Chapter Five

 

Rory

 

What I wanted to say was, “My fucking dumbass friend was the one who initiated this, not me,” but I didn’t. The kid looked ready to shit himself already and probably didn’t need my bitter attitude any more than I needed to admit to some stranger that I needed help.

Twenty-four. I guessed he could pass for twenty-four when I looked closer.

Something about him had set me instantly on edge when I’d answered the door, and because of it, I was unwilling to open up. For the life of me, I couldn’t peg what it was. It wasn’t the normal feelings I got when confronted by people I didn’t know or trust; it was different somehow. He didn’t have a superiority complex, and he wasn’t flaunting his degree or schooling in my face like I was some kind of idiot. Babbling, yes. Flaunting, no. There was no indication he looked down on me or thought me stupid for requiring counseling to begin with, but whatever it was, I was uncomfortable.

Instead of answering his question right away, I tapped another smoke from my pack, hearing Krew’s berating words. Have you noticed you smoke more when you’re stressed, sugar? Ignoring the voice of annoyance, I lit up and tossed my lighter back on the table as I watched the guy fiddling with the papers in his little brown folder. He was increasingly anxious over my lack of response, and a mild sense of guilt swam through me that I was causing such a reaction.

He really did look young. Telling me he was twenty-four initially shocked me, except when I considered he did have a degree of some kind which meant he’d attended school for a while. His brown hair was thick and fairly long on top, swept to the side, but not perfectly styled. Its slight disarray was probably the result of the wind or his fingers—messy, yet not in any way unappealing.

And why the fuck does that matter?

Although he was shorter than me, his preppy clothes hid a nice frame—not too skinny but slender and maybe defined—I couldn’t tell. But it was his damn lips which continuously drew my eyes every time I looked at him. They were plump. The top one just about as full as the bottom. As I watched him think, he gnawed on the corner of his lower lip, showing a glimpse of perfect teeth.

Again, why was I noticing all this?

“You should know,” he said with a hitch in his voice. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Everything we discuss is one hundred percent confidential. Although, should you share anything with me that gives me any reason to believe you are in a dangerous situation, are a victim of abuse, or which gives an indication you are breaking the law in any way, I am obligated to report it.”

Well, look at that, Doogie plays by the rules. And based on the delivery of his little speech, it almost killed him to get it all out. He scrunched his nose and tried to cover a cough as he shifted in the chair. His discomfort seemed to extend from social to physical, and when he clutched his chest and coughed into his shoulder, I asked, “Are you okay?”

He nodded as he squinted, twitched his nose, and made every effort to smile. Why the hell was he blinking so much? “Yeah, I’m great. Umm… if you don’t want to share today, it’s okay. I can collect the information I need and—” Another cough. His voice came out raspier the longer he spoke.

“I haven’t been able to go outside during the daytime in over six years,” I blurted over his coughing before he could continue his yammering.

The shock of having spoken those words made me rigid. Aside from Krew, I’d never talked about my issues before. No part of me wanted to get into specifics, but I felt as though I owed him something.

When his coughing assault ended, he started breathing all weird. Like he was trying to pull oxygen, and it was increasingly difficult or painful. His anxiety piqued my own, and I furrowed a brow when I realized he hadn’t even heard what I said. All that effort to open up and share, and it had gone unnoticed because the guy was submerged in some sort of bizarre struggle to breathe. What the hell was going on?

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed as he jumped from the chair, another coughing fit assaulting him.

He sprinted for his bag and rooted inside almost desperately. Frozen in examination, I couldn’t sort out what the hell was going on until he pulled out a puffer and proceeded to inhale two generous hits from the device. My gaze darted to the cigarette burning low in my hand.

“Fuck!” I butted it out and jumped from the couch, wavering in place, unsure what to do. “What is going on? Do you need help?”

Adrian waved me off and took a minute to breathe deeply as he held a secure hold on his puffer like it was his lifeline. Those things are lifelines, idiot. His chest rose and fell with exaggerated deep breaths before he turned to me, his discomfort and uncertainty glaring.

“I’m sorry. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.” He paused and shrugged before his gaze drifted to the floor. “And about a million other things,” he mumbled.

