Capítulo 14: Chapter 14
Michael
Digging out my phone I glance down at the screen and see a new message from Orlando stating that they are in the elevator on their way up here.
I begin pacing the room for what seems like the hundredth time since I've been here attempting to figure out if I made the right decision in coming here.
"I know you're nervous Mike, but you being here is a good thing if we wish to make any kind of breaking point with her." Olga states calmly from her chair.
"Yeah, you've said that." And she has. She has told me since I walked in here twenty minutes ago, that this was a good thing, that my being here will help Whitney, that she will react positively when she sees me. However I am still determining if I want to bolt right out of the window and take my chances on the fall.
"Just try and relax Mike. She needs to know that this is a calm environment." I stop in my tracks, irritated with this woman already.
"I'm sorry, look maybe this isn't a good idea. The last time I saw you, you told me that I needed to stay away from her, that my dominant personality was keeping her from thinking for herself. You saw how she reacted to me last time, you heard what she called me."
"I'm very aware of Whitney's mind Mr. Taylor, but I also told you that she needed you, that you were the only one she allowed to touch her. When Orlando told me that she wasn't recovering at home, I knew she needed some kind of reality in her life. I think she needs to see that kind of independence again." Guilt roars at me at the lie I had to cover up with the help of Cobi.
Knowing Whitney isn't recovering well based on a lie, is haunting me. Not only did I leave her alone that day, scared, anxious and confused. But the basis were on a lie. I told her that he was dead, that she was safe, and I can't honestly say that is true.
Before I can obsess over my betrayal, the door opens and in walks Orlando and Whitney. Her eyes circle around the room then fall on me. I shift, then settle in my seat as Orlando shuts the door behind them. Olga stands and addresses the room, making sure to speak clearly.
"Macey, I know this is a little different, but we wanted Mike here today, to be able to help you along your road to recovery."
Olga speaks in soft tones and hushed whispers as she goes on about her goal for today, but Whitney's eyes never waiver from mine. Her green eyes bare into my soulless ones without breaking a sweat or blinking. Her soft blonde hair is in small curves along her back and she's wearing a white tank with black yoga pants.
Beauty.
"Now, do you think you can give that a shot Macey?" Whitney and I both snap out of our locked gazes and look over towards Olga. I don't think either of us were really listening to the good doctor, but Whitney nods her head reluctantly anyways. "Good, now let's get started. Thank you Orlando."
Orlando nods his head, looking over to me with a nod, then says goodbye to his daughter, a gesture she does not return. Whitney sits beside the door, in a small brown leather chair and tucks herself into her body. She's still thin, same size as when I first saw her, but I can tell her sunken face has gotten more fuller and there is color in her cheeks.
"Now, at the last session we spoke about Mike being an important aspect of your rescue, do you remember that conversation Macey?"
Whitney's eyes still stare into mine, so much so that I find myself shifting.
What is it with this girl?
How can she have such an effect on me?
"Macey?" This time Whit's eyes move over to the doctor, anger and judgment flow right along with them.
"You told him?" My hearts skips a beat at her voice. I haven't heard her speak since her rescue and even that was more robotic, but now, she sounds like an angel speaking, as if her voice can't have any other tone in it but hope.
"No. I wanted your consent with the rest of this conversation, do I have that?"
Once again Whitney nods her head at Olga, but I can tell with my behavioral training that she is not only angry but ashamed.
"We talked about using words Macey."
"Y-yes."
"Very good. Now let's begin."
The entire hour of the session is made up Olga speaking, telling me exactly where Whitney is with her therapy. Whitney was diagnosed with PTSD, and a mild form of Stockholm. She is aware that her time being Petrov's slave was not a good thing, but something in her mind won't let her stop missing that life. It's a comfort level of sorts, that much I get. It reminded me of the men I worked with that would complain about being overseas and hating every moment, counting down the days until they got to come home, then would sign right back up for the following tour because it was all they knew.
