Page 55

RACHELLE

I ’m shaking on the inside after my encounter with Elijah, which makes me quieter as Theo drives us to the club. I can understand Elijah’s feeling that he was trapped, but I’ve never once wanted to sacrifice someone else to escape.

I don’t know if that says more about his sense of self-preservation or mine. The Kings Society offered them a life raft, but they had to ride on my back for their safety.

I am disassociating from everything as I walk into the club with them. I feel as if I’m floating away, and I’m completely untethered. I know a part of me is overstimulated from being out and about, and this is how it’s manifesting instead of a panic attack.

“Rachel?” Jared asks, and I feel as if he may have been trying to get my attention. There’s not a drop of annoyance in his tone, just concern.

“Yeah,” I breathe, feeling a little lightheaded as I force myself to focus.

“This is Dr. Parker. He’s the club’s psychiatrist. He meets with anyone who wants to gain membership to the dungeon,” he explains. “Due to the exchange of power and submission that can be had in our club, we want to ensure the safety of our patrons. This is one way we’ve found to achieve that.”

“Hmm,” I murmur. “I suppose that lessens your liability if something goes wrong.”

“We also have cameras everywhere,” Dr. Parker says reassuringly. “You don’t care about our setup, so it’s silly to pretend that you do right now. Would you feel comfortable sitting with me in my office?”

“I have a distinctive distrust for mental health professionals,” I mutter. “I would prefer that the door remain open and we just go over my medication needs.”

“Alright then,” he says, looking surprised. “Right this way, please.”

Elijah stiffens as he watches me walk away. He knows exactly why I’m uncomfortable with anyone who has the ability to lock me up again. My hands are beginning to sweat, and I feel uncomfortably hot. My body is trying to freak out.

Breathing in and out evenly is difficult as I walk away from the guys. My feelings are conflicting for them, because while they almost killed me two years ago, they’ve also done so much to save me.

I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone.

“It’s just in here,” Dr. Parker murmurs.

“The door stays open,” I remind him as I carefully step inside.

I don’t care how telling it is, I find a chair against a wall where I can see the door and sit on the edge.

“You seem very nervous,” he says as he walks to his desk.

“I have every reason to be,” I reply. “I’ve been off my medication for several weeks, which means it’s out of my system. White knuckling it and hoping for the best isn’t going to work for me.”

“That honestly sounds terrible,” he says. “Tell me what you’re experiencing.”

“Depression and anxiety. I have a fear of leaving the house, but I can do it if I’m walking with someone I know,” I explain.

It feels odd to also add that it has to be someone I trust, because I shouldn’t trust the men who brought me here. I also know that Liliana and Nacio wouldn’t have left if I was in danger.

My feelings remain unresolved from the past. I firmly believe that past life experiences should be learned from, but walking away from Jared, Elijah, and Theo isn’t something I can do either.

“What else?” Dr. Parker asks, sitting forward in his chair to lean on his forearms on the desk.

“Nightmares of the past, of drowning and dying,” I say matter of factly.

I can’t change it, so I won’t cry about it.

“There’s this intense feeling of dread any time I need to leave the house as well.

I can do it if there are people expecting me to be somewhere, however, I need to convince myself to leave. ”

Dr. Parker nods and asks more questions. The typical ones pop up, and they’re about suicidal ideation and voices.

I had an episode in the tower where I was fighting one moment, and ended up too close to the edge of the ledge. It was as if I just stopped thinking and allowed someone else control of my body. Elijah was right to drag me back, because I don’t always trust myself.

“I don’t currently have suicidal thoughts,” I say finally. “It’s been a rough couple of years. I do have voices but they’re more surrounding my depression. They enjoy tearing me down and making me feel like shit. I will not take Haldol or any antipsychotic drugs.”

“Haldol is some pretty heavy medication,” he says, frowning. “Have you been on this before?”

“My previous psychiatrist would prescribe it and it doesn’t work well for me,” I explain.

“I was picked up a month ago on a forced commitment by the police, and I almost overdosed on Haldol because the orderlies injected me with it. I refuse to be trapped in my mind and forced to drool all over myself.”

“No Haldol,” Dr. Parker says firmly. “That’s not a medication I’d ever give lightly anyway. I didn’t really want to see you today. I’ve stepped away from certain parts of psychiatry to work in a more corporate environment. However, we can start with a few things and see how they work.”

