“I’ll take it seriously,” I assure her.
“I have extra copies for you in the folder I’ve assembled. Also, call me twice a week to let me know how this is going.”
“No problem.”
“Go ahead and mark a box beside ‘never commit to a number for any reason’ and one for ‘never set a schedule’ as well.”
Sighing, I immediately check off the boxes, realizing this isn’t going to be quite as easy as I initially thought. I’m already failing a test that I just started.
“It’s all about the wording, Mr. James,” she continues, watching me with a guarded expression. “A mind like your girlfriend’s demands the right wording.”
“I’ll call you when I can,” I tell her, and her lips twitch.
“Better. Now live this way for a while.”
“How long?” I grimace when she starts to speak. “Never mind. Sorry. No dates or guesses at timeframes. Marking the boxes off now.”
Her lips twitch and she nods.
“It’ll take time. It’s a long process. Think marathon—not a race.”
“I’m a fast learner, Doc. And I’m ready to have Mika back. I think life has fucked us both over for long enough. Don’t you?”
I can tell she’s still trying to decide what she thinks about me, and probably worried about Mika.
“What are your thoughts on this?” she asks me. “I mean about this situation.”
“My thoughts?” My lips tense as I try to process my thoughts. They’re everywhere. “My thoughts are that I don’t give a fuck about anything but getting Mika back. And I’m ready to prove it.”
She clears her throat like I caught her off guard, but she resumes going over the list without missing more than a few beats.
“Mi—I mean, your girlfriend has to be careful with powerful emotions. It’s fine until it’s not fine. It’s been holding her back from progressing into a relationship state. Emotions run higher when a lot of affection or physical contact is involved, creating a larger margin for irrationality,” she explains calmly. “Hence the reason her reaction was so extreme this past time.”
“I didn’t know the rules last time. This time I do. I’m not going in blind. It’s worth it.”
She studies me for a long minute, but finally starts going over other important key points.
“Some exceptions are made,” she says. “Such as the fifteen minutes of drive time. Since Mika doesn’t have an issue riding for longer, someone else is allowed to drive longer than that time.”
There are other exceptions, and I listen with rapt attention. I soak it all in, ready to do whatever it takes. I also have a few ideas of my own to help Mika.
Fuck the marathon. This is a sprint.
Chapter 46
MIKA
2 months later…
“How’s Aidan?” I ask Whit as I move my laptop away to devote my full attention to her.
We have one rule: She never calls. I do all the calling.
“He’s… Mika, are you sure he’s going to be okay? He’s angry. He’s drunk most of the time. I’m worried about him. It’s like… I don’t know. He knows your safe, since Dr. Stein keeps him updated, but he doesn’t act like he believes it.”
Guilt hits me like it has for two solid months, but I take a deep, calming breath. The end of summer came and went, and I’ve worked hard to not think about it. I always hated autumn.
“Aidan deserves a better life than he can have around a defective sister,” I state without any emotion.
I’ve managed to get my emotions under control better than ever. That’s what isolation does for you. You cry for three weeks straight until you’re too numb to feel anything. Some things have been broken—because I’m still just as crazy today as I was yesterday—but I haven’t hurt myself anymore.
I also have a panic button just in case. It directly calls for an ambulane. That was a firm request by Dr. Stein, who I chat with via Skype at random times, on random days.
“You’re not defective, Mika,” Whit says softly. “I couldn’t have survived what you’ve been through. I can’t… Just hearing about it makes me want to curl into a corner and cry for you. Are you sure I can’t come out there and see you?”
“No. I… I can’t do that. It’s better if I slowly cut all ties. Did Aidan get the paper for ownership of the house?”
“Yes. It finally went through. But… It sort of set him off. He’s convinced you’ve gone off to die like a dog in the woods.”
“I didn’t come here to die,” I tell her. Again. It seems to be the same conversation every time I call her.
“Do you want to know about… Chase?” she asks.
My stomach tenses, and my throat closes up.
“No.” The word is a pained whisper, and I glance toward the screen of my laptop, seeing the latest version of how I’ve killed him… After having my way with his body a few times.
At least people can’t judge me for the things I do to cope. What are they going to say? That I’m crazy?
“Are you sure? I think you need to hear, because—”
“Whit, I really, really, really don’t want to know. If he’s doing great, that will hurt to hear. If he’s hurting like me, that will hurt to hear. If he’s drinking, that will kill me. If he’s doing worse… I just can’t. Not right now. I’m still trying to keep my head in a good place.”
She sighs heavily, and I swear I hear her nodding.
“You’re getting out and stuff, right? Not staying in over three days?”
“I’m getting out,” I assure her, even though it’s hard as hell to force myself to do.
I owe it to Aidan to keep myself as normal as possible. He’s fought so hard for me for so many years. I just hate that it’s taking him so long to bounce back from my absence. I want him to be happy, not missing me.
It takes all my strength not to go back.
“Has Hunter left any, or is he still staying there?” I ask her.
“He’s running his business over the phone for the most part. He’s waiting on you to come back too. They’re both miserable, Mika.”
I close my eyes, trying to figure out where this went wrong. None of this was supposed to hurt them worse. This was supposed to make their lives better.
“Don’t make me feel worse,” I whisper pleadingly.
“Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to. I just don’t want to lie. You’re missed, Mika. They don’t see you as their burden. They actually seem really lost without you.”
My chest starts to ache, and I stare at the blank screen of the TV on my wall.
“And Chase… Can I please tell you about him?”
“No,” I say firmer.
She groans but doesn’t press the issue.
“Well, they’re all still looking for you,” she grumbles. “I hate lying. Sadly, I must be really good at it because no one suspects me. And Chuck is good at it too.”
“I’m sorry you have to—”
“What’s the matter, slut? Not able to find a dick big enough to fit in that canyon you call a pussy these days?” an elderly woman’s voice cuts in.
“Fuck you, hag. At least I don’t need a bottle of lube to smear on my dried up walls. It’s like the Penderson Desert in that beast.”
Ah. Mrs. Penderson is apparently around. I guess Whit is sitting outside her apartment again.
“At least my vagina still holds a dick. Does yours even feel anything anymore?” Mrs. Penderson shoots back. “Or does he have to spin circles just to catch more than air.”
After putting the phone on speaker, I get up to grab a drink. These sessions always take a while.
“Gah, lay off the excessive douching! You smell like you’ve been marinating in vinegar for too long. If a cucumber got shoved in there, it would come back out a pickle,” Whit groans.
“You smell like an abandoned Easter egg hunt inside that massive orgy hole. I guess the eggs rotted when they couldn’t be found inside that wallowed-out abyss.”
“Do you even know what a normal pussy looks like anymore? Or does your overgrown bush block the view? Need Edward Scissorhands to landscape for you? Or should we call the chainsaw guys in?”
“At least I don’t shave mine and make it look like something that happened after a chainsaw massacre! Right out of a horror film.”
Rolling my eyes, I open a bottle of water. How do they know what kind of lady-scaping each other has?
“There’s nothing horrifying besides your unkempt, 1970’s porno forest. I wax, bitch. It takes a real set of ovaries to do that. And my pussy is beautiful.”
“Yeah, it takes a real woman to make her vagina look like a little girl’s. You should worry about the kind of man that gets turned on by that.”
Frowning, I actually look down my underwear at my own smooth skin. Brazilian waxes are totally in right now, damn it. And I found a place that takes walk-ins and doesn’t even bother giving you an estimated time frame.
Then I roll my eyes again—this time at myself. Somehow I let myself get sucked into the ridiculousness. Even my silent participation is embarrassing.
“Just worry about the kind of man who gets turned on after you take your bra off. Any guy who wants to wrestle with those Tales From The Crypt tits is a fetish freak or something. Do your nipples rot off after the first century?”