Whitney speaks for a few moments, telling Olga where she is with her two new exercises at home of saying her name in front of a mirror and writing a letter to her captures. Whitney explains that although the letters have been written she is still in the early stages of reading them aloud. The mirror exercise, however, is Whitney's greatest challenge so far.
"What bothers you about the mirror Macey?" Whitney stays silent, keeping her eyes locked on her hands clasped in front of her. "Do you not like what you see in the reflection the mirror portrays?" This time Whitney's hands tighten around themselves, giving Olga cause to write more down on her notepad she has been clutching for the past ten minutes.
"I don't like the scars." Whitney whispers. I narrow my eyes on her, not remembering any kind of specific scars but then again her beauty always seems to knock me upside down each time I've been around her.
"What scars do you see?" Another wave of silence greets Olga's question and she writes more and more, the scribbling of the pencil the only noise in the room. "I brought Mike here to help you feel safe. Safe enough to speak freely. Do you feel that right now?"
"Y-yes and no."
Olga looks over towards me, nodding her head in my direction. I sit up straight, aiming my gaze over to Whitney's frail body once again.
"Whitney..uh Macey?" She looks up, eyes fastened onto mine with a look of fear within her irises. "I'm so sorry for abandoning you back in Alaska. I honestly thought it was the best thing for you, but I just want you to know it never really set well with me. So from me to you, I'm sorry." Her form visibly relaxes, a small gesture, but enough for me to catch it.
"Alright, I think we can end things a little early today. Are there any questions you have Macey?" Whitney shakes her head, her gaze still locked onto mine. "Okay, you have my number if you should need anything. Mike, may I speak with you for a few moments?"
I stand when Whitney does, watching her walk out of the room in a flurry. My instincts are to go after her, to watch over her, but I stand in my spot, my eyes glued to the door that is now shut closed.
"Believe it or not, she is getting better, but today I wanted to challenge her a little. Seeing you here, in her space, was important."
I look over to Olga, who has now stood and walked over to her small white desk to put away her notes and pull up her laptop. After a few moments of not speaking, the typing of her keystrokes the only noise in the room, I cross my arms at my chest and clear my throat. Grabbing her annoyed attention, Olga looks up at me with her thick glasses and narrows her eyes.
"Would you like to explain to me why you have told that poor girl that the man that kept her hostage all those years, is dead?"
I'm shocked as Olga's arms match mine and cross at her chest. She leans back in her chair and lips purse into a sinister frown.
"How did you"
"It's my job to help her get past all she has been through but lies built upon her emotions, upon her completed therapy, will do her no good."
"I had to tell her something. She was out of control and needed some kind of grounding. The man is being hunted by every federal agency there is and with the amount of money on his head, I wouldn't be surprised if one of his own even killed him for the profit. I didn't tell her a lie, as much as it was a foreseen future."
"Is that why you agreed to meet here today? Guilt and shame?"
"Listen lady"
"No, you listen Mr. Taylor. I can't help her unless she knows all the aspects. Have you noticed she still refers to herself as Macey? By secluding her from the truth, you are just as guilty as damaging her, as the men who saw what she and twelve other girls went through on a daily basis and did nothing."
My mouth hangs open while she sits back up in her chair and continues her work silently on her laptop. Taking my obvious dismissal, I head to the door and walk out. Heading to the elevator I spot Whitney standing just before the doors.
"Whitney?" Silence greets me and I recall what Olga had told me about her name. "Macey?" Her posture changes as she tenses up and looks behind her. Seeing me, her form slightly relaxes but I notice there are tears forming in her eyes. "Is everything alright?"
She begins to speak but thinks better of it, flashing me with a small fake smile and nods her head.
"You can tell me if something were wrong, I can help you."
Another round of silence but I wait for her, knowing she wants to open up and speak but is fighting herself, fighting her conditioning that has been inserted into her brain through trauma and pain. Finally she looks up from the shiny tile and speaks. Giving me another view of those beautiful green depths.
"I can't call my father." Pulling out my own cell, I look down and notice there is no service in this area.
