Finn
*
An image of a dark haired woman came barrelling in my head. I couldn't make out her appearance, and then, a masked man. The unnerving sound of metal. A gunshot. A piercing scream.
My eyes snapped open as I woke with a gasp. I scanned my surroundings frantically. White walls, tall glass windows and an empty room. Daylight flooded in, putting me a little more at ease. There was no darkness, no darkness...
Slowly, I sat up in my seat, hand atop my chest, feeling my racing heartbeat slow down. One tap on my phone revealed that I'd only had my eyes shut for two minutes.
Two minutes, and it had felt like I was drowning for an eternity.
"Fuck," I hissed, sending a hand through my hair. These nightmares - I'd stopped having them months ago, but then they returned out of the blue, and this was the third one I was having this week alone. I hung my head back and sighed. Today was slowly turning out to be the shittiest and most depressing day of my life. Considering I was once in a coma for ten days, that was saying a lot.
I got off my seat and stretched. It was still an hour before my therapy session, and I had hoped to kill time with a short nap. Sleep was the last thing on my mind now, and I wished I had something to fill the void with. I walked to the window and braced my arms on it. I didn't go out often for leisure, choosing to be confined to the emptiness of my apartment in the middle of Zürich. A beautiful city, if I could be bothered to explore it.
Parker often tried to convince me to step outside for mundane tasks like grab a coffee or go for a walk, claiming it would do more than the therapy sessions I spent thousands of dollars on, but he knew better. I appreciated his concern for me, but I wished everyone would get over their need to save me.
Because there was no saving me.
She'd tried, but here I was. Because I was absolutely fucked. Hopeless and doomed to live the rest of my-
I snapped my head back to where my phone lay and grabbed it off the table. Frantic fingers swiped through the screen. There were only five contacts saved on it. Five I cared to save, anyway. One filled my call log than any other.
"Good morning, Mr Harris. Are you ready to leave for your appointment with Dr Levine?"
Parker was an excellent assistant. He'd been my assistant for two years now, since I was discharged from the hospital Elliot and my aunt had me stuffed in. Everything about my stay here was under close watch and intensely private. Mallard was most paranoid - she hated the idea of me being hounded on by the media and anybody outside the family.
"Yes."
"Alright, I'll just notify the boys-"
"Alone," I added softly.
The other side of the line went quiet. Finally, "Y-you want to drive yourself? Without the bodyguards?" His voice was heavily laced with incredulity, and I could imagine him rubbing his temples like he did when confused.
"Especially without the bodyguards."
"But... that isn't the safest idea, Mr Harris. You should let Miller drive you, at least."
"It's fine, Parker. Have the car out, I'll be out in five," I instructed, leaving no room for further argument.
He hesitated, but finally said, "Alright."
I slid my phone into my pocket and walked out of the room. I stepped out into the hallway the same time the neighbor across me shuffled out of her apartment. She was an elderly lady, the mother of a renowned neurosurgeon who lived in Sydney. Her small figure was dressed rather extravagantly, with large white pearls circling her neck and her puppy tucked into the crook of her elbow.
Her eyes lit up when they caught sight of me. "Ah, Mr Harris. Nice seeing you today," she said with a smile.
I didn't encounter her a lot, neither did we converse often during those rare meetings, but she was always so pleased to see me. I didn't care for any of it, but she was friendly, nearly half my height with an odd sense of calm about her.
"Good morning, Agnes," I said, recalling that the last time I called her by her last name she shooed me with a wave of her hand and insisted that I called her by her first name instead. "Don't you look breathtaking today."
"Do I?" She asked, stride slow and calculated. My legs were impossibly long and made it hard to remain by her side. "I always hated this dress. But my son got it for me, and he's in the city with his family for the next few days. I'm meeting them for lunch."
We reached the elevator and I hit a button on the golden panel. "That's a little sneaky, Agnes."
The doors came open and we stepped inside. I tapped on the ground floor and the doors shut.
"Well, what you don't know won't hurt you, will it?"
To my own surprise, my lips curved upward. "I suppose it won't."
Her eyes remained fixated on my face. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile before. Now that is breathtaking. It really brings out your eyes. A devilishly handsome man like you should have ladies falling over him. Do you have a girl?"
I felt my smile falter and my shoulders tense, like a reflex. I never spoke about the topic regardless of who brought it up, be it Mallard, Elliot or the numerous therapists I'd waded through. But Agnes continued to stare at me, expectant, and we were still fifteen floors high.
"I did."
"That's unfortunate. Did you love her?"
My throat was tight. I suddenly felt claustrophobic in the confines of the lift. Maybe I should have waited back in the goddamn apartment. Maybe I shouldn't have been so eager to leave earlier than my schedule, then I would have avoided all of this.
"I did."
Her fingers stroked the small head of her dog. "Do you miss her?"
Fucking hell.
The elevator made a ding and the doors parted open. I bade Agnes goodbye with a small nod of my head and hurried out of the elevator, letting my legs eat up the floor in long strides. Soon I was past the front desk and out the complex. I spotted Parker next to a black vehicle by the curb.
