Chapter 139 - Inseparable
Daphne
Pilar Larkin didn’t look like a woman in crisis. Of course, some of us hide our pain better than others, but she looked like she was ready to walk the red carpet. Skin tight dress, platform heels, her hair parted to one side and curled to perfection, and make-up that some how managed to make her look sultry and innocent at the same time. It really was impressive.
“Oh, is this your office? This is really nice. I’ve never been in a shrink’s office before. I thought there would be a couch. Oh, but this room isn’t really big enough for a proper couch is it? Still, I love what you’ve done with it. The plants are a nice touch.”
I smiled and gestured to the chairs. “Why don’t you have a seat, Miss Larkin?”
She did have a seat, and then leaned back and crossed her long legs, flashing me quite a lot of thigh, as if I’d be interested. “Please, Daphne, don’t be so formal. Call me Pilar.”
“Thank you, Pilar. Dr. Conway and I reviewed your intake form, and we were concerned about some of your answers on the questionnaire. Perhaps we could start there?”
She looked bored, and started to pick at the polish on one of her fingernails. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I have your form here, Pilar. Question number six asks, do you ever have thoughts of harming yourself?” I read her hastily scrawled answer. “You wrote, all the time.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Can you tell me more about that?”
She shifted in the chair, tugged at her skirt, and for the first time since I met her, seemed truly selfconscious. “You know, different times, different things. Sometimes… well, I’ve thought of…”
Either she was a much better actress than I gave her credit for, or she was actually struggling to talk about something that was real to her, something that caused her shame and anxiety. “Pilar, you can tell me what’s on your mind. Doctor-patient privilege means I can’t tell anyone what we talk about. This is a safe space.”
“I know I’m too old for these things,” she started again. “But sometimes I’d just use one of those box cutters and just make, like, small cuts. Places no one can see, and you know, my wolf would have it healed up in a couple hours anyway, and it never leaves a scar.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I know it’s not right, but it’s kind of relaxing, almost…” she sighed. “It’s almost like a drug.”
“Well, you aren’t wrong. Some studies show that self-harm activates the dopamine and opioid centers of the brain, which might help regulate stress or manage pain.” I made a note on her chart. “Have you ever thought about taking it further, doing more than scratching.”
She sighed and her eyes moved to the window, to the garden beyond, and became a little unfocused. “Doesn’t everyone? I think sometimes about just taking a knife and stabbing myself in the neck, just sever the jugular you know? Like, I’d just fantasize about it over and over while I’m sitting in a meeting, or trying to go to sleep at night. Or like, just injecting myself with enough tranquilizer that I would go to sleep and never wake up. Or the Foremore overpass, and just jumping from the top of the bridge.”
“I see,” I said, as I scribbled s.uicidal ideation in her notes. “And when do you have these thoughts the most.”
She dragged her gaze back to me and gave me a disgusted look. “I just told you. All the time.”
“I understand, but I was wondering if you noticed them more when you are under stress, when you are feeling sad, maybe around your menstrual cycle, or if there are certain people or situations that you find triggering.”
“Yeah, I think we should talk about something else,” I could almost see Pilar go back behind the mask of the perfect, poised Alpha’s daughter, and slip into her polished b.itch persona. “Let’s talk about sex.”
If she expected me to be shocked, she was sadly disappointed. “Okay,” I gave her a small, professional smile. “Let’s talk about that.”
“Are you sleeping with the King?”
To my own credit, I didn’t even blink an eyelash. “We are here to talk about you, Pilar,” I reminded her, gently but firmly.
“Yeah, right,” she huffed, and then a small, cruel smile spead her lips like it was stretching a rubber band. “I’ve been thinking about sex with Louis since I got here. I mean come on, who wouldn’t? He’s got those eyes, and that deep, bedroom voice. I get hot every time I’m near him.”
“I see.” I tried to pretend she was talking about someone else. It wasn’t my Louis she was gushing about, it was a stranger. “So you are having sexual fantasies about King Louis,” I used the opportunity to remind her that she should be using her title. Even within the confines of my office.
“Oh sweetheart, they won’t be just fantasies for much longer.”
“Why do you say that?”
She brushed invisible lint off her skirt. “Sooner or later, he won’t be able to resist me. Men are all the same, after all, it doesn’t matter if they are royalty or not. Even if they don’t particularly like me, they all capitulate eventually.” She ran her hands over her breasts, and then lifted them a little, forcing more cleavage to pop out the low neckline.
“And how does that make you feel, Pilar? Knowing that you can use sex to manipulate men?”
She laughed, but it was a cold and hollow sound. “Do you even have to ask? You are a woman! I know you are stringing Nash Turner along, too. It’s powerful, isn’t it. Men thing women are so weak, but the truth is, a clever woman can lead any man around by the balls.”
Not any man, I thought silently. I had absolute faith that neither Louis nor Nash would fall for her petty schemes. “What about love, Pilar? What about your future mate?”
Something flashed in her eyes, intense pain, hatred even. “What is love? Just silly sentiment. And I don’t have a mate any more.”
“Oh I’m sorry, did he die?”
“No, he–” She shook her head. “I. I rejected him. He was just an omega. Can you imagine? Me, mated to an omega?” She sniffed, and scratched at her nail polish again. She’d already peeled the finish off from two of her nails. “It doesn’t matter. My father says that mate-bonds make a woman weak. We should be free to choose our partners.”
“I think that’s very sad,” I said softly. “Both that you rejected your mate, and that you don’t believe in the power of the mate bond. It’s a gift, a blessing.”
“Pfft,” She made a derisive noise between her teeth. “Yeah, yeah, big words from a woman who is pregnant without a mate. Don’t act so righteous, you don’t have a mark on your neck, do you?”
“You are right Pilar, I’m sorry if I sounded judgmental. You are entitled to your own opinions regarding relationships.”
She huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Damn right I am.”
“So, you want the freedom to choose your own partner?”
“Absolutely,” for a minute I saw that hurt look flash through her eyes again, and then it returned to it’s usual cold, hard stare. “And I choose the king.”
“That’s a very interesting choice. We should definitely talk more about that. Next week. I’m afraid our time is up for today.”
“That’s it?” She scowled at me as she uncrossed her legs and slowly rose to her feet. “But… I don’t feel any different. I don’t think you fixed me, Doc.”
“Technically, I’m not a doctor. And healing is a journey, it’s not going to happen all in one session. But if you don’t feel that our talk helped, feel free to cancel the future appointments–.”
“No!” she practically shouted her objection. And then she carefully regulated her voice again. “I mean, no. I don’t want to cancel. I need… I need help, Daphne.”
“Okay, Pilar. I’ll see you next week then, at the same time.”
She stood up, wobbled for just a moment on her platformed heels, and then resumed her usual arrogant posture as she strode out of my office like she was walking a runway. I shook my head as I glanced down at my notes. She was perhaps one of the most troubled -and troubling- women I had ever met.