“He did get married, and he is out of my house.”
Thankfully, she added silently.
She loved Konstantin, of course, and was grateful for the fact that he moved into her house with no questions asked after … everything had happened. He was there, just a room away, to wake her out of nightmares that seemed constant night after night. He was there to see her through the first few weeks of panic attack after panic attack when she’d seen strangers walk past her house.
And he also drove her crazy.
They were not the same people. Konstantin had his habits, and Viktoria had hers. Her brother, before his wife, had also greatly enjoyed the company of other women. He was a smartass, and with that came a sharp tongue.
Yes, she appreciated him being there.
She was also glad he’d left.
“Also,” Cindy murmured, “do not think that I forgot about the fact you didn’t answer my question. Why did your brother think you should make a trip to visit me?”
Viktoria frowned at the glare of her reflection in the window. She wasn’t sure if Cindy could see it or not, and she didn’t care either way. “I went to visit my dad in Russia, and that always … screws with my head.”
“Is that all?”
“Before I went, the nightmares had started again.”
“I see.”
“Two or three a night,” Viktoria added.
“What about flashbacks?”
“A few times a week.”
The sound of a pen scratching against paper echoed throughout the room, but Viktoria still didn’t turn around on the chaise to see what the woman was doing. She already knew, anyway. Listing all the symptoms of Viktoria’s trauma—the shit that just wouldn’t leave her alone no matter what she did.
“Depression?”
Viktoria cleared her throat. “Moderate.”
“Anxiety?”
“Constant.”
“Self-harm?” the therapist asked.
Viktoria frowned. “I don’t do that.”
“But do you think about it?”
Well, that wasn’t an easy question to answer. Viktoria never actively thought about hurting herself to ease the pain, and she didn’t think about killing herself on a daily basis, either. But she couldn’t lie and say something like suicide had never passed her mind, either. She had, briefly, considered the fact that ending her life would take away everything. She didn’t seriously entertain the idea, though.
“You don’t have to answer,” Cindy said, “I think your silence explains a lot.”
“Oh, does it?”
She didn’t even try to hide her sarcasm.
Cindy just ignored it.
“You know that with PTSD—”
“Could we not put labels on … all of this?” Viktoria said, gesturing with one hand at herself like that was going to explain it. “I don’t like that.”
“No labels, then, but I do think there are some medications that would help to ease some of your problems that are causing other issues to be made worse. Treating things like the anxiety and depression with meds could ease things elsewhere.”
“I don’t want to take medications.”
“You do know mental illness isn’t cured by a cold demeanor and shutting yourself away from the rest of the world, right? You can put on the mask for everyone at the beginning of each day, Viktoria, but when you take it off, you’re still going to be the same woman underneath it all. And that woman needs help.”
Viktoria continued staring out the window. “So be it.”
“All right, since this is a dead-end and I know better than to keep pushing, let’s talk about these nightmares.”
Great.
• • •
“Nope, not strong enough,” Viktoria muttered, passing the wine despite the fact their pretty labels and shiny bottles on the shelves all but beckoned her to come closer. She was going to need something with a far higher percentage of alcohol to get her through the night. “Vodka, vodka, vodka …”
She was sure the woman at the other end of the aisle in the liquor store thought she was crazier than hell, and honestly, the woman wouldn’t be entirely wrong. After spending an entire hour with Cindy to discuss her nightmares in great detail, the only thing Viktoria could currently feel was a deep, thumping fear in her chest. It echoed with every single beat of her heart and felt like it might be trying to crawl up her throat.
She didn’t want meds to deal with this.
But she would drink it away.
Drink the fear away …
Was it healthy?
Probably not.
Did she have a problem?
Not yet.
She only resorted to alcohol to help her get through a night like the one she knew would be coming that evening when nothing else would do. Before Konstantin moved out, she’d felt comfortable enough to try and push through it because she’d known he would be just one room over.
But after verbally reliving those nightmares with Cindy because the therapist was sure it would help to stop them on some level—it wouldn’t—she had no doubt they would be doubling their appearances in her dreams tonight.
Best way to fix that was to drink so much she wouldn’t dream. Yeah, that was a real thing. She’d drink until she blacked out, wake up with one hell of a fucking hangover, and move the hell on like nothing had happened.
Hopefully, it would be enough.
Viktoria wasn’t sure it would be.
What else could she do?
The woman stocking shelves at the other end of the aisle passed Viktoria one more look. Viktoria didn’t even bother to hide the glare that time. The woman’s eyes widened and she quickly picked up the empty box on the floor and left.
Good. Now it’s just me and my problems.
Viktoria turned her attention to the rows of vodka on the shelf. She was smart about this—she knew better than to keep liquor in her house, which was kind of
