Page 9 of Hold Me Instead (Elmwood Falls #1)

She blinked rapidly, coughing to disguise her uneven breathing.

As much as she preferred to be curled up on her couch with Toothless and a bowl of popcorn watching The Office play episode after episode, going out was a good idea.

She needed to reset. Get her shit together.

Steel herself against the week ahead. Her crush on Zachary was in the past, and what mattered was the practice.

To keep it running for Daniel, herself, the patients, and the community.

And to prove to Zachary she could handle it.

** *

Inhale. Fourteen and a half. Sixteen if she counted the lights.

With her eyes closed, Charlie knew that’s how many ceiling tiles stared down at her as she lay on the physical therapy table.

It had become a calming technique over the years of her vaginismus treatment, but it couldn’t quite calm her today.

Not when she knew what waited for her at work.

Zachary Lee .

Exhale . She fanned her face and flapped the patient gown as she fought off immediate sweat.

It had been a while since she’d had one of her spirals, their frequency lessened by psychotherapy and the anxiety meds she’d finally started.

Her stress was high since Daniel’s heart attack, with thinking about him and putting in nearly fourteen-hour days, checking labs, messaging clients, and catching up on notes.

Zachary working in proximity could short-circuit her.

Her brain already struggled to connect the dots between her high school crush and the irritable, sexy man— Like, hello, Time.

You did nice things with a person’s physique .

But she felt him assessing everything that needed tending to during his stint at the practice.

A knock sounded, jolting Charlie back into regulated breathing.

“Hey there, Charlie. I have a student shadowing today. Do you mind if she joins your appointment?” Ali Porter peeked into the room.

“Sure, no problem.” Charlie took another deep breath as she stared at the ceiling, mentally preparing.

Her physical therapist blew in with a focused and determined energy.

“Charlie, this is Morgan. She’s working toward her degree as an OBGYN. Morgan, this is Charlie, a patient who’s been with us for a few years now. ”

Charlie smiled back at the young woman, who appeared at her side. Morgan wore sky-blue scrubs, her chestnut hair pulled back and golden-brown skin free of makeup. She leaned against the wall, effectively giving Charlie space.

“Thanks for letting me join today,” Morgan said.

“Of course,” Charlie replied.

This sort of training didn’t bother her. In fact, it made her feel like she was contributing somehow. Ali ran a successful full-service physical therapy clinic in the city, one of the few offices where pelvic floor treatment was available.

The widespread belief that a woman’s pain was “normal” and could be fixed with medication or “dealing with it” ran deep, and finding actual proper care was difficult.

Charlie had heard it plenty of times over the years.

If she reflected on it, the reality made her vibrate with anger.

That didn’t even include dealing with insurance, like her recent procedure, where nondoctors denied coverage for something her obstetrician recommended she have done, simply because they didn’t think it necessary.

Charlie knew the word Botox is what threw them.

It angered her that they would turn down something to help her medically, even after appeals, simply because in their minds they linked Botox to elective vanity care.

Ali set her thermos on the side table and rolled a stool next to Charlie. “How are you?”

“Doing well.” Charlie smoothed the gown needlessly, her knees bent over a bolster.

“How’s the body?” Ali asked as she opened Charlie’s file, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her gentle demeanor and no-nonsense approach made the environment comfortable and safe .

“Body’s good. Doing my stretches, some yoga.

” Charlie tapped her thighs, surprised at the rush of nerves.

She’d been seeing Ali for years, started off twice a week for appointments, until she could wean off to weekly, then every other week.

Now she was down to once a month, aside from this—a follow-up to her recent Botox injection.

“Bowels?”

“Still normal.” Her work with Ali helped her body relax and ease up on stress all around.

“And the dilators?”

Charlie nodded. Those good old dilators, solid plastic for clinical work. “Much better since the Botox.”

Ali’s blue eyes sparkled with a bright smile. “Wonderful to hear,” she said, jotting more notes. She set aside her file, rolled the sleeves of her checkered knit sweater up her fair skin, and reached for the massage cream.

Charlie watched Ali’s methodical work on her inner thighs.

“Take a moment, relax a little. You feel a little tight,” Ali said. “You okay?”

Charlie released a breath. “Stress at work.”

“Ah.” Ali waited another moment, checked again.

“Okay, that’s better.” She worked on the muscles, then reached for an exam glove.

“Alright, let’s check the tissues.” With her gloved index finger covered in lubricant, Ali carefully inserted the digit into Charlie’s vaginal opening.

She probed and stretched the tissues inside, holding a spot where Charlie felt a hint of that telltale burning pain.

“Do you usually start manually?” Morgan asked.

“Depends on the patient and where they’re at,” Ali said. “Charlie’s come a long way. Since she’s jumped to such a large dilator size, this works best for her.”

Each person is different , all her therapists reminded her.

Charlie swallowed. “My very first appointment, Ali couldn’t even insert her pinky because the pain was so intense.”

“Really? Wow, you’ve made so much progress,” Morgan said kindly.

Charlie had tried a number of different doctors over the years, her hope fading with each one, until she’d finally found a gynecologist who not only knew what she was struggling with—that it wasn’t merely in her head— but also knew how to help.

No penetration of any kind could happen at that point, tampons included.

Once all her friends had started using them, it had seemed like a rite of passage, a sign of being older and mature.

Going through high school without being able to offer a tampon to a friend, or sneaking a pad into the bathroom and tucking used ones low in the garbage can, had added a thick layer of embarrassment.

As an adult, she knew people had their preferences.

But she’d at least wanted to have a choice.

Now here she was, having worked her way through four dilator sizes that could be inserted relatively pain-free.

“Tissues feel great.” Ali had switched to the dilator without Charlie batting an eye, which was a major improvement.

“Awesome,” Charlie murmured.

“She had a muscle that moved and blocked anything from entering,” Ali explained to Morgan. “This follow-up is soon after the Botox injection, but I’m not feeling the wall.”

Thank God . “You know, my OB said it happened even when they put me under for the injection,” Charlie said .

“Oh, wow,” Morgan said.

That day had been a struggle for many reasons, especially in securing Amber’s older sister as her driver while only divulging she was having a procedure with anesthesia.

Brooke was oddly distracted that day as it was, so somehow, the stars had aligned and bought Charlie time. She hadn’t talked to Brooke much since.

That next day, Daniel had experienced his heart attack.

“You’ve made major strides,” Ali said, putting everything away. “Keep up with those stretches, your dilator work. Keep doing what you’re doing. And work on here.” Ali tapped her own forehead. “When you’re ready to take that step, you’ll know.”

Charlie nodded, the words familiar, sinking in a little more than last time. “Thanks, Ali.”

Ali gave her a small wave as she left.

“Nice to meet you,” Morgan and Charlie said at the same time. They smiled, and as the door closed, Charlie released another breath.

She was close, she knew it. She’d been chipping away at the emotional and mental struggles that accompanied the physical, each little step unlocking when it was ready. It felt like the final thing was the anxiety surrounding her condition, to release the fear of an intimate relationship.

One day, the objective Charlie would overpower the subjective.

One day, she could move past what she lost with her ex, the man who made her believe any sort of healthy and mutual intimate relationship wasn’t in the cards for her.

A man who worked around her physical condition for his own satisfaction, instead of working with her to show he cared. He hadn’t cared, not really .

After years of working through this, Charlie knew her vaginismus didn’t define her. Instead, she had to believe it made her stronger.