Page 93 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)
“It was scary,” I finally say. “Knowing someone had taken me away from Robert. The second before they knocked me out, they kept apologizing. Even when I was in the barn, and they were arguing…”
I press my lips together.
“How are you sleeping?” she asks.
“I’m… barely.” Every night is a struggle, although I haven’t told another soul that. I’ve scarcely admitted it to myself—that my sleep troubles might be a result of being taken. And the accident.
It doesn’t help that every time I close my eyes, I feel Robert’s arm across my chest, protecting me as we careened toward the ditch.
“I told my boyfriend I love him,” I blurt out. “Because I definitely do. But he didn’t say it back. I know he does, but I was really hoping to hear him say the words.”
She takes the subject change in stride. “First love?”
“Only love,” I say firmly.
She smiles. “When you know, you know. And maybe, since he didn’t just automatically say it back to you, it means it’ll be more special when he does.”
I hum. “That… makes me feel better, actually.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Pep talks?”
Her smile turns into a grin. “Perspective.”
“Ah.”
She glances at her watch. “And now, unfortunately, our time is up. Try writing in the journal. Bring it back with you on Friday.”
My cheeks heat up. “Am I going to be reading it out loud?”
She shrugs, and I catch a mischievous gleam in her eye.
Honestly, it’s about time she showed some personality other than serene. Still, I take that to mean, maybe.
I suppose I can work with that.
Lenora is parked at the curb, waiting for me. She looks at me expectantly when I slide in, but I just shake my head.
“Right, right, I shouldn’t ask.”
I laugh and tuck the notebook into my bag. “It is supposed to be confidential.”
“Well, fine. But did you find it helpful?”
I think back on my conversation with Dr. Sayer. The more I think about it, the more I like her definition of her job: to give perspective. She’s not out to heal or fix me—not that I can tell, anyway.
“It was,” I decide.
“Good. Robert is home, eagerly awaiting our arrival.”
I straighten. “He is? Already?”
“Yep. He got a clean bill of health from the doctors. As long as he takes it easy, he should be okay to return to work next week. And you, too.”
I touch my forehead. The stitches came out yesterday morning, before Riley and I went to the diner, but they said to keep a butterfly bandage on it for another day. That came off this morning, leaving a tiny, shiny scar.
And I’ve never been so happy to wash my hair without inhibition.