![]() I’m glad the doc’s not looking at me now. An avalanche of guilt presses my body into a stiff curl. “I…I started seeing someone else while C…Camren and I were separated,” I explain, wiping my sleeve across my cheek. A light hum warms my chest, clammy moisture springing up my heated neck. I don’t want to get sucked into that night in our bedroom. Blinking my eyelids to push the wet drops down my cheeks, I aim my gaze at the deadpan doctor. Our marriage was fraying already, but I didn’t have to set it on fire. “No, just…the bed around my legs.” I can’t hold my knees to my chest tightly enough, my lips pinching back silent sobs. Just like that, huh? This doctor’s got the bedside manner of troll with an anal itch, but something about his directness makes my body fold up in my chair like a pretzel. “My husband and I were having an argument.” Pulling a deep breath into my belly, I start again. If I freak out in here, he’s going to have me committed. The doctor shoots a look at my twisting fingers. “My therapist s…sent me to the hospital because I had a screaming fit in h…her office,” I say, my wringing hands doing nothing to hide the quivering. “Is something making you nervous?” Turning back to his crossword puzzle gives me just enough irritation to form some words. I’ve never stuttered in my entire life-until last week. It’s a hell of a time for my mouth to go all broken record on me. The doctor finally glances up, his expectant brow as obnoxious as I am nervous. Relaying the event that started them is what served me up this shit sandwich in the first place. We’re supposed to be talking about a medication regimen to stop my fits. “So, what can we do for you, Coral? What brings you here?”Įvery muscle in my body tightens, the bookshelves along the walls of this tiny room already suffocating me. I bet he’s secretly doing a crossword puzzle. “Yes, I heard about that.” Still no eye contact. “I’m tired,” I say, tilting my head to see if he’s listening. Psychiatrists are so damn pretentious, but he’s got the answers that I’m needing. All of my struggles are neatly 3-hole-punched and filed inside of the yellow one splayed open in front of him. I’m sure he’s got some golf game to watch on SportsCenter instead of scowling behind a stack of binders. The graying man in the white medical coat barely looks up from his desk and whatever the hell he’s writing, the question rolling out of his mouth in a hurry. Through the best times and the worst times ![]()
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