Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
But as I open my mouth to call to her, she’s gone. The front door closes. And because I’m not yet ready to leave, and because I wouldn’t put it past him to show up here, I hurry forward and turn the dead bolt.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve gathered my belongings. My body is tense, rigid. I wish there was a peephole through my office door. But at least it lets out into a hallway—a hallway where other offices exist in case I need to call for help.
That makes me pause. Do I think Gabriel means me harm?
I can’t say yes. But I can’t say no, either.
The second I step outside, I swear I feel eyes on me. That creeping, tingling feeling, like someone’s about to sneak up behind me. I’d say I’m nearly used to it—I’ve felt it every day since that night at Gabriel’s apartment. And even before that, though I’d chalked it up to being in my head. So it’s not new, but you don’t get used to feeling like someone’s prey. I wore flats today, just in case.
I swallow.
In case I need to be able to run.
I cast a look behind me. The sidewalk is full of people, hurrying home after hours, hand in hand on an early date, mothers grasping children’s hands. But no Gabriel. Random eyes slant toward me as I search the crowd. I’m sure they’re thinking, Who’s that crazy lady who won’t stop looking over her shoulder?
I recount the diagnostic material for paranoid personality disorder: pervasive, persistent, and enduring mistrust of others—something like that. But that’s not me, right? It’s not all others. It’s just him.
I clutch my bag tighter and turn a corner, varying my route. Because that’s what I do now.
My phone is in my hand, my fingers sweaty on it. Perhaps I should call Irina. Or Dr. Alexander? Or even call Sarah, tell her I could use her back at the office, or offer to go to her house. No, no, she has a child. I can’t have him following me there, of all places.
I turn again, then step into a minimart. I feign browsing magazines, but really, I’m watching the sidewalk. Two men walk by. A young woman. Two kids, hurrying home from school. No Gabriel.
When I step back outside, a magazine in hand—I didn’t want to piss off the guy who ran the place after standing there browsing for ten minutes—I recognize where I am. Dr. Alexander’s practice is a block away. Which means I’ve walked several miles, circling my usual route, trying to catch Gabriel on my tail.
Not normal. Not normal at all.
But it is an answer of sorts to my problem.
I hurry toward his office, glancing at the time on my phone—6:10 p.m. Dusk is just starting to settle over the world. But maybe he’ll still be there. Maybe he’ll let me in, and I can talk, relieve some of this pressure inside me. Maybe he can give me his professional opinion—“No, Meredith, I think you’re totally normal.” I snort out loud. I’m not normal. This isn’t normal. I can admit that much to myself.
I catch sight of him a second later. His tall, lanky form skips down the steps of the building, jangling keys in his palm, whistling, not a care in the world—if only that could be me.
“Dr. Alexander,” I call. He doesn’t hear me and turns to walk the opposite way, the flowering cherry tree above him making it almost picturesque. “Dr. Alexander!” I call, louder this time, pounding down the sidewalk behind him.
This time he turns. His eyes are wide, his stance defensive—like he’s being accosted on the street by a patient, which he is.
It makes me take a breath. Remember myself.
What would I think if someone did this to me?
I’d think they were desperate. Which I am.
“I’m sorry to stop you like this,” I say. “I just really need to talk. It’s an emergency.”
Dr. Alexander stares down at me. His mouth opens, and he hesitates. “I’m sorry, Meredith, but I have plans this evening.”
“Please. I can—” I dig in my purse. “I can pay in cash. I can talk while we walk. I really need help.”
“Meredith, you know as well as I do that we have to have boundaries around our practice.” He gives me a grim smile. “But I can refer you to an emergency clinic, or my receptionist is still at his desk. You could call and see if we can work you in for tomorrow morning. I’ll come in early, if need be.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t wait until tomorrow morning. And there’s no way in hell I’ll go to an emergency clinic. I can’t tell some random stranger what’s happening.
When I open my eyes, I pin Dr. Alexander with my gaze, and it just comes out.