42. Hunter

Chapter 42

Hunter

then

"Our time is nearly up, but we'll talk again on Thursday."

Nodding, I thank Veronica, then sign off the video call. I've been in intensive talk therapy for weeks. It was every day at first, and in person. Since then, I've tapered down to twice a week.

London has grown cold over the last month, so the option to attend online sessions now is ideal.

For days, it's been drizzling and frigid. I miss the sun, but I don't hate being snuggled up inside. I stare out the window wistfully, grateful that I don't have to trek through the rain.

Moving through the penthouse, I consider dinner options. Spence started going back to his office on a more consistent basis last month, and since then, I've rediscovered my love for cooking.

I even got up the courage to FaceTime my dad the other day when I was making beef bourguignon. The call was short because his wife needed him to go pick up something for one of the kids. Even so, I got a little time with him .

We agreed to FaceTime again soon.

I kept most of the details about why I'm here in London to myself. Honestly, it still feels surreal.

Given the shock and trauma surrounding my pregnancy, followed by the miscarriage and finding out that my mother was set to marry the father of the man I was dating at the time, Veronica says PMDD was practically inevitable.

The disease wasn't caused by the trauma I endured, but that distress paved the way for the total breakdown that resulted in my mental health crisis. I have very little memory from that time—Spence had to fill in so many blanks for me. All I know is that I never, ever want to feel like that again.

PMDD is technically an endocrine disease. It can be managed with hormones, but the psychiatrist from NHS suggested we try SSRIs first.

Onboarding was a bitch. I was tired for days. But before long, I felt lighter. The world felt brighter.

The darkness returned with my next menstrual cycle, but it was more of a shadowy storm than an all-consuming eclipse. I've adjusted my meds twice since then, tweaking the dosage and the time of day I take it to smooth out some of the bumps.

Unfortunately, I'll spend the next several decades managing this disorder. The lows I experience seem to occur on the days I ovulate and the few days leading up to my period, so from now until menopause, this is my reality.

I've learned more about myself in the last few months than I have over the last nineteen years. The growth has felt overwhelming at times, like when I had to call Louie and tell her she can't be in my life any longer.

Turns out, the guy I found passed out in my bed that day was her drug dealer. Spence had all my belongings packed up and moved into his place immediately. He also had her fired. I harbor some guilt there, but there was no changing his mind.

I don't work at Splice any longer either .

Spence insists that he wants me to rest and take care of myself. As relaxing as it sounds, the reality is the opposite. Learning how to be gentle with myself and adapt my expectations to my menstrual cycle has been an uphill battle that I feel like I'm losing more days than not.

I'm constantly worrying about my water intake, and I'm a little obsessive about whether I've taken the proper dosage of meds at the proper time. Trying and settling on supplements, because if I skip a dose, then it's guaranteed I'll experience a shift in my mood. The same applies if I don't get out for fresh air or make it down to the gym for a workout.

How the hell do people with full-time jobs manage any sort of mental health struggles or chronic illnesses? So much of my healing and recovery is rooted in the deep privilege of having unlimited resources and time. That's all thanks to Spence.

Everything has a reason, and for everything, there's a season.

He says it all the time. After this experience, I truly believe it. Coming to London. The job at Splice. Even meeting Spence. Each moment was a serendipitous gift from the universe when I needed it most.

Spence's devotion to me is unlike any sort of love I've ever experienced. I certainly never encountered this kind of affection from my parents. Although I wouldn't go as far as to say Spence knows me better or loves me better than the first boy I gave my heart to, there's a significance to our connection that's different. He met me before my diagnosis, yet he still cares for me deeply now.

The girl I used to be would be ashamed to let another person see her at her lowest low.

Spence saw it, and he stayed.

He's all that's tethering me to London these days.

I don't know where our relationship is going or how long it'll last, but like my therapist says, it's no use foreboding joy. I can focus on the now. I can be present. I can embody calm.

I've survived every other thing life has thrown at me thus far.

Brighter days are always on the horizon .

The elevator dings, notifying me that Spence is home. I peek into the foyer from the kitchen, watching as he sets his briefcase down, then shrugs out of his coat and scarf. He's still talking on the phone as his shoes tap against the marble tile. Though as soon as he sees me, he tells the person on the other line that he has to go. That "an urgent matter has just presented itself."

Grinning, I rush to greet him, and when he wraps his arms around me and kisses me deeply, I melt into him.

"An urgent matter, huh?"

"Always. The most important thing in my life." He runs his nose along my jaw, kissing me below the ear. "Hello, love," he murmurs. "Are you well?"

Grinning, I answer honestly. "I am."

His eyes sparkle as he stands tall and gives me a salacious once-over that sends shivers through my core. "That's exactly what I was hoping to hear."

"Is it?" I tease. Spinning, I head back into the kitchen, knowing damn well he'll follow.

I stop by the island, and he sidles up behind me, caging me in as he brushes my hair to one side and resumes kissing along my neck.

"Months have passed, but I haven't forgotten. You owe me a date, Firecracker."

I rest my head on his shoulder and loop my arms around his neck, savoring the way his warm hands travel up my sides, over my hips, and up along my rib cage.

"And here I thought we were just supposed to be dinner and sex."

He swats at my ass and nips at my ear. We both know we're so much more than just sex these days.

"I'll show you dinner and sex," he says huskily into my ear. "Get dressed. We leave in an hour."

"We're going tonight?" I ask, unable to temper the smile that splits my face.

He presses his lips together and studies my face. "Are you up for it? "

Wide-eyed and practically bouncing on my toes, I nod. Then I'm off, headed to the bedroom to change.

"Wear something slutty," he hollers after me.

"Yes, Sir," I call back over my shoulder.