendance. So you’re totally cleared to party at mi casa. It’ll be worth it. Text me your address and I’ll send over a car in an hour,” she said without waiting for confirmation.

“I can take the train, you know.”

“No need to be so pedestrian. I got you covered. Ta darling.” Lydia disconnected before the girl could change her mind.

Lydia tapped the cell against her cheek. Something was off. And she was willing to bet her dumbass brother was behind it.

“Whom are you plotting against now?”

Wiping the malevolence from her expression, Lydia conferred a bedazzling smile on her fiancé. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Stan, having developed immunity after spending three years as both victim and witness to her beguiling wiles, merely raised an unconvinced brow over the top of the newspaper and returned to the science section. “Leave it alone, Lydia.”

She perched on the arm of the loveseat. “How do you know I’m up to something?” Lydia caressed his hairline.

“Because you sound like you’re up to no good.” Unperturbed by her scheming, the pages crinkled as he moved to the next section.

“That’s where you’re wrong. This isn’t like all those other times. My brother’s welfare hinges on my interference. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Stan sighed. As much as he liked to say his steady sensibility had rubbed off on her and reformed her wild habits, time had taught him a valuable lesson.

When Lydia Rousseau set her mind to something, it was best not to stand in her way.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-16