He suggests a combination of two medications that often help depression and anxiety because they help boost serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine.

“These two medications when taken together can help avoid the numbness some people say they feel when taking an antidepressant,” he explains. “I also want to prescribe an as necessary anxiety medication for when you’re having a panic attack. It’s fast acting and only when you feel it’s necessary.”

“I’ll probably never take it,” I sigh, shrugging. “I have an issue with forming bad habits.”

“What if I give it to Jared?” he asks. “I’m not a personal fan of just working through a panic attack if they’re extreme. Medication can also be partnered with therapy.”

“That’s not in the cards for me,” I say immediately, missing the floaty feeling of disassociation as anxiety floods my system.

“Fuck, your pupils just got huge,” Dr. Parker says, wide eyed. “I’d ask about why therapy isn’t helpful, but you’re on edge. Therapy isn’t for everyone, especially if you’ve had bad experiences.”

“One almost killed me,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s too much power to give someone. I won’t open up my veins simply to allow them to pour acid into them. I’ll take the medication only.”

“I have this feeling that life hasn’t been kind to you,” he says, pulling out his prescription pad to write out the script for my meds.

“You have no idea,” I mutter, standing to take the paper from him. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” Dr. Parker watches as I walk out the door. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

Fortunately, it’s not my business to attempt to figure out what he thinks about me. That line of thought can only lead to bad places. Jared meets me at the door, brow raised.

“I’m peopled out,” I confess, my eyes threatening to close. Between my fight with Elijah and being forced to trust my mental health care to yet another health professional, I’m overstimulated.

“I can take her,” Elijah volunteers.

I’m not looking forward to sitting in a car alone with him, but I don’t want to stay here either. I’ll suck it up.

“Thank you,” I say, not waiting for my husband to give his two cents.

“Can you fill her prescription on your way back?” Jared asks.

“I can,” Elijah replies, taking my script from me as he leads me out.

My eyes feel ridiculously heavy. I think my body is forcing me to take a time out. Yawning, I walk through the back door to the parking lot.

He doesn’t say a word on the way home, and simply unlocks the back door for me.

I’m glad he doesn’t make small talk, because he’s shown that he’s prone to sticking his foot in his mouth today.

I won’t starve in the house with Calvin.

Elijah knows I’ll be perfectly fine here.

While I know they’d planned to take me to the gynecologist as well today, I’m just too tired to go to another appointment.

Trudging up to the room I share with Liliana and Nacio, I pull off my clothes and grab one of Nacio’s shirts. After throwing it over my head, I crawl into the bed and face plant into the pillows. I have no idea what kind of dreams I’ll have.

If I’m lucky, I’ll just see the darkness behind my eyelids for a few hours.

IGNACIO

“I have shit to do, asshole,” I say, bored as I push a hot brand into his chest. I’m on a mission to find el Tigre’s location. The bastard got twitchy as things became hotter for his drug business and chose to go underground.

I now have one of his enforcers in an abandoned warehouse. Liliana is with my father working out some aggression with el Tigre’s wife. The bitch is his chemist, and has been in charge of creating these new drugs. My father is with her so that she doesn’t end the bitch’s life too soon.

The brand says traitor on it, my snarky way of hoping to bring that word to fruition. He hasn’t told me shit yet, though he’s yelled quite a bit.

“You won’t find him,” the man squeals.

“He left his kids at the house under security, didn’t he?” I ask. I have no plans to hurt children, but he doesn’t know that. “I really like to play with matches and Molotov cocktails. It would be a shame if his house went up in flames.”

“You son of a bitch,” he growls, gasping as I squat by his feet and begin to take nails and hammer them into his toes. The constant sound of the hammer driving the nails into the bones is jarring, and just another form of torture.

I get results. Nothing else matters as he sits in front of me tied up.

“I’m just a man looking for some answers,” I remind him. “This can end whenever you choose for it to.”

“I can’t tell you,” he wheezes. “I don’t know. He left and didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t buy that,” I murmur, lifting the hammer and swinging it down to break his kneecaps. It’s a bit old school mafia torture, but it’s effective. “Is he still in California?”

“Yes. Fuck, he is,” the man cries. I’m beginning to get some tears, I’m just going to continue to work this angle. When something is effective, don’t change it.