What the…

“So, you're just gonna let me chain smoke while you die in my living room? Open your mouth, and fucking say something. Jesus, I can go on the balcony.”

“It’s your… house. It didn’t… seem appropriate to ask that of you.”

How the hell was he a counselor? The guy didn’t possess a backbone. At all. All I had to do was exist, and I intimidated him. What the hell was he so afraid of, and why didn’t he open his fucking mouth?

“Come on,” I grunted as I indicated across the room. “Let’s sit outside. You need fresh air now.”

He didn’t disagree. Shoving his puffer into his pocket, he followed me outside onto the balcony where he took a minute to catch his breath as he peered out over the river.

“You have a gorgeous view.” The remark was timid and said more to himself than to me.

“It’s all right.”

After a hesitant minute, he sat in the lounge chair across from me, his body still rigid. He’d been there a half an hour, and we’d gotten nowhere fast. Instead of talking about myself—which was the whole point of him being there—I nudged him down a different line of questioning, hoping to delay the inevitable. I had no idea why, only that it felt safer than talking about me.

“So, you have a Bachelor of Psychology? Do you attend our local Uni?”

“Umm… Yeah, I did, or do rather, since I’ll be continuing with my master’s degree in September. I’d eventually like to get my doctorate in psychology. But I’m not from around here originally. My folks would have preferred I went to the U of T. Bigger and more prestigious, you know?”

His focus was continually drawn to the shimmering water, and he zoned out while he spoke.

“Where’s home?”

“Marianna Bay, up north. It’s a small town of only about eight thousand. Just outside of Collette Cove.”

“I know of it. So, once you’re all schooled up, are you gonna take your degree home to practice?”

He broke his stare from the water and cut his eyes in my direction while fixing his glasses. The connection was brief before he looked to the sliding glass door.

“I should grab my folder, so we can keep going. We kinda got off track.”

He was up and yanking the door aside before I could object, so I let him go. I’d have preferred avoiding it altogether, but if I didn’t move forward with the appointment somehow, he was just a stranger in my apartment who I was entertaining.

That realization should have felt weird, but oddly, it didn’t.

Adrian returned a minute later with his folder and pen. Peering again across the water, he seemed caught in a brief trance before he snapped out of it and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee to give himself a surface to work from. He rested his folder in place and opened it again before scanning the papers.

“Do you have a family doctor?” he asked. No preliminaries, he jumped right back to it and turned our meeting formal again.

“Yeah, Dr. Greenberg.”

He jotted that down and moved to the next.

“Are you currently taking any medications?”

I shook my head and brought my hand up to gnaw on my thumbnail. I needed a smoke. Krew was right, the bastard.

When Adrian asked if I had family members with diagnosed mental health disorders, I almost laughed but contained it because his tension was already peaked, and the last thing I wanted to do was further agitate him.

“No.”

He adjusted his glasses and ran his tongue along his upper teeth as he studied the forms. Something in the action warmed my blood enough I looked away and adjusted myself in the lounger.

“So, I guess this is where I spill my problems at your feet, and you play doctor and fix me up, am I right?”

Hearing myself even suggest talking made me flinch internally. For whatever reason, seeing the kid look more uncomfortable than me made me want to take one for the team. What team? I had no idea.

He chuckled, a musical rumble deep in his chest I didn’t expect. “Yes and no. Mental health isn’t like curing pneumonia. I can’t give you an antibiotic and make it go away necessarily, but there are a lot of options, depending on what’s going on, that I can pull from and hopefully make life more bearable. Often times, mental health disorders are a result of chemical imbalances in the brain. Medications can help a lot in those cases. It’s not as easy to diagnose and fix as, let’s say, a broken bone, but we’ve come a long way. I should also point out, I’m not a doctor, so if I feel you need medical intervention, it would be my job to refer you to a psychiatrist.”

As he spoke, I watched him go from shy and nervous to confident and self-assured. The transformation was remarkable. The minute he was talking about something he knew, his disposition changed.

“So, why am I here, Rory?” he finished.

