Keeping his bride

Selina

I ‘VE NEVER HAD physical therapy before, so I’m a little apprehensive when I make my way into the gym on the lower level of the compound. But the moment I walk through the door and see a tall, handsome, young man waving me over with the biggest grin on his face that I’ve ever seen in my life, all the trepidation in my veins slowly melts away.

He has short brown hair and matching soft brown eyes. “You must be Selina. I’m Dwayne.” He holds his hand out, and I take it. He shakes it, never losing his smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from the Vitale family.”

I don’t even know what to say, but Dwayne doesn’t even let a second of awkward silence get in between us. “Let’s start with some light stretching,” he offers.

We start out simple enough. I didn’t realize how out of shape I was until we do some light exercises and I’m already out of breath.

Living on a yacht nine months out of a year makes it hard to get in normal exercise. And sometimes, if I wasn’t a good girl, Constantine would lock me in a small utility closet for days or weeks at a time. Being confined and cramped for long periods of time obviously did a number on my muscles. I just didn’t realize the damage that was done until today. Now I understand why the doctor recommended physical therapy in the first place.

From the start, I can tell Dwayne is very passionate about his job, and I love that about him. Our hour-long therapy session flies by because Dwayne is quite the talker. It turns out he’s the nicest, kindest, purest soul on this earth, and I can see why the Vitales hired him. He spends the hour talking about everything under the sun, including gushing about his boyfriend of four years.

“So, do you think you guys will get married?” I ask him as I go through our final stretches.

An idle smile plays over his lips as he nods. “Oh, someday,” he says before adding, “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

Standing, Dwayne asks me, “So, how do you feel?”

“Better,” I confess. Even though I’m used to being confined to a room or small spaces, I would much rather be doing something like this with my time. “My muscles feel sore but good,” I tell him.

He nods in understanding. “We’ll keep building up your stamina until we can get some real workouts in,” he tells me.

“That sounds great.”

Glancing at his watch, he says, “It’s almost time for your appointment with Dr. Graham. She’s just down the hall and on the left in the library. I’m sure she’ll have the door open for you, waiting.”

My face falls. This is what I have been dreading as soon as Dr. Catalano had mentioned me speaking with a psychiatrist. I don’t want anyone delving into my mind and trying to pluck out everything that’s wrong with me. God, what isn’t wrong with me?

“Don’t worry, Selina. She won’t bite. I promise,” Dwayne assures me with a wink. “She really is the best. She’s not one of those weird quacks.”

Well, if Dwayne likes her, then I guess I can give her a chance. I mean, what other choice do I have really? If I want to stay here, even if it’s not for much longer, then I need to do whatever the Vitales want me to do. And if they want me to see a psychiatrist, then that’s what I’ll do.

Besides, the psychiatrist might prescribe me some medication so that my brain can go offline again and I won’t have to face the truth of my past or my demons that still haunt me. Deep down that’s what I truly want – I want to be numb. I don’t want to feel anything ever again.

Dr. Moira Graham readies her pen on a notepad resting on her lap. She’s short and plump with red hair, brown eyes and glasses that match her hair color.

She has a nice smile and soothing voice, which should make it easy for me to talk to her, but I’ve been shut up like a clam since the moment I walked in the door. She seems patient enough, though, not forcing me to bare my soul or talk about anything in particular, really.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“I notice you keep looking at the door, like you’re afraid someone is going to step through it at any moment.”

My eyes, which were locked on the door, suddenly avert to her face. Shit. I didn’t even know I was doing that.

“Who are you picturing coming through that door, Selina?” she asks gently.

I swallow hard. Speaking his name out loud usually has dire consequences, so I keep my mouth shut and nervously wring my hands in my lap.

She watches my movements with hawk-eyed scrutiny.

Then, she questions, “Do you not feel safe here?” “No,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“And why not, Selina?” she asks.

