Tobias: Book One of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Thirty-Six

She knew what he saw. A face paler than usual, large bags under her eyes, and just a ghost of the woman she used to be. It was almost more depressing than the psychiatric therapist's room itself. Whitewashed walls boxed in cushioned maroon chairs that were centered around a small desk and black couch. No sunlight entered the room, leaving its occupants within a cold yet inviting dark.

“Please." The psychiatrist's low voice rumbled."Sit down.”

Jane sat down as Jon left her in the room with only the reflection of the slender man's glasses catching her attention. Surprisingly, the chair soothed her nerves a little bit, its dense cushioning creating a weighted feeling that she hadn't felt since Tobias had had his arms caging her that night they had encountered the bear.

I'm so sorry, Tobias, she practically cried inside of her, trying to keep the annoying tears at bay. How could he ever forgive her after how she had snapped at him? All he had been trying to do was make her a dinner that would have turned into a perfect romantic evening, and she had all but slapped him in the face with her harsh words. She couldn't lose him. Breathing wasn't even as important as he was. She needed him.

“Jane,” the psychiatrist said calmly, drawing her out of her depressing thoughts. "Let's talk a little, okay?”

“Okay." She nodded her head slowly, trying not to snap at the older man.

“Do you feel like you are emotionally stable while at work?” He pulled out a clipboard and began scribbling down something.

“No." She shook her head, although embarrassing it was best for the diagnosing of whatever she had. But I don't have anything, she wanted to scream; instead, she found herself elaborating on, “I don't feel stable anywhere. I always feel like somebody's watching me, judging me, or simply just trying to get in my way, and then I f-feel so angry about everything.”

Out of habit – a habit that had just formed a few weeks ago – she began fidgeting nervously in her seat, something clogging her throat as the psychiatrist asked another question. All her body gave her was the inability to answer as the tears flowed freely now, their salty taste stinging her chapped lips.

“Here." He handed her a box of tissues, and she felt extremely self-conscious as she finally stopped the salty tears from flowing. “Let's start again, shall we?” A corner of his mouth quirked up, the first show of emotion she had seen in the serious man.

“Alright.”

“So, those feelings being watched, being judged, and being targeted, are they an every day occurrence, or is just on some more challenging, difficult days?”

“Every day occurrence. Every night occurrence. Can't fall asleep anymore,” she responded, her frustration almost palpable within the room.

“Have you?”

She frowned. “Have I what?”

“Have you always been able to sleep well or was that always a problem?”

Huffing an agitated sigh, she replied, “It's always been that way. I take Lexapro for the restlessness that I have while sleeping. It's to keep me from moving around and-”

“Did you know that it can be treatment for light anxiety disorder also? It's a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, more commonly known as an SSRI. According to your records, you began taking Lexapro at the age of twelve, a few years after that tragedy in North Carolina. Your father killed your mother and then committed suicide, correct?”

The cold, amused glint in his eye had her feeling more paranoid than anything else. He was laughing at her. The son of a bitch was laughing at her. Hate and anger overcame the despair brought up by his emotionless words, causing her to clench her first to stop herself from smacking that look from his arrogant face.