Page 14 of The Therapist

EIGHT

Sandy

In the middle of the night, I open my eyes and he’s standing next to the bed, staring down at me.

‘What do you want?’ I ask, keeping my voice low so he doesn’t think he is scaring me. I know he wants me to feel scared. And under my warm duvet, my body is tense, real fear freezing my muscles. He wins.

‘What the hell are you trying to…to do? What was that…about?’ His words are slurred, his body swaying slightly.

The session with Lana is all I can think of. I know that’s what he’s talking about. I haven’t spoken to him since he came home. I have stayed away. Because I’m not quite sure of what his reaction will be.

Have I made a mistake? Have I pushed this too far? Is it all going to work out the way I need it to? Or am I going to pay for exposing him?

‘You need to go,’ I tell him, conscious of his size, of the anger, marinated in alcohol, coming off his body.

‘Just go,’ I say firmly.

But he doesn’t leave.

Instead, he leans down and places his hands on my neck.

And now I know the answer to my questions.