15. Lines

Chapter 15

Lines

I t's so silent that I can hear his saliva traveling down his throat. I can hear his nails scratching against the scruff of his five o'clock shadow. I can hear the rain pattering against the glass windows outside. And the clock. That damn clock. The hypnotic ticking on the wall reminds me that it's been fifteen minutes since I've stepped foot into his office.

Fifteen minutes of a total standstill.

Our weapons are drawn, ready to fire, but neither of us are willing to make the first move. Shouldn't it be him? Shouldn't he ask me why I'm here? Why I made an appointment? In broad light, nonetheless? Isn't he curious?

My gaze flits across his stoic face. So statuesque in its hardened exterior. A mesmerizing dichotomy of reality and fantasy. Of truth and lies.

He's stillness and chaos personified.

Perplexing to dissect. Profound to devour. Painful to digest .

I could stare at him for hours, a creature carved of the finest jade. I could study him for years—hypothesize his meaning, his purpose.

His everything.

What message is the sculpture attempting to convey with the dilated pupils? What purpose does the slight curve of his upper lip serve? What emotions does this work of art make a person feel?

Is it all an illusion brought on by a lack of sleep? Or perhaps heightened curiosity?

Both?

My answers don't matter. They're subjective. My mind is not a reliable interpreter of his intentions. Hell, it's not even a reliable interpreter of my own. Maybe the bigger question isn't, 'What does this statue mean?' but 'Why have I decided to come to view it?'

I whip my head toward the far wall as the clock strikes two.

I can't do it anymore.

Ready.

Aim.

Fire.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?" I ask, shifting my weight on the couch opposite of Hayden's armchair. "Or are you just going to sit there?"

"I figured—" he smiles knowing he’s won this round, "—you'd speak when you were ready." Hayden tilts his head, observing me carefully with such intensity that I lean back into the cushions, almost hoping they'd swallow me whole. "Are you ready now, Camilla?" He pauses when I don't respond. Because I can't. "Why are you here today?"

It's an excellent question. Nothing happened this time. It's been a normal week. Painfully average. Mundanity at its finest.

It's been dull.

Loud. Busy.

Frantic.

"I don't know," I reply honestly in a whisper as a heavy breath flows out of my lungs. "I needed..." I blink at him, noticing the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. "I guess I needed some quiet."

Hayden narrows his eyes speculatively. "Do you wish to sit here in silence then?"

"No," I say as the overflowing desire to crack the meaning behind the art bursts through my veins. I stand up abruptly and waltz toward his bookshelves, running my fingers along the dust-free surface of the dark wood. I look around his office, noticing for the first time how sterile and lifeless the space is between these four walls. "Do you ever plan on decorating?"

"Decorate?" Hayden rotates his body, raising a brow as he watches me circle the room. "Why would I decorate?"

"I don't know." I shrug, looking up at a watercolor painting of the Manhattan skyline that hangs above his desk. "Maybe to add some character?" I quickly glance at him. "Some personality? A brand?"

He shoots me a combative look. "Maybe this is my brand. "

"It's rather bleak and boring," I say, squinting at the familiar painting.

"Again," he says, this time with a light chuckle. "Perhaps bleak and boring is my brand."

"We both know that's not your brand." I toss him a coy smirk. "What are you trying to hide, Doc?"

"Nothing." For a millisecond, I catch his lip twitch, but then I wonder if it's just a figment of my imagination.Another illusion no doubt. He stands up, joining me by his desk. He looks down at me. "I've only been here for a few months, Camilla. A brand takes time to develop." He looks around the room. "Do you have suggestions for future improvements?"

"I suppose you can't carry over a Florida aesthetic to New York," I muse, licking my bottom lip as I stare at him. "We're not big conch shell fans here."

A frown mars his brows. "Florida?"

"You didn't think I'd do a background check, Doc?" I smirk. "Rookie mistake."

He lets out a labored laugh. "I appreciate your due diligence."

"Right," I hum, glancing back at the painting, the artist clicking in my head. "It's an interesting painting." I look at him. "It's by Elizabetta Lombardi, right? I remember seeing it in an exhibition six years ago. "

"It might be," Hayden says flippantly. "I'm not big on art."

"No?"

"No." He clears his throat. "I purchased it from an estate sale when I first got here. Great quality items for half the price."

