Page 28 of Chase
Monday morning arrives with a buzzing alarm clock and a headache from hell, like most Monday mornings. My dreams were full of terrorizing anxious images, the same old ones I usually have when I’m stressed. I never wake well after them, but life needs to go on, especially as I’m meeting Will today. I don’t want to cancel on the poor guy before I’ve even formed a relationship with him.
The hot shower does nothing to improve my situation, so I saunter into the kitchen and begin rummaging through drawers and cupboards in search of some painkillers. I don’t care what they are, I just need pills to numb the pain and to stop the sparks from blinding me. I can only find packets of vitamins and cough sweets. The frustration of which has my mask slipping and my anger beginning to surface. It’s a pity I ran out of the extra strength stuff that used to give me a blissful buzz as well as block the pain of a pulsing headache.
“I swear I’m going to commit bloody murder in a minute,” I mumble through clenched teeth and a whole lot of banging and crashing. “What sadistic fool doesn’t keep some form of painkiller in their damn, neurotically organized house?!”
“Good morning,” Theo says, sounding amused, “looking for something?”
I look at my watch and frown, wondering why the hell he’s not in some high-rise office in the middle of London right now.
“How come you’re still here? Don’t suits have to be at work at the butt-crack of dawn?”
“I thought I’d go in late today,” he replies casually, obviously getting great enjoyment out of my flustering. He continues to sip his coffee while leaning against the door jamb, in between quirking his lips at me. “I have a conference call with New York in half an hour so I can do that from here. What are you doing here? Do you not have to be at work somewhere?”
He slants his head to the side, fishing for information without any kind of subtlety whatsoever.
“I thought I’d give it a miss,” I lie, growling at the drawer that is offering me nothing useful. “Drank a couple of bottles of wine last night so have the mother of all hangovers today.”
He smirks at me before walking out the door, only to return a few seconds later with a packet of paracetamol.
“I keep them in my office.”
“Thanks,” I murmur before getting a glass of water and downing the whole lot with said tablets. I glance at my watch again. “Crap!”
I’m supposed to be meeting Will in twenty minutes so need to get a move on. It’s a good excuse to get away from Theo and his rooting around for information I don’t want to give. I’m not sure he’s convinced I’m going to work, especially as I’m dressed so casually, but I find it makes my clients feel more at ease. Besides, why would I ever want to dress like a suit when I can rock up in a pair of jeans and my hair still wet from the shower?
“I’m off, see you later, Mr Business Man,” I tell him with a casual wave as I head to the door.
_____
The taxi I had organized last night drops me off on the main high street so I can go straight to the café on foot. It’s a small, quirky, privately-owned place, which is just the way I like it. The cakes and pastries are always homemade and the woman behind the counter enjoys giving me frequent updates about her menagerie of pets back home. I envy her perpetual smile and her taking joy in the fact that her cat is no longer limping, her old dog woke up this morning, and the rabbits have finally stopped breeding. When I order tea for one, the china doesn’t match and each and every piece has an intricate design to marvel at.
After smiling my thanks to Beryl, who offers a wink before humming along to the radio, I walk over to a corner table and wait for Will to arrive. My first sip of tea goes a little way to relieving the stress-induced headache that is still lingering, even with the tablets I took earlier. I take it as a small win, so sit back and sigh contentedly to myself. Quite honestly, I’m only really me when I’m by myself.
The bell on the door signals another customer, and when I look over, I see the same scruffy guy I had met at Tilly’s obnoxious wedding. He waves awkwardly, so I offer a smile, hopefully looking genuine about it. He points toward the counter, and I nod while he goes to order something from Beryl, who is grinning from ear over having a new person to chat with.
I make a point of watching him, how he nervously rubs his hands and yawns every few moments. I then take in his physical appearance - his eyes are dark, and his hair is limp - he’s rundown and probably not sleeping very well. He thanks Beryl behind the counter, then walks over to sit with me. He doesn’t look as nearly at ease as he did at Tilly’s wedding. In fact, he looks incredibly nervous, something I need to work on before we do anything else.
To begin with, I try to make him feel at ease by smiling and holding out my hand to shake. He takes it but flinches at my touch. Perhaps this is why he needs marijuana, to make him feel more comfortable with people. Of course, it could also be a side effect of it, along with paranoia.
“So, you escaped that wedding relatively unscathed, but how’ve you been since?” I ask casually.
“Yeah, ok, good,” he replies, nodding a little too vigorously to be able to hide his nervousness. “You?”
“Can’t complain,” I lie, only to then decide to try another tact. “Actually, my family hates me, and I’ve been coerced into pretending to shack up with my childhood love. I haven’t seen him in over ten years because he left me to go back to America after my parents and siblings caught us in bed together and came to the conclusion, I was a whore. Once in America, he completely forgot all about me; did I mention he was my cousin?”
As I sip my tea, hoping I made the right call, he stares at me, then breaks into a huge grin. I quickly smile back, feeling relieved.
“The American guy?” he guesses correctly. “Wow, that’s some story. Kind of puts me at ease a little.”
“That was the intention,” I reply. “But enough about me, Will. How can I help you?”
“Er, well, how does this usually work? Do I pay you before, or after each session? Or do I pay in advance for a bunch of sessions?”
I release a heavy sigh before putting my cup on the table; I always hate talking about money when it comes to my work. It makes everything I do seem cheap when all I’ve ever wanted to do is help people. People like Will.
“Usually, with someone your age, still at university, it’s been parents who have arranged the sessions, as well as payment in advance, but…” I pause to place my hand gently on top of his, which still makes him jumpy, but I try to give him a reassuring smile that lets him know he's safe with me. “Let’s say the first three sessions are on me. Will that make you feel more comfortable? I don’t want you worrying about money, Will.”
“No, no, no, I want to pay. I can pay, I just need to know how much,” he rushes out, fumbling over his cup as he splashes tea all over the table.