Fix You

Chapter Six

He ties my hands. I've given up trying to escape it. I don't scream anymore. I can't even cry. What would be the point of it, anyway? All I can do is close my eyes and try to escape in my mind.

His hands are warm. Too warm. It's uncomfortable.

"Get off!" I hiss, kicking at him.

"Now, baby girl, I can't do that."

"I don't want to play anymore!" I scream.

He ignores me. He hovers over me. "I don't like this game!"

"I like this game," he says. "So, we're going to play."

"STOP!" I scream. He covers my mouth to keep me quiet.

"You win!" I yell against his hand. "Just please let's play something else!"

His eyes glint. "I haven't won just yet."

And, for the first time in a while, I actually scream.

     

The next morning, I decided it was time to stop putting off the inevitable and email my boss. I briefly explained my plan for me to live in with Carter and form a connection with him as his "girlfriend" of sorts to get him to start to feel more. I "conveniently" left out the part where he healed my fear of relationships and being touched.

He answered around ten minutes later. As I scanned over his reply, I bristled. He'd written back:

Dr. Ayers—

I'm not comfortable with your course of treatment for Mr. Hackney. It is too personal and unorthodox of a plan, and I strongly suggest you reconsider. I will not agree to this treatment plan. If you decide to go through with it anyway, I will be forced to terminate you since I will not grant you two months' vacation time to complete the therapy, which is what it will classify as. Please let me know ASAP if you will be doing this treatment plan or not.

My heart sank. I didn't want to give up my plan. Not only did I want to help Carter, but I also wanted to help myself. I needed to learn how to trust men, and try to heal my scars so that I could engage in future relationships. I had made more progress with Carter in the last week than I had in years with any number of therapists, actually getting to a point where I felt comfortable hugging someone. But, this was my career, my dream job that I had spent years and thousands of dollars pursuing and had only just gotten. If I left it, I wouldn't be able to afford my house.

I just had to decide which was more important: my job and income or healing myself? When I put it into those simple terms, everything seemed so clear. Plus, Carter was paying me a lot of money to help with the treatment, so I wouldn't be completely without income.

I sighed, sending an email before I could change my mind:

Well, then I guess I'll need to find a new job. I'll be there to clean out my office tomorrow. I hope you'll reconsider before then, but I've made a commitment to my patient. I'm sorry and hope you understand.

I needed to go through with the treatment plan, for me and for him. Deep down, I knew that if I didn't, part of me would always regret it and wonder: What if...? I knew that despite all the reasons not to, I had to do it. Not for him (ok, a little bit for him), but for me.

I sighed, closing my laptop harshly and shoving it to the side. I put my head in my as silent tears began falling down my face. I was giving up my dream job for Carter and our plan that wasn't even guaranteed to work. Am I making a terrible mistake?