It took ninety-two days for Brick to finally stop calling me, filling up my voice mail when I refused to answer. I couldn’t bring myself to block his number, and as the days wore on, he called me less and less, his desperation at an all-time low on his last voice mail when he told me he wouldn’t bother me anymore, ten seconds passing in silence between the last words he uttered and the end of the call.
Today was day thirty-eight of phone silence from him. Every time I’d seen his name flash across my screen, a lump formed in my throat at the thought of talking to him, which I never did. But his persistence had given me a sense of comfort, and now that he’d stopped, had given up, I missed him more than I ever had before.
“So, how are you doing today, Zoe?” Dr. Rapport gazed at me over her thick, beige-rimmed glasses, sliding them back up her nose when they slipped down for the third time since our session started eight minutes ago.
If I had to guess her age, I’d put her in her late forties but no older than fifty. Wheat-blonde curls were piled into a high bun, her light-gray wraparound dress quite stylish, and I couldn’t help but think that she was rather fashionable for a doctor, although I’d never known another head shrink to compare her to.
I’d been seeing her for close to three months now, on the insistence of both Andy and my parents. Telling my mom what happened was difficult, more so because our conversation was over the phone and not in person. She struggled more because she wasn’t physically able to comfort me when I broke down. But our talks were often, and it was only in the past couple weeks that she didn’t constantly ask how I was doing, instead focusing on other topics such as friends, and what new movies I’d seen. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that most days I barely got out of bed to shower and eat.
Natasha, my boss, had been wonderful in accommodating me with extending my short-term leave, even offering me additional sick pay. She didn’t know the extent of what happened, only that I was attacked and trying to work through the events, focusing on healing and getting back to normal, whatever that would look like.
And that was why I sat on the soft leather couch in my psychiatrist’s office, to try and find a hint of the normal again.
“I’m tired, but that’s nothing new.” I smiled but the grin didn’t reach my eyes.
“What else?”
“I’m not as anxious as I once was. Not as paranoid to go outside. I still don’t go anywhere at night, though.” My new phobia was odd considering I was kidnapped in broad daylight. My right shoulder bounced lazily. “It’s progress, right?”
“Yes, it is.” She shifted in her seat, uncrossing her leg only to cross the other. “How are things with you and Andy? Last time you mentioned you sensed some tension there. Are you still experiencing that?”
When I decided to come back here, I called Andy and asked if it would be okay if I stayed with her for a couple weeks. Then those couple weeks turned into a couple months, which at present was just over four and counting. I told her about being taken and most of what happened, but I didn’t tell her it had anything to do with my dad and Brick’s club. I left out that detail and I supposed it was my way of protecting them. She looked after me, mostly making sure I had enough food to eat, seeing as how I barely left her flat. But with her late hours at work, we didn’t see too much of the other. Then recently, she seemed to be acting a bit strange around me, uneasy, unsure. It turned out she started seeing someone, Sophia I believed her name was, and she didn’t know how I would react. When I told her I was happy for her, that I would find someplace else to stay, she hugged me and told me not to worry, that I could stay as long as I wanted, that they’d shag at her place. That was the first time I laughed in as long as I could remember, and she gave that to me. Andy was a true friend and I’d forever be grateful for what she did for me in my darkest time.
My head craned from side to side. “No. That’s all cleared up.”
Then without warning, she switched to asking me about the man I couldn’t stop thinking about as of late, as if I ever stopped. “Have you heard from Brick recently?” Her question didn’t surprise me, as she’d ask about him during every other weekly session, but for some reason this time, my heart sped at the mention of his name.
“No.”
“How do you feel about that?”
A noncommittal noise filled my throat. Her raised brows spurred me to give a verbal answer. “I’m upset he stopped calling, even though…”
“Even though what?”
“Even though I was the one who pushed him away. I never answered. I’m not even sure why I’m upset about it.”
“Could it be that on some level you assumed he’d always be there for you? And when he stopped making contact, he let you down in a way?”
I thought about her questions for a moment. “I guess.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
Shaking my head, I said, “I just want to hear his voice, not necessarily talk to him.”
“Is that because you think he’ll bring up the attack? Reminding you what happened?”
