I got dressed quickly and left without saying goodbye.
It was the least I could do for her.
***
“What the hell do you mean, ‘it isn’t that bad’? Were you listening?” I called Dr. Singh early Monday morning to see about switching my appointment this week because I spent the rest of the weekend alternating between guilt and drunken rage over how things went down with Jana. He could fit me in on Tuesday, one damn day early.
“I was listening but maybe you are in no position to see things the way I do.” I appreciated his attempts at diplomacy, but I wasn’t in the mood to be nice. “Yes you still had the dream, but she pulled you out before things got bad.” He glanced down at his notes and I knew what he would say. “You said you don’t remember anything after the pair of booted feet and you usually wake up with an elevated heart and blood pressure rate, cold sweats and panic attacks, right?”
I nodded.
“That is progress. And she is right, pulling you from that memory gently is less traumatic for the dreamer.” He gave me a pointed look that only amplified my guilt. “Your friend is very smart.”
"Who made her a fucking expert, anyway?” I knew I was well into bratty fucking kid status but I didn’t give a damn.
Dr. Singh nodded and crossed his legs, setting aside his ever present notepad. “Military servicemembers are not the only ones susceptible to post traumatic stress, Max.”
I sat back and sighed, raking both hands through my hair. “Shit, Doc. I thought I wouldn’t be able to feel any fucking worse. I was wrong.” Naturally she knew what worked, she’d been dealing with her own trauma since she was sixteen years old. “I am such an asshole.”
The good doctor looked amused. “Being an asshole can be fixed easily Max. It is called romance. What I’d like to discuss for the remainder of our time today is why you reacted the way you did.”
“Shit, Doc, I already told you. I can’t risk hurting someone because of my fucking dreams. My brain. That is not okay.”
“But you didn’t hurt her. Not physically anyway.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Avoiding an outcome isn’t dealing with the issue Max. Maybe it’s a good thing that you have a new lady friend right when you need one.” A soft chime sounded and I shot up out of my seat like it was on fire.
Dr. Singh stood slower and extended a hand to me. “See you next week Max. Sooner if you need me.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“Remember, romance,” he said to my back as I walked out of his office and the damn building like the fucking terrorists were after me.
The sun shone bright even through the overcast day but the chill in the air was typical of Spring. I didn’t really give a shit about the weather but that session with Singh hadn’t helped. It made me feel guiltier, like the worst kind of asshole for my reaction.
And worse, I probably behaved the way every man in Jana’s life had.
I was so fucking tired of my own thoughts, I pushed the engine on my bike on the ten minute drive back to Mayhem, so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t see Savior until I damn near ran right into him. “What are you doing here?”
“Do I need a reason to come see you?”
“Cut the shit, Savior. What’s up?” Not that we weren’t friends, we were. Savior was the only guy I really hung out with in the club because I didn’t come to Vegas looking for a connection. I came in search of my brother and found two dozen others instead.
“Fine, I need you to make a run with me to Santa Fe.”
“What the hell is in Santa Fe?”
“Guns. More to the point, we’re delivering a couple crates to a gun shop who made the purchase through a show.”
I blinked as the words seeped in. “I thought we didn’t fuck with guns.”
“We don’t. At least not illegal ones. These are more on the legal side of the gray area and more important, we’re charging a shit ton of cash for them.”
I shrugged because it didn’t matter to me as much as it should. Savior said they weren’t breaking the law and I believed him. “Fine. When do we leave?”
“Today. As soon as you pack a bag. You heard from Golden Boy lately? Cross said he stopped taking calls.”