Dr. Hart pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Why do you need the pain?”
Once more, I close my eyes and think back to the other day when I pierced my flesh with the newest cut. My mother had told me she was going to introduce me to a man, a business associate of my father’s. One with a long history of good standing with the one percenters and a family name that preceded him. She said if I was worth anything to our family, I’d go out with him and let him woo me, eventually marry me, and combine our families. For the greater good of the Carmichaels, she’d said. After she forced me to agree to an assigned date in the future when the man was available, I’d gone straight to my room and dug deep into my skin. The rush of endorphins skittered along every nerve ending, carrying me into a state of tragic bliss.
“I need the pain.” I mumble again, tracing the scar of that particular transgression.
“Why, Honor? Tell me. Trust me. You’ve gotten this far. I can help you, but only if I understand.” Her words are a plea for me to give in. To believe. And I do believe that this woman, with her kind eyes, small pregnant belly, happy family, and designer clothes, in her swank downtown San Francisco office, genuinely wants to help me. I just don’t understand it. No one ever wants to help me. Truly see things from my eyes.
“Why do you help people?” I ask her in return.
She leans back, places her arm on the back of the couch, and toys with a loose thread on her couch. “Because I know what it feels like to be alone. To have very little hope for a good life. I want to change that for people who are lost.”
“For people like me?”
“Are you lost?” She uses her MD Kung Fu to boomerang that back on me.
“I think so.”
“Why?” Again with the whys.
I shake my head hopelessly. “Because I don’t know who I am. I have no clue what I want from life. I have nothing tethering me to this world.”
Dr. Hart places her hand on top of mine and squeezes. “Do you want me to help you figure those things out?”
I’m stunned silent by her response. In my twenty-six years on this earth, no one, not even Hannon, has ever offered to help in such a way. It may be her training, her innate knack for dealing with broken people, or perhaps she sees something in me that she wants to fix. Whatever it is, the question spurs the same reaction as throwing a raft into shark-infested waters where I’m barely treading water. It gives me hope.
I lick my dry lips and focus on her face. A small smattering of freckles are splayed across her nose like a fine dusting of glitter. Her eyes are black as night but sparkling with the light of the stars. Her cheeks are high on her wide face, and her black hair tumbles around her golden-colored skin, making her a striking beauty. I can see how she’s captured the eye of the blond superhunk.
“Do you want me to help you find out what you like and who you are, Honor?” she asks again.
“Yes.” The word slips from my lips as if it’s a prayer, and maybe it is. Where I’m at now, Dr. Hart may surely be my savior.
“To do that, I’m going to need you to be honest with me and tell me why you need the pain.”
Without thinking, I blurt out my secret, allowing it to coat this session with its hideous stain. “It’s the only way I can feel anything. At least when I’m hurting myself, I can feel something.”
Dr. Hart pats my hand and squeezes it. “Okay. Now that I can work with.”
Chapter Four
Downward Facing Dog (Sanskrit: Adho Mukha Svanasana)
Start with legs straight and feet to the floor. Center the silk along the hips. Place both hands to the floor and hinge forward. When you feel comfortable, try to balance your weight and lift your feet a foot or two off the floor. Follow the instructions from a certified aerial yoga instructor and only go as far as you are capable.
NICHOLAS
Lotus House is alive with energy when I enter, my baby sis, Gracie, hot on my heels. She’s wearing a bright smile and the new yoga outfit I bought her to celebrate her first day.
“Hey, Nick!” Dara waves from the front desk where she’s helping a blonde customer sign up for classes. Luna, the owner’s daughter, is behind her, filing something away in the cabinets.
“Ladies, bringing in my baby girl Gracie to teach her first Vin Flow class. You pumped, Grace?” I ask, knocking her shoulder playfully.
“So pumped!” She squeals and does a little touchdown jig.
Dara smiles huge. “Girl, you know you got this. I’ve taken your substitute classes. Just remember, when you lose your place, breathe through it and go into tree, warrior, or child’s pose, depending on if you have them standing or on the mat.”
Grace leans into the counter, bumping the petite blonde next to her. “Oh, sorry.”
The blonde looks up, but all I can see is her profile. And what a damn fine profile it is. Classic, proud chin, a small, straight nose, and bee-sting-reddened lips. Her skin is so pale I can see the light-blue veins running just under the surface of her long, swan-like neck. Her blonde hair is a golden platinum that’s bundled up on top of her head, making her look more like a ballerina than a yoga student.
She mumbles something and then tips her head down, just as I round over to Gracie’s side so I can see her more clearly. Long, black, fanned eyelashes meet the top of her cheeks as she focuses on the initial new client paperwork in front of her.
Smoothly, or not so smoothly, I encircle Gracie’s bicep and ease her around behind