"Yeah, looks like my phone isn't quite working either. Maybe after we go outside we'll have some luck." Whitney looks back over to the elevator then around the room as if looking for any other exit. "Would you like me to ride down with you?"
Another round of silence but this is followed by some fidgeting with her fingers. Her gaze looks spooked as she nods her head in my direction then moves slightly closer to the elevator doors. I walk up, pressing the down arrow. It turns red immediately and the doors open. I walk in then watch Whitney. She seems to fight herself a few times, closing her eyes and blowing out a deep breath. Finally after what feels like hours, she walks inside and we both stand perfectly still and quiet while the doors shut.
"Is it the tight space that scares you?" Shutting my eyes at my bold question I ready myself to apologize for sounding too rude, but she answers, beating me to it.
"Yes. Master Phillipe, he would often times place us in small boxes. Punishments." Anger clouds over me and I almost punch the elevator walls but stop myself. I already put this girl on edge, I won't make this about me.
"I'm sorry." Her shoulder shrug, a common gesture I'm sure after hearing the words 'I'm sorry' as often times as I'm sure she has. I know after my father died I was sick as hell as everyone telling me how sorry for my loss they were. "Not just about what you've been through Whit, about leaving you out here. I was serious in Olga's office; it was a cowards move, and it shouldn't have happened."
"It's alright. I understand it all now." Her voice is low and soft, a strange combination seeing as her body language is almost screaming out in shouts and howls.
"It's not alright. It shouldn't have happened." Another round of silence greets us as the worlds slowest elevator reaches the ground level.
"I'm not sure why Olga called you. I know you wanted to apologize, but I never felt you responsible for me. I know you were just doing your job." My heart skips a beat at how many words she has now spoken toward me. I don't want her to stop.
"She didn't. Your father, Orlando. He was the one that called me and asked me to join. Thought it would help you." shock greets Whitney's face as I finish my sentence. I am just about to speak again but the doors open, and she rushes out. Before she can make it to the lobby, I run up to her, stepping in front of her blocking her from going outside. "Did I say something wrong?"
"N-no. I just didn't know he" A small blush covers her face as she pushes back a small strand of blonde hair behind her left ear.
"He's just worried about you Whitney. He's worried that he isn't doing enough, and often times when we feel that way, we come across as too much." She looks up at me and once again I am enamored by her beauty. There is even more color in face after anger has rushed through her. "Would you uh. Would you like to grab some coffee with me?"
As soon as the words leave my mouth I snap my mouth shut. I know I have shocked us both with my request. I don't know what exactly came over me. A coffee date with the woman I have lied to, the one that was a slave for four years to a maniac that she assumes is dead because of me, is a terrible idea. But with her eyes lighting up the way they are in this moment, I would happily get fired to see her this way each and every moment.
"Y-yes." She answers, again shocking us both by the look on her face.
"Yeah? Okay, uh, there is one across the street. We can walk there." I say, then lead us outside to the bland coffee shop.
The walk over is short and silent, neither of us speaking. I open the door for her, and we stand in the short line to order. Looking around, I see the place is practically empty. I look down to Whitney who has found the ground important enough to stare at. Giving her a bit of relief, I lean down, and whisper right in her ear.
"Do you want to go and find a table for us?" A light pink blush surrounds her cheeks, something that I can see myself becoming quickly addicted to. She nods her head, not bothering to turn to me and strolls off to a small two person table in the corner beside a large window.
I find myself turning every few seconds to make sure she is still there. I don't know if it's because of her past, or if I don't trust her not to realize how strange this is and bolt.
If she knew the real me, she would have run by now.
Once it's my turn, I want to hit myself for not thinking of asking her what she might like. The barista looks at me through her bright pink and blue hair with attitude at my apparent delay.
"Uh, let me get two small coffees, black, and a few of your sweets?"
"Sure, which ones?"
"One of each please." The look she gives me is almost comical, but with Whitney in such a fragile state, the last thing I want to do is complicate something so trivial. Olga was right, I need to treat each and every detail with Whitney appropriately.