"An estate sale?" I ask. "As in a dead person’s shit?"

"Yes." Hayden gives me a forced grin. "As in a dead person’s shit."

"So..." I clap my hands, tilting my head as I lean against his desk. "Theoretically, you could be sleeping where someone dropped dead, huh?"

He smirks. "I'm sure they washed the sheets first."

"Damn, Doc," I muse, clicking my tongue. "You must make nickels if you can't afford brand-new sheets." I cross my arms. "And here I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger. Good thing I let that dream go."

"You wanted to be a doctor?" Hayden asks, suddenly interested. "Really?"

"Yeah." I blink, swallowing. "Well not like an MD or anything, humans disgust me." I run a hand through my hair. "I wanted to be a vet."

"A vet?"

"Mhmm," I hum, pushing myself off his desk. I glance outside, smiling as the bulleting rain stops and a tiny glimpse of sunshine peeks out from behind the clouds. I grab my coat off the couch and nod at the door. "Let's go."

Hayden frowns. "Go where?"

"I want a pretzel," I say. "There's a guy in the park that makes 'em just right."

Hayden doesn't budge from his spot. "We're in the middle of a session."

I roll my eyes. "I'll tell you more about my vet dreams."

Hayden snorts, giving me a knowing smirk. "Your wet dreams? "

I balk, realizing what I'd just said. Oh, fuck me. "My veterinary aspirations." I cast him a tight-lipped smile. "Better?"

Hayden shrugs, giving in as he grabs his jacket from the coat rack. "I think I preferred vet dreams."

"Don't start something you can't finish, Doc," I say as we head out of his office. "Bye, Heather! I'll have him back in no time."

"Bye?" Hayden's assistant regards us warily, giving me a weak wave of goodbye.

"Ignore her, Heather," Hayden says as we head downstairs. When we turn the corner, he places his hand on the small of my back, leaning into my ear. "Be careful, Camilla, you'll give my assistant the wrong idea."

"And what kind of idea is that?" I ask as we reach the last step and enter the empty streets. I inhale the fresh spring air. There's nothing like a little rain to reset a city. I glance over at Hayden, whose eyes are closed as he does the same thing. "Well?"

He exhales slowly, a melancholy smile on his face. "Let's talk about your vet dreams, shall we?"

"You're no fun," I sigh, playfully shoving my elbow into his side as we stroll toward Central Park.

"No, I'm boring and bleak, remember?" He's kind of a brat, isn't he? "So? Dr Bianco ?"

"It was a stupid pipe dream." I wave him off, nostalgia panging at my heart. "Nothing else to really say."

"Did you go to school for it?" he asks as we cross the street .

"Yeah," I mutter, regretting revealing this tidbit of my past. "Almost graduated too."

"Why didn't you finish?"

I look at Hayden and see Daniel's face. "Destiny had other plans."

Hayden stiffens. "Out of your control?"

"A lot of things were out of my control back then," I say as we enter the park. I point to the pretzel vendor who's uncovering his stand. "But they're not anymore."

Hayen follows closely behind me as I pick up my pace. "How so?"

"I'm the boss now." I stop in front of Elmo. He smiles at me. "I make my own destiny."

"Cami!" Elmo exclaims, grinning at me. "You came back!"

"Got any hot ones?" I ask.

"The rain is not my friend," Elmo laughs. "I can offer you lukewarm."

"I'll take it." I hand Elmo a bill and rip the soft pretzel in half, handing Hayden a piece. "Here."

Hayden blinks. "You're sharing ?"

"I know, shocking, isn't it?" I roll my eyes, waving bye to Elmo as we continue down the park path. "What about you, Doc? You always wanted to be a shrink?"

"I did," Hayden says, taking a tentative bite out of his pretzel. I scoff. Is he worried I poisoned it? "It was always the goal."

"Really? Even as a small child?"

Hayden's expression goes cold as marble. "Yes, even as a child. "

"Why?" I ask innocently. "Seems like a strange career to strive for from the get-go."

Hayden looks down at me, scanning my face. "Suppose it was destiny."