Miller stepped out of the driver's seat and handed me the keys with an unreadable expression on his face. He likely shared Parker's reservations about me driving myself, unaided.
"Thank you, Parker," I patted him on the back. He was a young man with a dark buzz cut and blue eyes that watched me carefully.
I got into the car and started the engine. From the overhead mirror, I watched as Miller joined Parker. Soon their figures disappeared as I drove off. Twenty minutes into the drive, the clinic came into view. It was a small one but imposing still, sheltered by a circling of large trees that kept it hidden from the metropolitan city.
The head of the receptionist behind the desk snapped up when I pushed the door open.
"Good morning, Mr Harris. How are you doing today?" Her smile was automatic and eager, making me question if she extended this kind of greeting to all their patients. I smiled back, but I doubted it reached my eyes like hers did.
"Good," I said quietly, unsure if I knew exactly what I felt. Or if I felt anything at all.
"Dr Levine will be with you for your eleven o'clock soon, you can go right in," she gestured to a door by the corner.
"Thank you," I said and went in. The room was bare, housing only two seats; a smaller one seater where Dr Levine usually sat and a longer one for his patients, big enough to accommodate any number - a couple with issues they needed to resolve, a family in need of therapy, or a multi-billionaire with regrets and nothing but pain eating him-
"Good morning, Mr Harris."
I looked up to find Dr Levine's personal assistant standing before me. I hadn't notice her enter the room. She dropped a bottle of mineral water on the table.
"Dr Levine will be with you in a moment. Would you like anything else?"
I shook my head. "No, thank you. I'm alright."
She left the room, leaving me to stare at the large abstract painting that hung on the wall above Dr Levine's seat. It was some sort of pastel blue, with lazy purple brush strokes slathered on it like an afterthought of the painter. It made me think of my own art. Made me think of all the things I'd abandoned.
Dr Levine came in moments later. He was a middle aged man, almost as tall as I was with dark hair and neatly trimmed facial hair. In his hands were notes, pages of paper bearing information he'd gathered from our previous sessions.
He sat down and crossed his spindly looking legs. "Good morning, Finn. How are you feeling today?"
"Good," I repeated what I'd told the receptionist. He didn't seem phased by my seemingly placid response and nodded his head as he flipped open one of his notes. He sat back in his seat and supported his head with an arm against the armrest.
"How has your week been? What activities have you been up to?"
"None." I said plainly. This was a two hour session, and I wondered how we'd fill it at this pace.
"Have you made contact with anyone new? Asides Parker."
I wondered if Agnes counted. To normal people a two minute conversation with your neighbor was nothing, just a small and rather insignificant part of the busy routine of your life, but not to me.
"I talked to my neighbor Agnes today, on my way out of my apartment."
He nodded and waited, eyes on me, expectant. I stared back hard at him. After a beat, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.
"Her alone?" Maybe at this he would have sounded disappointed, but I doubted it was proper for psychotherapists to berate their clients. Difficult ones like me, at that.
I nodded. He looked back at this notes and scribbled on it. "Why has your week been rather plain, Finn?" He didn't look up as he asked.
"I don't care to have it otherwise."
"I see." He sat up on his seat, "Is that why you won't attend Elliot and Natalie's wedding? Because you don't care about it? About them?" He asked, his fingers stroking his beard.
My jaw clenched. There had been three therapists before him, three that had failed to crack my mind, and I had a feeling he'd be joining that statistic soon.
"I care about them. Just because I don't want to attend their wedding doesn't mean otherwise."
"I doubt they share your views. Going to New York for the wedding might help you more than you think. You need to get out of your comfort zone. It's a necessary step to getting back to your old self."
That was almost laughable. My old self. Who the fuck had that been? Where had that led me to? Instead of voicing my frustrations, I chose to stay silent.
"What occupies your thoughts lately?"
I held in a groan. Fuck this. The quicker I got over this whole thing, the better for the both of us.
"The nightmares are back."
His eyes lit up and he peered at his notes. "Yes, your record here shows that you've been having nightmares since the shooting, but they stopped a year ago. When did they come back?"
"This week. I've had three already."
"Do you remember what they were about?"
"They're always hard to recollect. I can't remember the details, but they're about that night. There was a man with a gun, and..." I hesitated, unsure if I was willing to reveal the other part.
"And?"
"A woman."
"Amanda?"
My chest constricted. I nodded.
"Let's talk about her."
"No," my voice came out hard. I shot him a warning look, but he looked more than ready to trudge forward. But I wasn't speaking about her. I hadn't since I left New York, and I sure as hell wasn't going to talk about her with some therapist. I hadn't spoken about her with anyone else, and he would be no exception.
"Finn, talking about your relationship with her might just be the key to helping you."
I don't need help!
"I don't want to talk about her, Jeff. It's as simple as that."
"Then why do you pay for these sessions? Why are you sat here if you refuse help? It defeats the essence of us being here. I understand it's difficult Finn, but you don't have to do it all at once. Start small. It says here that she was your girlfriend, and apparently she was the target of the shooting by your ex."
