“Parker, I know enough about therapy to know this is going to take time to get over. You’ve had your trust in humans, women, medical professionals tainted big time, and that’s not going to heal overnight. I can’t even imagine what it took for you to talk to a therapist or even tell me, but I want you to know that I won’t repeat it to anyone. I promise.”

In those words was the message: I’m not going to force you to tell me more.

Taking a deep breath in, I squeezed her hand with gratitude. “Thank you. There’s more to tell you, so I appreciate it hugely.”

Then she shocked the shit out of me, momentarily shaking the balance that the deep breath had just given me.

“I have a phobia of bats, you know. I’m not talking about screaming because one flies past me, I go catatonic if I see one. If I’m in an area that’s got bats in it, I have a panic attack. You’re probably wondering how I deal with Halloween—” That hadn’t even occurred to me. I was wondering why she was telling me such a random fact. “—but after years of it, I don’t freak out now. I do the girly scream, though. I can’t stop it happening, even if it’s just a bat pinata or decoration.”

When I just blinked at her, she continued, “I also had issues when we were putting the stairs in here,” she gestured with her thumb to where the stairs that led up to her bedroom were. “They initially wanted to put those industrial looking open-backed wooden ones in, but when I thought about it, I could see me slipping as I ran upstairs and getting wedged in between the steps. If I was lucky, I’d just bruise myself, but I had visions of getting stuck between the steps or breaking my leg.”

Looking over at the stairs in question, I saw they weren’t open-backed ones. I could also understand why she’d be worried about it. I’d treated enough patients who’d broken their legs or needed stitches because they’d done just that.

Reading the expression on my face, Ari blew out a breath. “I knew I was right.”

“Accidents happen.” That was an understatement.

“I also have a pantry that’s so full, I’m thinking of adding an extension onto my kitchen. Growing up with four brothers, we were always running out of stuff. Toilet paper, toothpaste, food, you name it, they always got there first. Because of that, I make sure I have a healthy stock of everything, so I don’t ever have the ‘what am I going to do?’ panic.”

Then I realized what she was doing. I’d made myself vulnerable to her with my story, and she was telling me issues some people might laugh about and not take seriously, making her equally vulnerable back to me.

“Thank you,” I croaked, unable to stop my voice cracking.

Instead of pressing me or confirming I was right in my interpretation, she smiled and shrugged. “Beats me telling you I had a boob job and rhinoplasty because I hated looking at myself in the mirror, or because the guys at school said they’d bang me if I had a bag over my head and the lights were off.”

That’s when my mood went from vulnerable to pissed way the fuck off.

“Repeat that…”FiveArianaThe words I’d just spewed hit me. Damn it, Ariana!

Stupid fucking mouth of mine.

“Ari,” he warned. “Repeat what you just said.”

If I was brutally honest, I’d rather French kiss a shark than repeat them, but if he could lay his soul bare, couldn’t I?

Then again…

“My story sounds ridiculous and dumb compared to what you went through.”

And this was something that I’d had to cover in therapy. Guilt.

My therapist had explained that a lot of psychology was based on guilt. Bizarre, right? Even in the worst circumstances that led to people needing therapy to face life, guilt played a huge factor. Victims felt guilt, along with everything else they went through. Hell, even Stockholm Syndrome ran on it. Sympathy for the victim’s abuser, understanding why they did it, love for them, and then guilt because they could get into trouble for what they did, so the victim then did everything to protect them.

When I’d first started seeing my therapist, I’d admitted that I felt guilty for being so hung up on something so shallow compared to what a lot of people went through. I felt guilty for having the thoughts I’d had. Guilty for even thinking it when I know what my family would’ve gone through if I’d actually done what I’d pictured in the shower. Guilty for the people who’d sustained damage to their faces or women who’d had to have their breasts removed, and here I was not even appreciating the ones I’d been given. Every angle I looked at it from, I felt guilt, which made my mental health even worse.

Tags: Mary B. Moore Providence Gold Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net