"Huh," I hum, chewing the inside of my lip.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" I sigh. "Destiny seems like a fucking bitch."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's like..." I pause, gathering my thoughts. "The word destiny is supposed to be positive, right? It's supposed to have a hopeful connotation?" Hayden nods slowly. "Well, based on your reaction to my questions and—" I shrug, "—my own experience...maybe destiny isn't hope at all."

"What is it, then?"

"I don't know," I sigh. "Maybe destiny is just cloaked despair."

"That's quite pessimistic," he muses, taking the last bite of his pretzel.

"In this world, Hayden," I say, swallowing. "Pessimism is what keeps us alive."

He frowns again. He's been doing that a lot today. "And optimism kills?"

"Something like that," I say as we pass a decrepit old woman with a jangling velvet shawl draped over her shoulders. "Oh no."

"You!" She points her thin, wrinkly finger at me as she hobbles over, away from her tarot card stand. "Give me your hand."

"Not interested," I say, groaning. So many nut jobs in this city. "We'll pass."

"Come on, Camilla," Hayden nudges me, a cheeky grin clipping his lips. "Don't you want to know your destiny? Let her read your palm." He looks down at the wannabe sorceress. "She'll do it."

"Wha—"

Before I can protest, the old woman drags me to her stand and plops me down on the seat. Hayden lingers behind me as she sits down in front of me and takes my hand. She runs her fingers along my palm, oo-ing, and aw-ing. I roll my eyes.

"So? Am I gonna die tomorrow or something?"

"Hurt." The old woman's striking blue eyes snap up at me, and a shiver grips my spine. "I see lots and lots of hurt within these lines, my child," she whispers, maintaining deep contact that terrifies me. "The pain you feel...it runs deep. Deeper than any ocean, darker than any night sky." She trails her hand across my palm. "You feel it every day. You... You feel so much that sometimes it is like you're drowning in your pain. Like you're sinking deeper and deeper and deeper. You feel…" She pauses, wincing. "You feel there is no bottom. That there is no end to your suffering." She takes a sharp breath. "You, my child, you have so many emotions. They are so strong. So vibrant. So bright that they could blind the world." She looks at me. "But you're afraid of what happens when you stop drowning, no? You are scared of what awaits when you ascend back through the water, aren't you?" She drops my hand, shaking her head. "I believe you've been living on the seabed for some time now. It is time to leave, child. There is no anchor holding you down but your own fear of breathing once again."

I sit frozen, stunned as I take in her words. They swirl through my mind with complex clarity. It stings. It hurts. It's too much to process.

"Thanks," I mutter, standing up. I blink up at Hayden, unable to make out his features. "Your turn."

"Okay," he says, hesitantly sitting down in front of the old woman.

I push whatever epiphany I'm supposed to have out of my mind as I listen intently to Hayden's reading.

"Huh..." the woman hums as she examines Hayden's palm. She glances at me briefly. "It is interesting..." She purses her lips, dragging her fingers in circles and lines. "It is like a mirror, I see." She looks up at Hayden. "You too have deep hurt but..." She pauses, swallowing. "But I feel fire in your lines, boy. You are not drowning in pain, no, you are burning in it. You have been burning for a long time. Long before you even knew what pain really was." She holds his hand, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Oh child, it's okay, you do not need to burn anymore." She takes a shaky breath. "There is nothing left to cleanse by fire. It is done. You can put out the flames now." She pauses, whispering, "You do not let yourself feel anything other than the searing pain of inferno...but you must let go, boy." She glances at me. "There is enough water in this world to put out even the greatest of fires. Find your water." She closes up his fist. "And feel something different for once."

Hayden clears his throat. "Uh-huh, right." He chuckles in a scoff, glancing at me. "Think we're done here."

"Yeah." I reach into my pocket and pull out a one-hundred dollar bill. I hand it to the old woman. "Here."

"No," she says, waving her hand. "It is too much. I cannot take that."

"Well, I don't have anything smaller," I say with a shrug. "Take it or leave it." I look at Hayden. "Unless you got a twenty or something?"

"I don't carry cash," he says apologetically. He awkwardly smiles at the old woman. "Consider it your lucky day."

"Lucky day?" The old woman takes the bill from my hand and lets out a hoarse, croaking laugh. "There is no such thing as luck, my children." Her mystical gaze leaps between Hayden and me. "There is only... destiny ."

We walk back to his office in silence.

Teetering the line between hope and despair.