Unethical

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Sarah

M y next patient comes in soon after Maxim leaves. Her dress sleeve hangs off her shoulder, and she looks as manic as she always does. She plops down with an exaggerated sigh, tugs up her sleeve, and begins her sordid tale where we left off last time.

I don’t even need to speak, but I interrupt her to force out my cursory introduction. There aren’t enough hours in the day to get to the bottom of what’s wrong with Mrs. Birch.

Newly and unhappily married. Pregnant again, with a one-year-old at home who runs her ragged. She told me this baby was an attempt to save her marriage. The non-professional in me wanted to ask if that has ever worked in the history of marriages. From my many years in this very chair, I can attest that it has not.

I don’t have kids myself. My biological clock is ticking away, and the way she talks about being a mother makes me glad I’m running out of time. I realize how terrible this must sound, but then again, I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to want to have children.

Maybe my viewpoint would be a little different if I’d been with someone that screamed “daddy material,” but most of the men I’ve dated have been poster children for people who need therapy, and I’m not the person who can psycho-support a partner. I’d rather stay single and childless than have a baby and be forced to care for the baby and the other parent.

I think all of these things as Mrs. Birch drones on in the background. My focus has entirely flown the proverbial coop. But how can I focus on any patients after I’ve had a session with Maxim?

My chest is a permanent shade of red from the frustration he drums up inside me. He’s playing a cruel game by relaying snippets of information about his life without ever giving me the full story. He pretends to nibble the bait at the end of the hook, but he’s only looping it around detritus at the bottom of the pond. I’m perpetually snagged, and I need to cut the line and let him loose. Half the stuff that comes out of his mouth is probably a lie anyway.

Mrs. Birch blabbers on in the background as she picks at her nails and fiddles with the collar on her haggard dress. She talks about everything that’s ever happened in her life, and I should really listen to what she has to say. But I can’t. My thoughts continue to circle Maxim.

The way he stood over me.

The way his breath felt as he blew on my neck.

He’s equally terrifying and intriguing, and something about him makes me want to break through to him even though it’s so fucking stupid to want to get anywhere near him. To even let him get close to me again would be suicidal. For my safety and sanity, I should avoid Maxim at all costs.

There’s only one problem. I can’t.

I get paid to subject myself to him. Sitting across from him pays my fucking bills. And that means I’m stuck in this unrelenting situation for a little while longer.

I look out the window, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.

While nodding and pretending to listen to the woman in front of me, I scan the cars in the parking lot. Even though I don’t see his vehicle, I still can’t seem to break free from the mounting anxiety and the feeling that he’s out there.

Mrs. Birch has moved on in her monologue. As she talks about her dreams—something about being chased by a giant turkey who can speak—I squint through the blinds to see if anyone is in fact watching me. Even if Maxim’s car isn’t out there, he could still be lurking in the shadows.

That’s the most annoying thing about Maxim. He forces his way into my thoughts, no matter where I am. At work. At home. In the grocery store. He’s the boogeyman lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on me.

He’s not, obviously. Not really. But he continues to infiltrate my mental barriers. He continues to cause a rising tide of anxiety that will drown me if I’m not careful. He’s created a riptide, and I’m standing in the danger zone.

“Dr. Reeves, are you listening to me?” Mrs. Birch asks, her soft voice rising to an annoyed snip.

A bit of heat rushes into my cheeks. This woman pays me good money to listen to her, but I’m too busy working through my own issues to focus on hers. What a great shrink I am.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m just going to close these blinds real quick.”

I stand up and walk toward the big window overlooking the parking lot. Now that I have a clearer view, my eyes scan the entire lot again to see if I see anything or anyone out of place.

My car is a hair’s width from hitting the pole in front of it, but that’s the only thing of note I see. There’s no sign of him.

Maxim is gone. Thank god.

With a silent sigh of relief, I pull down on the string beside the blinds, and the plastic planks slam closed. A renewed darkness hangs over us, so I flip on the overhead light.

“You were telling me about that dream you keep having,” I say before sitting down again. “The one about the turkey?”

At least, I hope that’s what she was talking about. I admit, I did start to space. It’s easy to do with talkative clients. I’m very much grounded when I’m in the sessions with Maxim, fighting and trying to pry every syllable of information out of him until, frankly, I’m exhausted.

Goddamn it, there I go again. I wish he’d stop occupying my thoughts. I wish he’d leave me the fuck alone in my mind. I’ll be glad when we have our last session and I never have to come face to face with that man again.