Blackbird (a Sometimes Never novella) by Cheryl McIntyre Page B

But he isn’t going in—he’s holding it open for me.
          Panic rises in my chest and my heart pumps furiously.
          “Hope, you can do this,” Chase states firmly. “Quit fucking around and go.”
          I nod. I don’t know if I’m responding to Chase even though he can’t see the gesture, or if I’m acknowledging the kid. Either way, I end the call and tuck my phone into my back pocket as I pass through the threshold into what I expect is the entrance to Hell.
          
          
     ~*~*~*~
          
          
          I get the first text nearly an hour later, at exactly five o’clock on the dot. I know Mason is worried and he wants to know how the session went. But I haven’t even stepped out of the office, and I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.
          I need to take a minute to organize my thoughts and sort my emotions.
          I need to breathe .
          This is only the first day and I already had to unearth so much. Veronica Kohl is probably a nice person outside the office, but behind those doors, she’s pure evil. She pissed me off. She made me cry. And she made me say it out loud.
          “Own it, Hope.” Those were her words.
          So I did. After glaring at her for close to ten minutes while she sat there patiently, I said it. I told her that my mom’s boyfriend molested me when I was twelve. I told her that my mom was a worthless addict. I told her my mom died and left me behind.
          And then I told her that I cut myself. That I’ve come up with many unique ways to hurt myself in order to control the emotional pain.
          When I was done spilling my guts, Veronica smiled at me and claimed we made progress.
          But as I sit in my car watching the rainwater blur my windshield, I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything.
          I feel shaky and my stomach hurts. My mind won’t shut up. It’s so fucking loud and I just want it to stop.
          My fingers grip the steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles are strained and white. I know how to silence it. I can make it all go away, if only for right now. One swipe of a razor. That’s all it would take.
          I press my forehead against the space between my hands. It’ll most likely leave a big, red steering wheel impression, but it’s cool and it feels good.
          My phone beeps again, alerting me to another text.
          My jaw clenches as I fight against the stinging in my eyes. No more tears today. Just— no more .
          I start the car and get some music going. That will help. I put on my seat belt, adjust the heat, and check my mirrors. When I’ve run out of ways to stall, I open the messages on my phone.
          The first one’s short and simple. 
          Him: HOW’D IT GO?
          The second one—not so much. 
          Him: ARE YOU OKAY? DON’T SHUT ME OUT. I’M HERE. PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU’RE ALL RIGHT.
          I shiver and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m wet and cold. It’s this boy. This man. This incredible person that is mine.
          I don’t want him to worry about me, so I send him back exactly what I’m thinking.
          Me: I’M NOT ALL RIGHT, BUT I WILL BE. JUST NEED A MINUTE. LUV U.
          I don’t wait for a reply. I throw my phone into the passenger seat and head out of the parking lot. It’s the first time since I met him that I don’t think I’ll find what I need in Mason.
          Right now, what I need is a mom.
          It’s just too damn bad I don’t have one.

3 Mason
          
          
          I can’t sleep. Storms usually lull me into an infant-like slumber, but not tonight. The thunder reflects the turmoil inside of me too well.
          I pick up my phone and check for missed calls or texts for the hundredth time tonight. When she said she needed a minute, it wasn’t like I took that literally, but it’s been seven and a half hours. I can’t believe she hasn’t