And I didn't mean just the sex either.
AMELIA
“Hi Drew, it's Dr. Emerson. Just calling to make sure you're okay after yesterday's session. I'm here all afternoon if you want to talk,” I said.
It was the second time I'd tried calling him, and so far, nothing. I couldn't force him to come in for anymore sessions, but God knew, he needed it. Maybe I was wrong to have kept him on as a patient. Maybe the complexity of his case along with our night together screwed it all up. Had made me lose perspective.
I hung up, feeling bad for how it had all gone down yesterday. I wondered if maybe I'd pushed him too hard. Though, it wasn't like he was the first person to rush out of a session like that, only to come back later and admit they weren't ready. But our situation was unique, and I wasn't sure if I should be doing things differently because of what happened. Or if he really did just need some time. Or hell, maybe I was worried about him. A little too worried, if I were being honest with myself.
For the first time in my professional career, I was feeling uncertain. Unsure of myself. And it was a feeling I didn't like. Not one bit.
Biting my nail, I stared down at my phone, willing it to ring. I gave him my direct office line, so he could call and get me straight away.
I was concentrating on my office phone so intently, that when my cell phone buzzed, it made me nearly jump out of my skin. But like the time it had happened before, I knew it couldn't be Drew.
It was Charlie.
I didn't know what got into me, but I was tired of the bullshit. I answered it, and Charlie sounded surprised.
“Amelia? Is that you?”
“You called my phone. Who else would it be, Charlie,” I sighed. “What do you want?”
“I just want to talk,” he said.
“There's nothing to talk about,” I said, my tone colder than ice. “We're over.”
“I don't believe that, Amelia. We love each other, we had something special –”
“No, we didn't. If that were true, you wouldn't have felt the need to have a woman on the side,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You're a narcissist, Charlie. Considering what I do for a living, I should have seen it from a mile away, but you're good at hiding who you really are. You're really good.”
“Don't analyse me or throw around psychological terms, sweetheart –”
“Don't call me sweetheart, and don't patronize me. I'm not just throwing around terms –”
“Can we please talk in person?”
“No,” I grumbled.
My office phone rang and my heart skipped a bit. It was a local number and I thought it might be Drew.
“Listen, I have to go back to work. Please, stop calling me, Charlie. It's over. Nothing you can say will change that, so goodbye.”
I hung up on Charlie and answered my office phone a little too eagerly.
“Hello, this is Dr. Emerson speaking,” I said.
“Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number,” an older woman's voice said on the other end of the phone.
Damn.
I waited all day, checking my voicemail between each patient – and nothing. No call from Drew. If I didn't hear back from him soon, I'd have to report that he was no longer in my care. I hated doing that and didn't want to, since it could mean he'd have trouble getting the help he needed. But filing accurate records and status reports were a part of my job and something I couldn't escape – even if I wanted to.
If he didn't call, what else could I do?
I walked out of the office at the end of the day, pulling my coat around me a little tighter as a cool wind picked up, and walked toward my BART stop. I was lost in thought and on auto-pilot for most of my walk, but as I neared the platform, I saw a familiar face. And it sent a bolt of adrenaline through me and got my heart racing.
“Crap,” I said, turning around and walking back toward the office.
But it was too late, he'd already seen me. And I heard his footsteps slapping against the pavement as he hurried to catch up.
“Amelia, wait!”
“No, Charlie, leave me alone,” I called over my shoulder as I continued walking quickly.
He could walk much faster than I could, however, and it wasn't long before he caught up to me. He reached out and grabbed my arm, turning me toward him. I pulled away from him, but he held on tight, refusing to let me go. I struggled, but couldn't loosen his grip on my arm.
It was the look in his eyes that scared me the most. They just seemed – crazed. There was a look on his face that I found frightening. It was as if I was staring into the face of a man who felt he had nothing left to lose and was going to take me down with him. It was the face I imagined was on many of the men who committed murder-suicides – a thought that chilled me to the very core.