Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
“Your son?”
Oh my God. Plot twist! I’ve been waiting weeks for a curveball like this.
Instantly, my pen is poised over my paper, ready to take copious notes. “This is the first time you mentioned a son.”
“I had no reason to. The problems in my marriage have nothing to do with him.”
“Yes, but it would still be fruitful for me to get a better sense of your family unit,” I point out. “I need to know all the facts.”
Hunter watches me through slitted eyes. “I see. So knowing all the facts is important?”
I tense at the jab, which is obviously directed at me, Demi, and not the fake Dr. Davis. “When the facts are true or relevant to the discussion, then yes. When someone is stirring up trouble for no reason, then no.”
“For no reason?” The muscles in his jaw harden. “Whatever. Fine. You want to hear about my son? I’ll tell you about my son. He’s a little prick.”
I’m taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. “Why do you say that?”
“The kid’s a snitch. If it weren’t for him, my wife would have no idea about that goddamn affair with my assistant. He’s the one who told her.”
“I see.”
“He showed up at my office one day over summer break. He came by to say hello and caught me banging my secretary on the desk.” Disgust twists Hunter’s features. “Did he try to get an explanation from me? Ask what his mother may have done to drive me to such extreme actions? Absolutely not. Instead he took off, ran home, and told his mother what he saw.”
There is something scarily…realistic about this story.
Hunter’s visible resentment tells me this is more than play-acting. “How old was he?”
“Fourteen. A fourteen-year-old punk who thought he was a man, the big hero who was gonna rescue his mom. Joke’s on him, though. Kathryn didn’t care. Of course she wasn’t going to leave me. Look at me—rich, attractive. She can’t do any better than me. My son thought he was doing the right thing, but as it turns out, nobody gave a shit about his opinion.”
Hunter angrily shakes his head. “And it scarred the kid, because it turns out his mom already knew about that affair, and the previous affairs before it, and she begged him to just look the other way because his father was such a good man and a good dad and a good provider. When he tried to argue, she called him a troublemaker and made him feel like he’d done something wrong by telling her the truth. And so years later, when he saw something else he knew might hurt another woman, he wanted to keep his mouth shut.” He’s glaring at me now. “And it took a fucking lot for him to say anything. He asked his friends if he should, if they would want to know, and in the back of his mind a little voice was saying don’t get involved, it’s only gonna blow up in your face again, and look what happened—it fucking did.”
Silence crashes over the bedroom. Hunter is visibly furious. I don’t know if it’s with me, or with himself, or with the world. He scrapes his fingers through his hair again, stone-faced.
“Hunter,” I start carefully. “You…told your mother that you caught your father cheating? And…so wait…all these things you’ve been describing during our sessions, they actually happened to you? Your dad is the one who…”
I trail off in confusion, as my brain cycles through our sessions in an attempt to parse out which stories were real and which ones he fabricated to suit the assignment. Obviously his father was the inspiration for the narcissist he’d been pretending to be, but how much of it was an act?
“Whatever,” Hunter mutters, rising to his feet. “I was trying to be a good friend, but you know what, screw this. We’re done for the day. See you next week.”
I’m helpless to do anything as he storms out of my room. I want to go after him, but my mind still feels muddled. Too many facts are scrambling my brain. I flip through my notes, reading over the Thanksgiving story, all the affairs, the wife’s lack of a backbone and my patient’s cruel dismissals of anyone he views as inferior. Is this Hunter’s family? How much of it was embellished?
The one thing I’m certain was real, was the agony in his voice when he recounted telling his mother what he saw, and being told he was a troublemaker for trying to protect her.
And I said the same thing to him, accusing him of stirring up trouble.
Fuck. Sighing, I scrub my palms over my face, as guilt twists my stomach into knots. Maybe Hunter’s motives were one hundred percent pure, after all.
But…he’s still wrong, dammit.
On Friday we go to Corinne’s housewarming. She’s low key so she didn’t want a party, but Pippa and I talked her into it and she agreed on the condition that we kept it small.