Chapter 4 - Vlad

Everything inside me was screaming to run in the other fucking direction and never look back. I didn't want to be getting fucking counseling, to begin with. Now that my shrink happened to be the first woman I'd slept with in years, I was really thinking it was a sign from the Gods just to call this entire thing quits.

I was perfectly okay with communicating the way I currently do. I had my phone on me for ‘talking' to other people, and little was expected from me in terms of conversation. I liked it that way and wasn't interested in "opening up and getting comfortable with speaking again."

No, thank you. I'm good.

I mean, I was the quiet, stoic one. It had its advantages, especially when I was the sneaky one of the three of us. The Unholy Ghost could get in and out of anywhere without being heard or seen. It was my thing, and I enjoyed it.

But then I looked into Emory's eyes.

Dammit. Why? Why does she have to look at me like that? I'm going to punch Ivan in the dick when I get home .

Because she was just so damn optimistic. She was looking at me like she actually cared, and the deep wells of her gorgeous brown eyes were enough to fall into and never manage to crawl back up to the surface.

I sighed heavily, hanging my head as I raked my hand through the shaggier hair on the top of my head. When I looked back up at her again, I gestured past Emory down the hall.

She relaxed into herself, her spine losing that rigid alignment. "Thank you. If you'll follow me."

Emory was still in professional mode, and I had a feeling it was going to be particularly thick during our little chat. I was no newbie when it came to reading people, and Emory was using her years of training to distance herself from me in an effort to keep that awkwardness between us to a minimum.

Good fucking luck, cutie. I've seen you naked, and I'm not likely to forget that anytime soon.

Still, I followed her down the long hallway to her office, and when we arrived, I was a bit surprised by Emory's setup. Apparently, she took that whole set-the-stage thing to heart because the entire room read more like a massage parlor or spa than a shrink's office.

"Have a seat. Now, I just want to understand what you're seeking counseling for. In terms of communication, would you like to use your phone, or would you like a pen and paper?"

Emory turned around to face me, gesturing toward the couch. I sat down, pulling out my phone from my pocket. I gave the thing a little wave, indicating that I'd be sticking with the phone, and then started typing when Emory sat down in the chair across from me.

I had to look fucking ridiculous sitting on this damn sofa, too. I was clad in my typical black leather jacket and Doc Martin boots, which was just a tiny bit of a contrast to the light green fabric of the couch and the soft grays and blues of the numerous pillows and blankets draped over the thing.

Looking up from her own notepad, Emory smiled, waiting for me to finish my message. I'd turned on the TalkBack feature this morning in preparation for coming here, so when I finished typing, I double-tapped the text, and my phone read it out loud in a generic man's voice.

"You don't want to see my handwriting. You'd be fucked."

I chuckled. It was the first I'd heard the thing curse, and hearing a robot say fuck was always entertaining.

Emory cleared her throat, clearly trying not to laugh at it. "Oh, well, that's handy. And trust me, my parents are doctors. I'm very familiar with terrible penmanship."

She waited for me again, and the voice read off my following message. "I remember you saying something about that."

Stiffening, Emory adjusted in her chair with a frown. "Let's focus on the here and now, Mr. Ustinov. I'd like to keep any mention of last night to zero."

"Whatever you say, doc," it read off. "How do we set a baseline?"

Refocusing, Emory crossed one leg over the other, and I couldn't help but watch the motion, momentarily fixated on how the smooth skin of her calf brushed over the other. She'd worn a skirt today, and I had…thoughts about that.

"We'll keep things simple today. I'll ask a few questions, sort of like we were in a sesson, but I'll be using them to find a suitable care provider. I'll give these notes to the therapist who'll be seeing you next time, and I'll be sure to have my office email you with the new counselor's name. On that note, what is your preferred name? many of us like to use our patients' first names if that's all right."

I clicked for TalkBack when I'd finished typing. "Go for it. I think we're just about on a first-name basis."

Emory glared at me for only a moment, and I knew my jokes would get me booted out of there if I kept it up. Which was actually perfect. I didn't want to stick around for more of these "sessions." If Emory wanted to see me outside the office, that was another thing altogether, but no head-shrinking, by anyone.

"Great. Thank you, Vlad. So, why don't you tell me what brought you in today? I want to hear about the situation in your own words. It's been a while since you filled out the information for your appointment, too, so if anything's changed, let me know."

I smirked, rolling my eyes as I typed up my rundown of the actual events that landed me in her office, which were far less typical than most, I assumed.

