The Marriage Counselor by Dea Poirier

Author:Dea Poirier [Poirier, Dea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781837901692
Published: 2023-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

17

The thing about blood is, once you’ve had it between your fingers, coating your palms, the viscous fluid clinging to your every pore, you never forget it. That warmth, the feeling, is imprinted on you, like traces are left on your soul for luminol to find. And though I don’t need to look down to know it’s there, I do. My eyes scan over the bubbles of red between my fingers, the stains on my skin. My heart pounds as I take it all in. It can’t be. I can’t have done it again.

It takes too long for me to process where I am. The subway tile, the sleek gray counters, the black shaker cabinets. The kitchen. Cameron’s kitchen. The world tips and I reach out for the counter, hoping to right myself. Anxiety tightens around my chest, threatening to suffocate me. This can’t be happening. Cameron can’t be dead too. Because then, where would that leave me? How could I say I wasn’t a killer?

One of the dogs nuzzles against my leg, dragging me from my panic. He looks up at me, eyes pleading, as if he senses my inner turmoil. I reach out reflexively to pet his head but stop when I find my flesh pale and unmarked.

Insane. I’m going insane. Hallucinations are never a good sign. Sure, they can happen because of trauma, or stress, or medication—but they should not be happening to me.

“Oh, you’re already up?” Cameron asks from behind me, startling me.

My heart pounds as I try to settle myself. Maybe all this stress is making me imagine things. I need to get a grip. “Good morning,” I say, trying to keep a handle on my emotions, so they don’t come through in my tone. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep anymore.” I don’t remember getting up or walking into the kitchen. How long have I been awake?

He walks over and kisses me gently on the cheek. “Want some breakfast?”

“Sure,” I say, though I don’t think I can actually stomach food.

“Did you make any coffee yet?” He points toward the coffee pot.

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t had a chance yet.”

“I’ll make some. Could you grab the cups for me?” He points toward some cabinets at the end of the kitchen as he walks to the pot.

I walk over and grab the cups, setting them out on the counter near the pot as he grabs a filter. As the pot gurgles, he drags out pans and begins making breakfast. Though I want to help, I stand on the outskirts of the kitchen, paralyzed. I can’t shake the fear, even though I’d love to. My heartbeat is still kicked up a notch, my nerves refusing to settle.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks as he flips a pancake.

“Better than Tuesday night,” I say as I sigh. But honestly, I’ve always slept fine at Cameron’s side. Sometimes, sleeping next to Patrick felt good—for the first few years anyway. Now that I look back with new eyes, I can see when he started to pull away.

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