Something about the way my name rolled off his tongue rose the hairs on the back of my neck. My fingers ached for the feel of a cigarette, but I resisted as I broke eye contact and tilted my head to look at the stars. I’d voiced it once, why couldn’t I do it again?

I blew out a breath and forced myself to speak. “As you’ve probably gathered, I’m not a fan of daylight or any light for that matter. Haven’t been out in the daytime for over six years.”

He sat silently, listening and waiting for more. It didn’t come, because I clammed up and couldn’t continue. When I looked down from the sky, his gaze was intense and full of intrigue. The little study-nerd was chomping at the bit to ask me a million questions, I could tell. There was a flash in his dark eyes, and I got sucked in, wondering what color they were. Then, I realized I was staring—and not in a good way.

I snapped my head to the side table where I ordinarily tossed my smokes and remembered they were still inside.

“Do you think if I smoke out here it will bother you?”

I wouldn’t look at him—couldn’t—but I caught the slight shake of his head from my periphery and jumped up to go retrieve them. Back in the house, Samson was being all weird, sniffing and pawing at Adrian’s shoulder bag by the door. The cat clearly had taken a liking to the kid, if I was basing it on his extreme purr-fest when Adrian had arrived and the fact that he seemed to want to crawl inside his bag and escape.

I swiped my smokes off the table as a thought struck me. “Are you allergic to animals?” I called through the open door. He’d said, about a million other things.

“Surprisingly no. The world in its entirety including pollen, grass, trees, dust, you name it, but animals somehow don’t qualify. Used to have cats growing up. Love them.”

Figured. It would have been the perfect excuse to tell Krew I couldn’t watch his cat anymore. I went back out on the balcony and closed the door behind me.

“Good thing, because I think the brat is making a nest in your bag. I just didn’t want him to get it all furry if it was going to be a problem.”

Adrian peered through the door and smiled. “Nah, he’s fine. He’s beautiful. How old is he?”

I could take the shift in conversation, but fuck if I knew the answer to that question. “No clue, he’s not my cat. I’m watching him for a friend while his apartment gets painted. He’s had him for as long as I’ve known him.”

Adrian returned his gaze to me, his smile still lingering, and that small hint of joy returned to his eyes. The guy really did like cats. “I take it you aren’t a cat person.”

I shrugged and pulled a cigarette from my pack, fitting it between my lips. “Not really, but I’ve had him here a week, so I’m getting used to him.”

I cupped my hands to block the wind and lit up, ensuring I blew my smoke in the opposite direction so Adrian wouldn’t get a lungful.

It grew silent between us while I smoked through a cigarette. When I butted it out into the ashtray, Adrian cleared his throat and shoved his glasses up his nose.

“What is it about sunlight that bothers you?”

I stared off into nothing as memories surfaced and my skin heated and prickled with static. I brushed a hand down my arms and shook my head to send away the images I could still see all too easily if I tried.

“Everything,” I whispered. It was barely an answer, but I couldn’t find more of an explanation.

He paused, but not for long before he pushed another question forward. “So, what might happen if you went outside on a bright sunny day, or if you went into a properly lit room?”

Unable to help myself, I continued to rub vigorously at my arms where the hairs stood on end. “Lots of shit happens. Depending on the intensity of the light, sometimes I can manage to find my way to safety, other times, I’m crippled with…”—fuck— “fear, and I can’t move or think straight.”

When I thought he’d focus on symptoms, he asked, “Safety? What does safety look like to you?”

“Darkness. Shadows.”

He nodded, his wheels visibly turning. “Can you explain how it feels when you are in sunlight?”

There it was.

I huffed a long breath and stared across the water. My stomach roiled, and a blanket of vulnerability wrapped around me so tight it made it hard to think or breathe. With the answer to that question would come another, then another, and another after that. Soon, he’d be asking if there was a significant event in my past that could have caused me to feel that way.

No, that wasn’t a road I was ready or willing to head down. Krew was wrong. Talking about it wasn’t going to help. Adrian was wet behind the ears, there was no way in hell he could help me.

Thankfully, Samson took that awkward moment to paw at the door and insist on being let outside.

“Can he come out?” Adrian asked, smiling and tapping the glass between them.

