Betrayed (Dark Desires 2)

But now, for whatever reason, looking at all of those scantily clad women only reminded me of my pitiful existence and how I had no one who wanted to get close to me for more than a few hours.

It made me think back to my earlier dream – the one about Mason telling me he was going to marry his girl. I didn't want to admit it – not eve to myself – but I longed for that sort of connection with a woman. There was a part of me that really wished I had somebody to call my own – and to have somebody call me the same.

I longed to be with somebody, to know that they were the one – or as Mason would have put it – to call them my soul mate and not feel like a little bitch for saying it. But I wanted that suburban kind of life my friends had. I gave them shit for it, but only because deep down, I yearned for it. The idea of coming home to somebody every day, to know that they loved me unconditionally – it was something I wanted. I wanted it more than I cared to admit – even to myself, most of the time. It was just easier to talk shit because I didn't believe I could ever have something like that.

I'd decided that Dr. Emerson was no longer going to be my doctor. I'd see some other specialist, someone she trusted and would refer me to. I'd probably never see her again though, because like many others in my life, I'd scared her away too. I was too damaged, too broken, and let things go too far.

Not even my therapist could put up with me. How pathetic was that? Talk about a sad commentary on the state of one's life and being. It was like getting turned down by a hooker – equally as humiliating.

I took a long pull from my beer and turned toward the street, watching all of the people strolling by, blissful in their own existence. Happy people and happier couples walking by hand in hand, content in their lives. As I watched them, my mood turned dark and I wondered how many of them had to watch as their best friend was killed right in front of them? How many of them were responsible for the death of a loved one? How many of them had ever experienced the horrors of being in a combat zone? How many had to dodge bullets and walked away feeling like they'd cheated death many times over?

Yeah, not many, I was more than sure.

I was caught up in making up stories for the yuppies and hipsters out on the street – the man with the handlebar moustache worked a boring job in accounting and was secretly in lo

ve with his girlfriend's brother, but too stubborn to admit it. His girlfriend – a pretty blonde – was too busy thinking about how ugly his moustache was to even notice he wasn't looking at her, but was instead, looking past her at the handsome man walking alone on the street, wishing he could go home with him.

Yeah, I was making their lives sound as shitty as mine. That had to be healthy, right?

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked from behind me.

There was a time when nobody could sneak up on me. When letting, somebody get behind you like that meant certain death. As a result, I was hyper-vigilant and completely aware of my surroundings – including who was in it. Or at least, I was. Now that I was home, a lot of things had changed.

But I was so caught up making up all those stories in my head and making people seem as miserable as I was, I hadn't heard her come out to the patio – much less walk up behind me. I turned and stared into the large, green eyes of Dr. Emerson – dressed very much like she had been the last time we'd met at this bar. Her auburn hair fell in waves over her shoulders, there were no glasses to hide those beautiful eyes. She wasn't in a short skirt this time though. No, this time she was in black skinny jeans and a pink lacy top that flowed around her tiny waist, drawing attention to the curvature of her hips.

She was as gorgeous as ever, but I had to tear my eyes away from her. Nothing good could come from me ogling all of those delicious curves to her body.

“Uhh no,” I said, sitting up straight and trying not to stare too much. “Not at all.”

“Good,” she said, sitting down beside me. “You looked lonely out here, so I thought I'd come out, say hi, and introduce myself – so hi, I'm Amelia.”

Amelia. Amelia Emerson.

“What a beautiful name,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I'm Drew, obviously.”

“It's nice to meet you, Drew,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand. “I figured we could start fresh and try this again, you know? Start out on the right foot this time maybe.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “But I actually thought I'd never see you again, honestly.”

She shrugged. “Because I transferred you, you mean? I did that for your own good, Drew. I hope you understand that. I want you to get the help you need and I didn't think I was up to the job. I was letting my feelings interfere with your treatment. And you deserve better than that.”

“Is that really the only reason?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink as she looked down at her hands in her lap. She smiled, a shy smile, and then looked up at me again.

“No, of course not,” she said. “I mean, I'm here, aren't I?”

“I'm thankful that you are, to be honest with you. It gives me a chance to properly apologize,” I said. “I know I screwed up, yelling at you like that. You didn't deserve that. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It's just hard dealing with all this crap in my head and having no one – and I mean no one – who wants to get close to me. I feel like I'm completely broken. Toxic. And that maybe people can see that and avoid me like the plague because of it.”

“I want to get close to you, Drew,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand. “That's why I requested the transfer. I knew I couldn't keep seeing you as only a client. Because my interest in you is far from professional.”

I gave her a small smile I hoped didn't look as sad as it felt. “I'd like that – Amelia,” I said. “I really would. I mean, obviously, my interest in you is intensely personal. And maybe I was only fooling myself that we could have both.”

“Well, I can't promise anything,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand. “but I'd like to start from square one with you. I'd like to get to know you better. The real you and not the facade you put up for people. I want to see what's behind that mask, Drew.”

“You don't have to promise me anything,” I said softly, staring at where her hand touched mine. “I just appreciate the company. And as far as seeing behind the mask – I think you've already seen behind it. And it's a pretty fucked up space.”

She gave me a gentle smile. “It's not all that bad, Drew. I see the good man you are. I can see your good heart. You take great pains to hide it – to hide the real you – but I can see it. And it's what draws me to you.”