"Actually," the voice read off, "I didn't set up the appointment. My brother did, using my info. He's on a bit of a self-improvement kick since he settled down. Well, as settled as he's going to get anyway. He's roped me into it, and I intend to show him how grateful I am after this is over."

The robot wasn't great at conveying tone, but I had a feeling that Emory was picking up what I was putting down when she met my eyes and frowned ever so slightly. She sucked in a breath and jotted a few things down on her notepad.

"So, you don't want to be here then? Why did you come in?"

That one hit harder than expected. I didn't want to be with a shrink, true. But Emory was selling herself short if she didn't think that she was a damn good salesperson. That look of hers had sold me more than anything.

My thumbs hesitated over the keyboard. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. Being honest would probably be the right thing to do, and it may be easier in the long run. But I wasn't very smart, and lying was my go-to, so…

"Booked the appointment. It'd be rude to cancel on you when you were expecting it. Plus, Ivan watched me like a hawk, ensuring I left the house for it."

She studied me, her calculating, insightful gaze too intense. It was like being under a microscope, and I had a feeling I knew why she hadn't mentioned her job last night. I mean, I didn't because I was a contract killer and informant for the mob. But going on a date with a shrink sounded like it could be even worse.

"Ivan is your brother, correct? Didn't you mention another?"

Snorting, I remembered chatting about the assholes at the bar last night. And as much as I wanted to say something about how the shrink was clearly using that information even though "last night never happened," I didn't bother.

I didn't actually want to piss Emory off. I just didn't want to be "treated." While I was aware that there was technically something wrong with how I operated, I did not believe anything was "wrong" with me. And I wouldn't be treated like some poor sap who had a real problem like alcoholism or dissociative identity disorder.

"Yes, and yes." The voice read out my words about as blandly as I wanted them to come across. "I have two brothers, Ivan and Abe. They're assholes, but hey, they're family right."

Emory cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat. She was doing a damn good job of being hard to read and keeping up that professional mask, but I could tell that, at the very least, she was assessing how I talked about things. And whatever, she could think whatever she wanted to about me professionally. I didn't intend to come back here.

"Why do you say that? Is it just the typical brotherly rivalry, or do you really not like them?"

I hadn't had much reason to analyze my relationship with my brothers for most of my life. While the odd thought came up here and there, it wasn't like I was looking to understand more about why we were the way we were. I knew why, and knowing didn't change shit.

"Yes?" The TalkBack said. "I mean, we're all assholes, but it's not like I'm fighting with them constantly. If anything, I'm the one keeping them from tearing each other's heads off. Abe and Ivan are both a bit too stubborn and similar. Causes tension."

"Hmm," Emory hummed, "I don't have siblings, so I don't know what that's like, but I often mediate between my parents. That can get exhausting."

I nodded, my thoughts drifting a bit, and the silence settled between us. It was enough to make the juices of my memory and self-evaluation start churning, and I fucking hated it.

"All right," Emory's tone was much more direct, and I could tell that she was gearing up for something, "well, we're almost out of time, and I want to ask one more thing to assist the next provider with their sessions moving forward. I know we're keeping things basic, but you came to to the office for a reason, and despite your statement about just going along with it, any counselor who sees you still want to address that concern."

I swallowed hard, not ready for the question that I knew was coming next. I'd been asked it so many damn times. From dates, clients, the Vadims even. I usually brushed it off or made something up. Hell, I'd told someone I had my tongue cut out once just because I didn't want to deal with the fallout that came after admitting the truth—or at least a part of it.

"Why did you stop speaking, Vlad?"

Emory didn't beat around the bush. She didn't try to sugarcoat it or play it down. She just asked. Something about that decision made it…easier? I wasn't sure if that was quite it, but it had still been enough for my fingers to get moving over the keyboard.

And this time, I didn't lie.

I finished typing, my finger poised over the TalkBack option, but it took me several long seconds before I could make the damn phone speak. Emory waited patiently, her expression unchanging from its gentle, neutral composure.

"I didn't choose this. Something happened when I was a kid, and I just couldn't find my voice afterward. I thought it was just temporary. But then hours turned to days, which turned to months, which turned to years. I haven't ever considered ‘fixing' it. So, don't get your hopes up."

A tiny alarm chimed from her computer, and Emory stood up. I did the same, getting up and crossing the room toward the door. As my hand settled on the knob, Emory spoke.

"I'll have the information for your next visit soon, Vlad. Thank you for coming in. You did great."

I'd tucked my phone back in my pocket, so I just gave a little wave over my shoulder and pulled open the door. As I walked down the long hallway toward the front of the building, I couldn't decide if I wanted to throw up or get shitfaced more.

Good thing they're not mutually exclusive.