“I haven’t risked it yet. Ten stories up, and I can’t be sure how many lives he’s already gone through. Krew would cut my balls off if I broke his cat.”

Adrian chuckled again, the same musical sound that pinched my chest in a weird way. He leaned down from his lounge chair and wiggled his fingers in front of Samson.

“Sorry, baby boy, you need to stay inside.” His high-pitched cooing got him a pleading kitty response which made me roll my eyes.

“What if I held him?” Adrian asked. “Could he come out then?”

He turned innocent dark eyes in my direction, and I found myself nodding without even thinking about if it was a good idea or not.

Carefully opening the balcony door, Adrian scooped up Samson so he wouldn’t run off, then he rested him gently on his lap. The pair spent the next few minutes having their own conversation while I watched the exchange in awe. Adrian scratched his fingers through the cat’s fur in much the same way Krew liked to massage my scalp, and it sparked a seed of desire I quickly pushed away. I wasn’t sure what it was about that kid that piqued my curiosity, but I had to fight off a smile when he began rubbing noses with Samson and baby-talking him. He was too fucking cute.

When he flinched away from the cat and curled his nose, I frowned.

“What?” I asked. “Does he stink or something?” Krew hadn’t mentioned that I needed to bathe him. Was that something I was responsible for?

“He… He smells like beer.”

“What?!”

“And his face is all damp like he’s been rubbing his nose in it.”

Well, that made no sense. When I drank beer, it was later in the night and always from the bottle. My empties were stored under the kitchen sink, inaccessible to cats. There were no open bottles laying around.

“That’s not possible.”

Adrian flipped the cat around and held him out like I was supposed to sniff it or something. Seriously? I groaned and leaned in, keeping far enough back I wouldn’t get a face full of fur. And shit, the cat smelled like a damn brewery.

“What the hell?!”

I was out of my seat and flying back in the house with Adrian on my heels, Samson cradled in his arms. Scanning the living room first, I didn’t see any indication of spilled beer or leftover bottles. I aimed for the kitchen next, and it was the same there. Nothing.

Adrian stood in the middle of the living room looking a little lost and let Samson down when he started to squirm. The cat bounded right back to the kid’s shoulder bag by the door. We both watched him, and when he started nuzzling his nose around the base, I noticed the discoloration in the fabric, like it was wet on the bottom. Adrian must have seen it at the same time, and we both crossed the room.

I tossed Samson out of the way as Adrian tilted his bag to the side, revealing a significant wet spot all on the underneath of his bag like something had spilled inside. With it, came the distinct odor of beer.

“Oh, my God. What the hell?”

He unzipped the top and started pulling things out one by one until he got to a lunch bag where the mess had originated. He opened the top and removed a can of beer with distinctive holes pierced into the side which looked to be the result of fork tines.

“So, I’m guessing beer was not on the menu for lunch today.”

The look I received could have melted iron, and it might have been more threatening coming from anyone else. Adrian couldn’t pull it off. He cupped a hand under the dripping can and bolted for the kitchen. I followed closely but kept my distance while he popped the tab and finished draining it into the sink. He was fuming if the fire in his cheeks was any indication.

“There is recycling in the cupboard underneath,” I explained, nudging the door with my foot.

With barely a nod, he pulled it open and dropped the can in the bin. Then, he didn’t move. He stood stalk still, back to me as he looked off into nothingness.

“Was… Was that some kind of a prank?” I asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t intentionally pack a beer for lunch.”

No response. His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, but he remained distant, muscles taut, hair in disarray.

“Adrian?” I didn’t know how to properly address him, but I took a chance and used his first name since “Mr. Anderson” felt a little too formal for the situation.

He sucked in an audible breath and turned around making brief eye contact before ducking his head and moving back into the living room.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Gallagher. This session has really been an utter mess. I think it would be best if we rescheduled. If I’m being honest, this is my first time solo with a client, and I’ve clearly failed quite miserably. I’ll convene with my boss and let him know I was unable to provide adequate help. He’ll probably find you someone else. I should go.”

Well, fuck! Were his eyes glassy? Was he crying? There was no tremble to his voice, but he wouldn’t look at me any longer. He picked up his bag and examined the bottom, clearly debating his next move.

