Читать книгу Decadent Desire - Zuri Day - Страница 15
ОглавлениеJulian had factored a good six months into getting his practice up and running with a stream of regular patients. Until that happened, he felt he’d have time on his hands. He’d hired an agent to book college talks and professional speaking engagements. Had set up a schedule with the Drake Community Center’s director to offer free counseling to the troubled youth it served. The first month was understandably slow. In August, following an article featuring him in a national medical magazine, he began getting referrals from medical doctors in neighboring towns. Some from as far away as Sacramento and San Jose.
Last week, a former patient of Dr. Johnson had walked into his office. He’d been treated for ten years and felt it wasn’t working. At first Julian refused outright, but after a thorough interview, he’d decided to treat the man. People regularly changed therapists. For the patient, the change proved beneficial. For Julian, it had been fateful. The satisfied patient had obviously been talking. Barely into September and a stream of Johnson’s patients had called for appointments. He turned most of them down, but agreed to see the ones he felt would benefit from his counsel. One was in his office now, engaging in a pattern most likely developed in childhood and perfected throughout her adult life.
He stole a glance at the clock on the wall behind where his patient Vanessa sat. Nicki’s plane would arrive in just over ninety minutes. To leave right now would be cutting it close, and Vanessa’s time would be up in sixty seconds. But she was in crisis. He could not in good conscience end the session before her emotions stabilized.
He watched her twist a tissue to shreds as she recounted an incident from her abusive childhood. Tears for moments she’d probably relived thousands of times. It was neither healthy nor productive, but he knew why she did it. Why millions of people relived the very situations they’d most like to forget. How one could at first hate and then—after depression became the new normal and sadness felt sane—relish the pain.
In psychology it was called destiny neurosis, a form of repetition compulsion. The term was coined by Sigmund Freud in 1914 and expanded after further research. As she had during each previous session, Vanessa lamented over the beatings endured at the hands of her parents, and later a foster mom after the parents lost custody, yet was despondent that a physically abusive third marriage was ending. In the past, a cocktail of antianxiety and antidepressant medication had been prescribed as the cure for her chronic depression. Masking the pain, not fixing the problem. Prescription drug abuse was an epidemic in America. Seventy percent of the country was on some type of prescribed drug. A quarter of them were like Vanessa—depressed, abused, hurting. It’s one of the reasons Julian had chosen psychology over psychiatry, to push himself toward holistic, drug-free healing and make prescribed medicine the absolute last resort.
“I just want to be loved without being beaten. You know?” She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Not at all, Vanessa. Being beaten is not love. It is what you have come to associate with love, because the abuse you suffered was done by people who said they loved you, those who professed to care about you. Do you understand that?”
“What am I doing wrong, Doctor? How do I keep attracting the same type of man into my life?”
“By repeating the same thought patterns and the same actions that brought you to my office. But that’s why I’m here. To help you replace toxic thoughts and actions with positive, productive ones.” Julian looked at his watch and stood. “I have a couple things I’d like to give you.” He continued talking as he walked over to a wall unit. He pulled a card from a drawer beneath the shelving and a blank journal from a stack on one of the shelves. On the front was a message in large, bold letters: Focus on Good Thoughts and Good Things Will Happen.
He walked back to Vanessa, who had stood as well. “I want you to begin keeping a journal. Every day, write at least one page of what you are thinking. It can be anything, any thought that comes to mind. How you’re feeling. How you slept the night before. What you watched on TV or ate for dinner. Doesn’t matter. The point is to get in touch with yourself and become conscious of the storyline that’s playing in your head.”
He held up the five-by-seven card. “Here is a list of questions to help get you started. Your first journal entry can be answering these questions. There are no wrong answers. Just write how you feel.”
“But, Doctor—”
“No buts.” He took her arm and gently guided her toward the door. “You can do this, Vanessa. It’ll help you get better, okay? See you next week.”
Traffic was light, and the gods were kind. Forty-five minutes at mostly ninety miles an hour helped him reach the airport within minutes of Nicki’s arrival. Jennifer had suggested he send a car service. Much too impersonal for his queen, and for someone who’d experienced a career-threatening injury less than a week ago. He wanted to get her himself.
He parked the car and went inside, hoping she’d take his advice and use a wheelchair instead of trying to navigate the busy airport on crutches. So independent, his private dancer. A trait that over the years had often put them at odds. It had taken less coaxing than expected for her agreement to recuperate in Paradise Cove. And while he’d not promised that the specialist he’d lined up could cut her recovery from six weeks to four, it was a carrot he’d gladly dangled to bring her home.
Once inside he looked at the monitor for her flight number. The plane had landed. Most likely, she was on her way down. He checked his phone. There was a text from his mom.
Dinner with Nicki? Private room @ the club?
He quickly responded. Thanks, Mom. Not tonight.
Sunday brunch?
We’ll see.
He looked up just as a set of elevator doors opened. A heavily wrapped ankle supported by an Aircast was the first body part through the doors. It was Nicki, busily texting while the wheelchair assistant pushed her toward baggage claim. Just as she looked up, his phone dinged.
He walked to her, smiling. “Is that a message telling me you’ve arrived?”
“Yep.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a twenty and tipped the assistant. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll take it from here.”
“It’s okay,” Nicki protested. “I can walk.”