Shit. Why did I tell her no? No always leads to more questions. Questions I don’t want to answer, because then my deepest darkest secret will be out on the table, and I can’t deal with remembering what happened that awful day.

“I’m never safe,” I tell her simply.

“And why do you think that you’re never safe?” “Because he always finds me.” “Who finds you?” she presses.

“Constantine Carbone.”

Saying his name out loud sends a shiver through me. It’s like speaking the name of a demon and being afraid he’ll appear at any given moment. I can see a change in the psychiatrist’s face as well as she jots down some notes. God, I wish I could see what she’s writing. Does she think I’m crazy? Does she think I asked for all of this? Does she blame me for putting her employer on Constantine’s radar?

No, stop thinking that, I chide myself internally.

I’ve been battling horrible inner thoughts my entire life. I always expect the worst in every situation. Always. And it’s only because the worst always seems to happen. I’ve never actually been happy and safe.

Well, except for when I lived here with the Vitales the first time.

My eyes drift to the wall of windows to the left of me. Thinking about my past here, in this house, causes a familiar ache to take center stage inside my chest. For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to remember. The memories I desperately locked away for many years come flooding back to me. I can almost smell the familiar grass and the way it used to feel on my feet as Nico and I would run through the yard, playing tag or kick ball. We were always outside or finding excuses to go outside.

“What are you thinking about?” the psychiatrist asks, bringing my gaze back to her.

“The past,” I tell her simply.

“The past meaning when you were last here?”

I slowly nod. I wonder just how much the Vitale family told her about me. I’m assuming everything up until this point. She most likely knows my history, knows my past. Probably assumes some of the horrors I’ve been through but couldn’t possibly understand them. No one can but me.

“Do your memories from here help you cope with the present and what happened to you when you were being held captive?”

A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow past it. It’s like she can see right through me. Maybe she can. Maybe I’m as transparent as a ghost. I mean, I do feel like I’ve been dead for years. Never living; merely existing. “Yes,” I whisper. Picking at an imaginary thread on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in, I ask her, “Do you…do you think you could prescribe me something?”

“May I ask what you would want the medicine to accomplish?”

“I…I just want to be numb,” I confess. It’s been difficult facing reality since I realized where I am and who I’m with. I don’t want to see the looks of pity and disgust that I’ll no doubt find sometime soon on Nico’s face.

The psychiatrist glances up at me, her pen finally stopping. “I understand you were on a concoction of drugs when you arrived. Did they ever make you feel better?”

I consider her wording. Did they make me feel better? No, not really. They simply masked everything so that I could ultimately deal with it. I shake my head slowly, answering her honestly.

“I think dealing with past trauma sober would be a much better option than dealing with it while high or incoherent. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I fidget in my chair and glance at the clock on the wall. God, it’s only been thirty minutes. It feels like I’ve been in the hot seat for at least two hours.

“How about this?” she offers. “If you continue to see me and we continue to talk, I might be willing to prescribe you an anti-anxiety drug to help with your panic attacks you told me about. But I haven’t been totally able to assess you on this first visit, Selina, so I don’t feel comfortable just writing out scripts. Do you understand?”

I give her a small nod. I hate to think about trying to cope with all of this sober, but what else can I do? It’s not like I have easy access to drugs like I did before.

“Are we done?” I ask.

“Do you want to be?” she questions.

I nod again.

“Then we can be done,” she says simply. “Same time

Wednesday?” “Okay,” I agree.

I can tell the doctor sees me as a tough nut to crack, and I don’t know if she’ll ever make her way through the hard exterior walls I’ve built up around me over the years. I spent a lot of time fortifying them so that nobody could get in. I don’t even really remember the girl I was before Constantine took me and stole my innocence. Maybe she’s in there somewhere, screaming to get out.

If anyone could find her again, it would be Nico. But I won’t be here long enough for him to break her free. She’s probably lost forever, drowning in an endless pit of sorrow, and I refuse to throw her a life vest. The old Selina is better off dead and gone forever.