There was a long stretch of silence. Maybe it was better I stopped these sessions. It would make Mallard anxious, but I couldn't continue this way. I couldn't endure it any longer. "Elizabeth wasn't my ex. She was my best friend."
"Okay. And since you came to Switzerland, have you spoken to Amanda?"
"No."
"Has she reached out to you?"
"Not once," the truth was bitter against my tongue.
"Have you called her?"
I paused, opting to stare at the painting above his head. And began to count in my head. How many seconds made two hours?
"Finn."
My eyes met his. My voice was like ice as I spoke, "I called her, once. I didn't know what I was more afraid of; hearing her voice for the first time in over a year, or staying another day without it. When she picked, guess what I heard?"
Dr Levine looked on the edge of my little story, pen itching beneath his fingertips. "What?"
There was something simmering under my skin. Anger, or pain perhaps. "A man. He asked who I was, like I wasn't meant to be the one asking him that." My voice sounded harsh to my own ears, but he didn't seem to care about that. He was too busy hanging on to every word that left my mouth.
"Are you sure it was the right number?"
"Yes, because I heard her voice in the background. I ended the call, and that was that."
"And you never called again?"
I scoffed audibly. "Why the fuck would I do that?" My voice was high, enraged. "She doesn't care about me anymore. And do you know the fucked up thing about that? I don't blame her. Not one bit. The pain just never ends. Am I so unlovable? Am I a fucking chore?"
Dr Levine shook his head. "I'm not following, Finn."
I got up from my seat. "Well, my mother certainly felt so, and so did Amanda," I said to him and walked out of the room. The receptionist looked at me in alarm as I stormed out. They were never seeing me here again.
*
I stumbled into my apartment drunk and with an urgent need to take a piss. I pushed my way forward but staggered back when I felt myself held back by something... or someone.
The redhead I'd lazily picked up at the club still had her arm looped around mine, like we were getting married or something, when all we had planned was fuck. I had no idea what possessed me earlier on my way to a bar from the clinic, but it blinded me, stripped me of my reasoning until I was driving to the first club I found on Google Maps.
The girl- fuck if I cared to commit her name to memory- snaked her other arm around my chest and brought me in for a kiss. Soon she was on her knees, battling with my belt in a frenzy. A memory of her snorting coke on the drive back to my apartment flashed through my head. I shook it off and held her back.
"I need to pee," I mumbled and staggered to my room, pushing the door to the bathroom open. My phone began vibrating in my pocket. I slid it out and felt my lips form a hard line at the name on the screen.
I pushed my pants down, aimed my dick into the toilet bowl and swiped on the screen. There was silence on the other end, so I stayed quiet too.
"Why are you quiet?" A voice finally came.
"You were quiet first."
I zipped up my pants and flushed.
"Are you drunk, Finn?"
I stopped by the sink, surprised I still cared to wash my hand. I pinned the phone against my ear with my shoulder. "Why? Am I not allowed to drink?"
Elliot stayed quiet for a moment and let out a sigh. "Of course you are. You're not a kid."
"It sure hasn't been feeling that way. I'm discontinuing the therapy sessions."
"What? Why?" There it was, the worry in his voice. I could never catch a break, could I?
"You've got a nice place here!" Red's sultry voice came from my room.
"Who's that? You have a woman over?"
I rubbed my eyes, exhausted. "Get to the point, Elliot. Please."
"We'll talk about your therapy when you're sober. I called to ask... to ask if you'd changed your mind."
I didn't like the direction of the conversation. "What about?"
"The wedding."
"Fuck, Elli. We've been through this-"
"She's back."
Two words. Two words that sent the air out of my lungs and the high out of my veins. It sent me plummetting down, fast and hard to a reality I'd only dreamt of.
"What?"
"She's back, Finn, and she'll be at the wedding."
My fingers tightened around the phone. I remained still, eyes fixated at nothing, staring into space. Scared to let any thoughts of her roam my head and torture me like they'd done for years.
"I've got to go."
"Finn-"
I ended the call and stormed back into my room. I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of Red on my bed, her attention directed at my laptop that I'd left open this morning. Laugher emanated from the device. Sounds that cut through me like a knife.
"What are you doing?" I hissed with venom.
Her head snapped up to me and she fumbled to pause the video. She shrunk back at whatever she saw on my face. "I-it came on and the video just s-started playing."
I felt my fists go numb from clenching them too tight. "Get. Out." My voice was barely audible, but she rolled out of the bed in alarm and scurried out of the room. I heard my front door shut. I looked back at the laptop. On the screen was me, dark-blond hair covered in baking flour with a small smile on my lips. It looked so foreign, like it had been painted on my face. Sometimes, not often enough, I wished for the feeling associated with that smile.
And inches away from me was her, face frozen in laughter and her midnight black hair stained too.
Perhaps I wasn't angry at Red. It was anger I had for myself, anger that I kept this video, anger that I still found myself coming back to it again and again.
Anger that she had not tried harder.
That anger possessed me again, and I got out my phone.
"Parker? Prepare the jet tomorrow morning for New York."
*
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