“Perhaps. But what you will do is accept the generous offer to be ferried in your silver chariot from this building to my car.” He leaned down and kissed her scowling lips. “You’re welcome. How was the flight?”
“Fine, since I slept through most of it. Doctor gave me pain meds. Can’t feel the throbbing ache in my ankle, which is great. But I end up not feeling much of anything else, either.” She pointed out a large piece of hard plastic luggage with a colorful strip of material wrapped around the handle. “That’s mine.”
Julian retrieved it. “How many more?”
“That’s it.”
“You packed clothes for a four-to six-week stay in one suitcase?”
“You said I’d be treated by the best...what did you call him?”
“An orthopedic specialist.”
“Yeah, him.”
“Even the most gifted doctor cannot make the body heal faster. Here, you roll the suitcase and I’ll roll you.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
Julian quickly got Nicki settled into the front seat, and less than an hour from when he’d arrived at Oakland International Airport, they were headed back to PC. With rush-hour traffic waning, he set the cruise control to a law-abiding seventy miles per hour.
“You were supposed to call me last night.”
Nicki spoke through a yawn. “Forgot.”
“That was disobedient. When we get home, I’m going to have to spank you.”
“Lucky me.”
Said so sincerely and with such deadpan disinterest that Julian burst out laughing.
“So...what’s the official verdict? Broken?”
“Technically, no, and did you know that an actual break or full tear of the ligament and tendons would have been better than the partial tears that I have?”
“I’d heard that before.”
“I hadn’t. Doesn’t make sense that a more serious break would heal faster.”
“Life doesn’t always make sense.”
Nicki fell silent. When they were together, she was usually the more talkative of the two. It was one of her traits that made them such a perfect couple. People didn’t recognize how quiet Julian was when he and Nicki were together. The rare occasions when she was quieter than Julian were very obvious. Like now, when the only sound was the neo-soul on Julian’s playlist.
He looked over. “You okay?”
She didn’t answer right away. While staring out the window she finally replied, “Not really.”
“I understand.”
Nicki made a skeptical snort. “Please.”
“I do, babe.”
“You have no idea what I’m going through.” Nicki’s piercing look was only matched by the ever-increasing volume of her delivery. “How could you? You’re not a dancer! You haven’t been working toward a dream for well over ten years and then right when you are just about there, so close you can throw a rock and hit it, and thirty years old, something happens that takes it all away. Unless that exact thing has happened to you, there is no way you can relate.”
Julian became silent, subconsciously and without thought interpreting the behavior from a professional perspective. Hurt. Fear. Disappointment. Misplaced anger. Nicki had lashed out at him, but her anger was actually toward the situation and the man on the bike who’d instigated it. Fear of the unknown and the unproductive projecting of a worst-case scenario upon an unpredictable situation. Understandable, considering the fickle nature of entertainment. In one day and out the next. That’s why he knew better than to comment. There was no right answer for this type of reaction.
The silence lasted through two more songs.
Nicki repositioned her leg. “I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Psychoanalyze me—and don’t deny it. Over there all calm and quiet. I know what you’re doing.”
“Okay.” Said low and drawn out, as if testing the word to see if any repercussions would come along with it.
“Stop!” Nicki punched his arm, but she was smiling. “Is there ever a moment when you’re not trying to figure someone out?”
“I can’t help being who I am, love.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven. This is a tough time. What did the director say?”
“I was supposed to call him after meeting with the specialist. I decided to wait until I see the doctor that was recommended to you. Do I have an appointment?”
“The earliest I could get you in was this Friday.”
“Today is Tuesday.” Nicki did a slow exhale. “I’ll call tomorrow and ask Milo to wait until Friday to make any...permanent changes. Dammit!” Nicki used her good foot to stomp the floor.
They continued to talk intermittently between Nicki’s quiet spells. Knowing she was in no mood to socialize, Julian waited until they were ten minutes outside Paradise Cove and then called in an order to Acquired Taste for Nicki’s favorite meal.
“I have some news that will make you feel a little better.”
“What?”
“A place for us to stay.”
“You bought a house?”
“I just closed on it. I hope you like it.”
“What matters is if you like it. I’m only going to be here for a couple weeks.”
“I know, but...you’ve always been uncomfortable staying at my parents’. So I had Terrell bring me a couple listings. I chose a town house that resembles a brownstone on the inside.”
She gave him a look.
“On the inside, I said!” He reached over and took her hand. “I know that no place will ever come close to your beloved Brooklyn or Manhattan. But I want to make you as comfortable and happy as I can while you’re here.”
“Ah, that’s sweet, babe.”
“I do have to warn you about something.”
“What?”
“I just got it, so it’s pretty empty.”
“I’m sure I can make it work.”
“Just letting you know.”
They arrived at the echoing town house a short time later. A sectional sofa was the living room’s lone furniture. The master suite was also sparsely furnished, its major feature a king-size bed. Julian helped Nicki shower, tucked her in bed, then joined her there with two tray tables. They watched TV while enjoying burgers and fries. Once the trays were removed and they’d finished their drinks, Julian pulled back the covers and raised the short nightie that covered the shaved lips that he so adored. The good food, hot shower and crisp clean sheets had been arranged with the intention to make Nicki more comfortable. Now it was time to make both of them happy.