“I’m reminded of the attack every time I look in the mirror.” The scar on my cheek had faded drastically after I went to see a plastic surgeon a month after I arrived in London. It was only a faint mark now, one I could easily cover with makeup. But when my face was bare, I could see it. “I look at his picture sometimes and…” I wiped away an unexpected tear. “I just wish things were different.”
“Zoe, let me ask you this, and I know we’ve talked about this before, but now that some time has passed you might have another answer.” Dr. Rapport uncrossed her legs for the second time and placed both high-heeled feet on the ground, leaning forward with her hands in her lap, the lilt of her accent working to calm me. “Do you still blame him for what happened?”
During our initial sessions, I admitted that a part of me held Brick responsible for what happened, but with some clarity, I realized it was easier to blame him than myself, not that I was to blame either.
I’d slipped down the proverbial rabbit hole so many times in the past months, being bombarded with so many what-ifs that I could spend an eternity down there, digging myself back to the surface, only to fall again.
What if I’d never come home and gone to Roman’s birthday party?
What if I’d never met Brick?
What if I’d refused to relocate and had stayed in London?
What if I’d listened to him and stayed at Braylen’s until he got there?
And the worst one of all… what if I’d let them take Braylen instead of me? Even thinking that question now made me cringe for how awful it was.
The shame of it all turned into a slippery slope of self-hatred for a while, and I wouldn’t say I was healed and had seen the light, because I wasn’t and I hadn’t, yet. But I was slowly trudging my way there.
Many nights I’d lain in bed thinking about Brick and what he must’ve been going through when we were taken. Thinking about all the times his overprotectiveness was borderline suffocating when all he tried to do, all he ever tried to do was keep me safe. Then for him to hear, and to see what they’d done to me, see the evidence all over my body…. I refused to admit it during our time at the cabin, but I saw how broken he was, and I only made it worse by refusing to talk to him, pushing him away every time he tried to get closer and help me.
I didn’t want his help, though. I didn’t want to get better; I couldn’t even think about that then. I just wanted to drown in my grief and misery, and while there might’ve been a subconscious desire not to drag him down with me, I couldn’t handle the disappointment in his eyes, the pity that poured out of him when he looked at me.
“Zoe?”
I shook my head to knock away the rampant thoughts, trying to focus on Dr. Rapport and her question. “No,” I finally answered. “I don’t blame him for what happened. I blame the men that attacked me.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you stopped blaming yourself as well?”
Frustration weaved its way through my veins because my answer wasn’t a yes. “I’m getting there.”
“Good.” She leaned back in her seat, her eyes never wavering from me. Veering slightly off topic, she hit me with another question. “Where do you see yourself in six months?”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes after suffering a trauma, people can’t envision any kind of future for themselves. They remain stuck in the present, and the past. But once you can see ahead, no matter how small the timeframe, it could mean you’re progressing in working toward one.”
“I had a call with my boss about going back to work. She said I could start slow at first, work a few hours a day. There wouldn’t be any travel involved right away. I think that’s a good start.”
She looked pleased, her smile encouraging me more than she realized. “I agree.”
I felt lighter after our session, and it was the first time since the attack I was optimistic about what my future held. But as quickly as I rode the high, I crashed low because the one person I needed more than anyone else wasn’t with me, and after the way I treated him, completely shutting him out of my life after he told me he loved me, I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see me again.
As I lay in bed later that night, I scrolled through the pictures of us, ones I’d taken of us in bed when I thought he’d been sleeping. He always looked so peaceful when he was lost in dreamland, even with everything going on with the club during those last days.
My favorite one was of me cuddled into his side with my head on his chest. When I snapped the picture, he had one eye open and the laziest smirk on his devastatingly handsome face. I hadn’t realized he was awake until after I snapped the picture and looked at it. Then the jig was up. He kissed my cheek and whispered something filthy in my ear, in true Brick fashion, pinning me on my back seconds later and burying himself inside me. We had sleepy sex that morning, and it was wonderful.
As I darkened the screen of my phone, I smiled to myself, a realization dawning. It was the first time in a little over four months that a memory of us together brightened my heart, sending a tingle of excitement shooting through me at the possibilities of what could be.
But first, I had to get him to forgive me for pushing him away.