“Umm… Do you mind if I rinse this off in your sink first? If I go back to work with a bag wet with beer, I’ll probably get fired, too. Which was probably their intent.” He mumbled the last part under his breath, but I caught every word.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stood in front of him with my arms crossed over my chest and waited for the eye contact he was denying me. It took another minute, but eventually, he lifted his gaze. His jaw was tight, and darkness dampened his spirit. As I suspected, his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

“Who’s responsible for the beer in your lunch bag?”

His jaw ticked, and his gaze flashed away for a beat before returning. His strength was waning, and his sad attempt at a tough-guy exterior was shattering with every second that ticked by. I could see plain as day how hard he was fighting to remain composed while on the job.

“Drop the professional counselor bullshit and talk to me, Adrian. Who did this to you?”

He met my eyes directly and pressed his well-defined lips together with force before deciding I wasn’t backing down without an answer. “My roommates. They’re…” He sighed. “They’re a bunch of assholes. Can I please rinse my bag?”

I narrowed my eyes and studied him for a good hard minute before taking his sodden bag and heading to the kitchen. After unloading the contents on the counter, I ran the saturated section under warm water for a few minutes, washing away any evidence of beer. By the time I was finished, the bag was too wet to be usable, and I didn’t have one I could loan him either.

“Do you have any plastic grocery bags? I can line it, so everything stays dry. I’ll put it in the wash when I get home later.”

All I had were the kitchen bags I used in my garbage can, but it did the trick, and he transferred everything back into his shoulder bag while I watched.

Roommates? Was it some kind of prank? Were they trying to get him in trouble? Was it merely a poorly executed joke?

My jaw ticked as I ground my molars. An ugly curtain of anger seeped into every crevice of my body as I considered what it all meant. Adrian seemed hell-bent on getting out of my apartment as fast as possible, so I didn’t question him further, despite the burning need to know more.

When he grabbed his lunch bag, he peered inside and pulled out a zipper bag which contained a sandwich. The zipper part had been pulled open, and all that remained was a beer-sodden mess of soggy bread. He curled his nose and dropped it in the garbage can without a word. His granola bar and apple were salvageable, but it was hardly a lunch.

“Do you need some food for later?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Not a big deal.”

He dropped his lunch bag inside the other and hooked it over his shoulder. “Thank you for the help. I meant what I said, I’m sorry for this mess, and I’ll talk to my boss about getting someone in who is better equipped to handle this because clearly, I’m not.”

“Shut the fuck up right now.”

His head snapped up in alarm, and his dark eyes grew wide with terror making me regret my tone. I didn’t have much of a filter anymore. My shit life left me bitter most of the time. But I regretted it right away. Instant uncertainty took him over, and he backed up a step, putting space between us.

“Listen,” I said, reining in my anger. “This mess of an appointment wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me? You’re new at this. I’m new at this, so relax and don’t go running off and giving up.”

I had no idea where my little speech was coming from, but I couldn’t stop. Even when every part of me wanted to agree with him and cancel the whole counseling thing altogether, I couldn’t let him walk out the door thinking he’d failed when I wasn't exactly the most forthcoming patient.

“How about we just reschedule and start from the beginning,” I suggested when all he could do was gape.

He pushed his glasses up his nose and scanned the living room with uncertainty. “Are… Are you sure?”

Nope, not even a little bit.

“Positive.”

He swallowed a tight lump which made his Adam’s apple bob. He was nervous, or unsure, or both, I couldn’t tell. The motion drew my eyes momentarily, and I had to shake myself free from the odd tingle that shivered over my skin.

What. The. Hell?

“Thank you. I’ll check my schedule once I get to the office, and I’ll call to see when’s a good time.”

The air between us grew thick and uncomfortable. Thankfully, Samson bounded over and weaved between Adrian’s legs, saving the moment. I had no idea what this kid was doing to me.

Adrian squatted down and pet him until Samson’s motor revved up. “See you later, you furry ball of cuteness.”

God, he sounded like Krew when he used all those sappy names.

When he was done saying goodbye to the cat, he stood, and we exchanged an awkward smile before he left. That was nothing like how I’d expected my night to go.