After a few moments, the barista comes back over to me with a large green tray I haven't seen since my middle school lunch cafeteria days, packed full of our drinks, and about eight different treats varying from chocolate muffins to lemon loafs.
Whitney's eyes light up when I place the tray down, amazed with myself that I didn't manage to spill the whole thing on the floor, and smiles.
"What's all this?"
"I realized I didn't ask you what you wanted, so I thought I would just order one of everything they had?"
"Oh." Her smile drops and her hands go down to her lap once again.
"Whit, please don't think this costs me anything. The precinct pays for this kind of stuff."
"Thank you." She looks up blessing me with a small smile then reaches over to retrieve her coffee.
"There are a few flavors of creamers there, didn't know how you took it." Another nod from her and the table becomes silent again. Sipping my coffee, I notice Whitney doing the same but every once in a while, her gaze will veer through the window, then back at the treats. "Would you like to try one?"
She puts her coffee down on top of the table, then places her hands back in her lap, gaze down. I can see her mind going a million miles an hour and want to give her relief but everything Olga spoke about just a short while ago, comes rushing back. She needs a little push. I can do that for her.
"Whitney, you should try one. These are really good. Pick anyone that you want." She lifts her hand up, pinching the edge of her lip with her thumb and index finger. I can feel the table shaking, no doubt from her legs moving so fast underneath but I wait, I wait because this is what she needs. Patience.
"I think I love chocolate." I almost don't hear her, but when she reaches over and retrieves the muffin I know I made the right decision.
"Can never go wrong with chocolate." I state as she takes a large bite and moans loudly, causing something down below to twitch to life. I want to kick my own ass for even thinking of her this way, but I would have to be an idiot not to notice how sexy she looks eating a muffin in the middle of a coffee shop.
"You don't want anything?" She asks after her third bite. I hadn't noticed I had just been sitting there with my mouth open, starring at this woman.
"Ur, yeah, sorry." I shake my head and reach over to grab one of the macaroons. I have always been a sweets guy. Cobi hates any kind of sugar, getting it from my dad, but whenever mom baked, I was the one scarfing down any treats I could score. I hadn't splurged in a while, my training and physique must always come first, but this is hitting the spot.
"May I ask you a question?"
"Shoot." She wipes her lips with a napkin, leaving a trail of brown on her face. I reach over and wipe the remaining bits off her face, not noticing until she flinches away. "Shit, I'm sorry Whitney. I shouldn't have"
"It's alright. For some reason, your touch doesn't bother me as much." She says softly.
Damn her voice is doing things to me.
"What was your question?" She twitches her fingers around a few times, something I'm beginning to notice is a nervous habit for her.
"Master Phillipe. What did..I mean..Did he um..say anything. before he. before you."
A wave of nausea hits me hard as I remember the large white lie I gave to this purest of hearts. All she wants is to start over and I don't know if she fully can. "Whitney, listen, I can't really talk about that with you. It's uh. agent stuff."
Right, Taylor, because that makes enough sense.
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't"
"Don't worry. Why don't we talk about something else? You must have other questions." Whitney grabs her coffee and takes another sip before eyeing me and setting it down once again.
"I do have one, but I'm not sure if you can answer it."
"Try me."
"My old friends, Cassie and Amelia, do you know where they are?"
"You don't?" She shakes her head, a shadow moving around her face full of worry and agony. "For what I understand Amelia is back home in London. Cassie's story was a little different. She didn't remember much of her life before Phillipe, but we managed to track down her relatives and did a full investigative report."
At my words, Whitney's eyebrows narrow, giving me a confused and anxious look. "Her parents had sold her when she was very young to the slave world to get money for their addictions. We're guessing Phillipe managed to obtain her through some kind of sale. You don't have to worry; she is safe and in the United States. She has a grandmother she will be living with that moved out here about twenty years ago. She is somewhere in Delaware."
"Is she"
"Excuse me, are you Whitney Donaldson? It is you; can I ask you a few questions for my column?"
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