He was long and lean, his long-sleeved black t-shirt emphasizing his muscular chest. That was it. She knew there was something suspicious about him. No one in his right mind wore long sleeves in the middle of summer in Texas. And who wears black in this heat? That little flaw made her feel better.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” He pulled his hands up and looked at her wide-eyed. “Would it help if I told you I was getting treatment for my apparent personality disorder?”
Naomi couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked when he said it. “No need to apologize. I’m not normally like this. This is my first group session, and I guess I’m nervous. So, you’re a patient, too.” Oh, God, now I’m rambling. Focus, woman. Focus.
“Yep. I’ve been coming to this group for a few weeks,” He said as he pulled the door open, and a gust of cold air rushed out. “After you, it’s the second door on the left.”
Naomi took a breath and regained her composure. After walking through the waiting room, she stepped into what she assumed was supposed to be an office. Instead, it looked like someone’s living room–not at all what she’d expected. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Curtains decorated faux windows that had painted sceneries with rolling hills covered in blue bonnets. In the center of the room, there was a beige sofa with at least half a dozen pillows, a matching love seat, and several wingback chairs. A brown leather chair completed the circle.
“Come on,” he said. “They won’t bite. Well, except maybe for Tori over there. She looks like a biter.” He pointed his head toward a girl sitting on the floor next to the brown leather chair. Her head was bent over a sketchbook; dark blue hair hid her face.
Tori flipped him the finger.
“Tori’s just a ray of sunshine, isn’t she? And this here”—he pointed to a boy on the sofa who pounded away on a smartphone—“is Andrew. Gamer extraordinaire. Where’s the doc?”
Andrew continued to stare intently at his phone as he shrugged his shoulders.
“He said he was going to run a little late today,” a soft voice spoke from behind them.
Naomi turned to see a petite girl with large dark eyes.
“Oh, hey, Ellen. I didn’t see you back there,” he said.
“No one ever does,” she mumbled as she passed by Naomi and sat down next to Andrew. “Are you a friend of Lash’s?”
“Lash?”
“That would be me.” He extended his hand to her. “It’s a pleasure meeting you …?”
“Naomi,” she said as she placed her hand in his. Again, she felt that strange sensation. She looked into Lash’s eyes and saw them darken for a moment before he quickly pulled his hand away. For a moment, he looked confused.
“Whoa, static electricity. Be careful with these rugs,” he said quickly, turning away from her.
Naomi looked at him skeptically. With Houston’s humidity, there was no way that feeling was static electricity.
“Dr. Dantan had to check a patient into the hospital, but he’ll be here as soon as he can,” Ellen said.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” Lash called to Tori. “I told you Caleb was the next one to visit the padded room.”
Without looking up, