She points her cigarette at me before taking another hit. When she looks at me, it feels as if a thousand tiny spiders are burrowing into my skin. I know the meaning behind her gaze.
You're next.
The saleswoman screeches and knocks the cigarette from the bride's hand. My mom grabs me by the elbow and hurries me out the door. "We don't want to get caught up in that," she says in a strained whisper.
"No, we don't," I say. No, we don't.
***
Andrés
"Hey, doc. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice." I clasp his hand, cringing when he quickly pulls away. Must be my sweat-drenched palm. Why do my hands always go clammy when I visit this shrink?
"Of course," Doctor Barnes says as he takes a seat in the upholstered leather chair across from me. "Luckily, I had a cancellation today."
I follow his lead and sit down. As I struggle to get comfortable in the oversized chair, I adjust my stiff shirt collar and breathe a sigh of relief when I loosen my belt. My jeans have been feeling tighter. Must be all the Mexican take-out and sitting I've been doing lately, lots and lots of sitting, as I learn to crunch numbers for my soon-to-be new businesses.
"So how are you doing?" Dr. Barnes asks me as he picks up his note pad and pen.
I hate that notepad. I don't want him to scribble down my faults. I want him to look at me and listen. That's it. I think about telling him to put the paper down, but I know he's following protocol, and if four years in the Army has taught me anything, it's to follow protocol.
"Not good." I drum my fingers on the armrest, gaze averted. If he's going to keep scribbling in that fucking pad, I shouldn't have to watch. "The dreams are back."
"What's going on?"
I briefly make eye contact with the doctor before looking away. "I had another dream when we were visiting my fiancé's parents." I stop and bite on my lip. Doctor Barnes doesn't need to hear the rest of the story, how I left a big angry bruise on Christina's ribcage. How close I came to punching her in the gut and hurting our unborn child. Anger and shame wash over me when I recall the image of her rolling out of bed, wincing and clutching her side.
"Fiancé? So I take it she said yes." I look at the doctor. Thankfully, he's set down that pen and paper, and the lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles.
"Yeah. We set the date for February first."
"Congratulations," he says. "That's right around the corner."
Doc picks up his pen and starts scribbling again. I fight the urge to lean forward and read what he's writing. Probably something about how we're rushing into this. How we only just broke up and now we're jumping into marriage.
"We just found out she's pregnant," I blurt.
I don't know why I feel the need to tell him about the baby. Maybe I'm trying to justify why we're getting hitched so soon, and then I wonder why I'm doing that. Christina and I love each other. That's why we're getting married. The baby pushes up the date, but that doesn't change the fact I want her to be my bride. Now I'm bothered because I'm sitting here silently making excuses for us. What the hell is wrong with me?
"You've got a lot on your plate," Doctor Barnes says in a flat voice. A voice that doesn't pass judgment. It's bullshit. "So tell me about this dream," he asks as he taps the pad with the point of his pen.
I exhale a shaky breath as I mentally try to switch gears. I remind myself I'm not here to be judged. I'm here to get help. I close my eyes and bring back memories I've been trying to bury. My dreams are so vivid, I feel as if I'm living inside these nightmares. It doesn't take long for me to summon the images of my dying friends, taste copper on my tongue, and see my uncle's mutilated body lying on top of me. "We're back in the Hummer, only this time there's a baby in the back seat. I'm trying to get to him, but I can't. My uncle's on top of me."
He arches a brow. "Your uncle?"
"Yeah." My eyes shoot open and then a shudder steals up my spine. "He's telling me to get back to work."
I think I see a flash of recognition beneath the reflective glare of Dr. Barnes's glasses, but then he plasters on an impassive expression. "You're taking over his businesses, right?"
"Five of them." I groan when I think of all the work piled on my desk waiting for me. This doctor's appointment is going to put me behind, which means I'll be working late tonight.
"How's that going?"
"Rough." I course my fingers through my hair, squeezing at the roots and doing my best to release the pent up tension that's winding a noose around my neck. "Christina was my best artist. I lost her when we found out she was pregnant. I've got to go in and fire a mechanic today. We think he's been stealing parts."