Page 43 of Stanton Unconditional

“Because you are still totally into me, I can tell. And he’s an ex, so.” He shrugs his shoulders.

I roll my eyes. “You’ve been fighting too much. I think you’re punch drunk.”

He smiles broadly. “I thought you were coming back for more witness dates. What happened? Are you chicken shit?”

I frown. “No, am not.” I smile. “I’ve been back, and you haven’t been here. Who still says that anyway…chicken shit? I haven’t heard that since first grade.” I shake my head as I readjust my jacket.

He winks. “I do. Chicken shit.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Stop calling me that,” I whisper. This guy’s confidence is starting to piss me off. “I am far from chicken shit,” I snap.

“Prove it.” He smiles. “Give me your number.”

I roll my eyes. “God, give me a break. Is that the best pick-up line you’ve got?”

He laughs. “Pretty much, are you going to fall for it?”

I frown. “No.”

He smiles again. “We’ll see…Persistence pays.”

I smile as I bite my lip. He’s definitely cute, I will give him that. Maybe I should just break out and have wild rebound sex right here, right now. “What’s your name again?” I ask.

He smiles. “Jesten Miller.”

“Do you want to know my name?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Not really, I’ll just call you Hot Doc.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not a doctor.”

He shrugs again and then smiles as Henry and Richard, my work colleague, come out of the doorway and we walk into the room together. There are four rows of eight chairs on each side with mahogany large benches at the front of the room. We all take our seats. There are only ten people in the room. Three psychologists, three lawyers and four prison wardens.

I am achingly aware I am the only woman present. Jesten is at the right of the room in my peripheral vision and for some reason that is strangely comforting. The judge arrives and we all stand in silence as he enters the room and sits. Coby Allender is led into the room in handcuffs. He looks around the room and then his eyes connect with mine, they bore through me and then he smiles icily. I drop my eyes immediately. I’m too fragile for this shit. The court case carries on, but I am too distracted by the fact that the suspected serial killer’s eyes have not left me since he entered the room, and I can feel the evil emanating from his every pore. How long has it been since he has seen a woman? I can feel my heart rate picking up as fear starts to send me into a panic. Between nightmares, philandering boyfriends and heartbreak I am very fragile indeed. Why is he still looking at me? Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, I chastise myself. I know he’s trying to freak me out, and it’s fucking working. I’m starting to sweat here.

Henry leans over and whispers. “He’s just trying to scare you. Don’t look at him.”

I nod and put my head down. He’s right, just look down. Stop freaking out. The court case carries on and my mind starts to wander. What’s Joshua doing now? Who’s he with? I must be in a daydream because before I realize the court case finishes. My eyes flick to the psychopath in front of me. His eyes are still locked on me, he smiles, slowly licks his lips and blows me a kiss. I drop my head again. Forget criminology, this is fucked up shit I don’t need messing with my head. Who was I kidding? I can’t deal with criminals; I would end up a head case. He is led out of the room by the handcuffs and I blow out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Let this day be over!

The drive home from work is long…and silent. Max doesn’t feel the need to talk and I don’t have one positive thing to say, so why bother. I hate negativity. I never imagined I would have so much of it coursing through my veins…where does it come from? And more importantly, how do I get rid of it?

My headache is back, and it’s starting to thump. In the two months since Dad’s death, I have had six migraines, what a bitch those things are, I had no idea. On a few occasions Max and Bridget have called the doctor to my house and he has given me a shot to knock me out for two days. Stress related is what he called it; I call it toxic information overload. The poison from my heart seeping into my brain cells, one by one. It’s the weekend so at least I can just relax and sleep. It’s funny, through the day when I should be doing things that are constructive all I want to do is sleep but at night when I should be sleeping all I can do is think…about him… with her. It’s poisoning me.

I am riddled with guilt as my mind goes over the patients I have treated and how I have analyzed them void of emotion. Bethany. Beautiful, smart Bethany, I saw her just today. She is also in love with an adulterer, she refused to give up and she stayed for love. But at what cost? She has no self-esteem, no sexual confidence and an inability to orgasm. She has children with him… so, in effect she is trapped. So even though she stayed for love, she has been rewarded with hate…for herself. Today I sat and listened to her talk and looked deep into the mirror. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. I could relate to everything she told me, every emotion, every fear. When she cried… I cried; the tears weren’t for her. They were for me. If I go back to my beloved Joshua, in five years I will be Bethany. Petrified that every time he walks out the front door, he is going to meet up with her. Petrified that I am not pretty enough, funny enough…sexy enough.

In all honesty, I don’t think any woman could hold my

beautiful Joshua forever, he’s just not wired that way, even though I know he desperately wants to be. He tried…and failed. I gave everything to him and still in the end it wasn’t enough.

I don’t trust him. I have lost all faith in his words. I never trusted her. But I trusted him with my heart, and he broke it. I know I will never love again like I did him… and that’s ok, I don’t want to.

We pull in and Max turns and looks at me.

He frowns, “You okay?” I nod as I look into my lap. “Yeah, I can feel another migraine coming. It will pass.” I

smile at him. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger right?” I whisper.

He gives me a sad smile and sits silently, watching me. I can tell he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. He’s leaving me, I know it. He just doesn’t know how to tell me. He and Mum have become good friends and I know they talk about me. I can hear them late at night when they think I am asleep. He’s worried about me…I’m worried about me. I need to snap out of this…shitty time I’m having.

We get out of the car and walk quietly up the stairs.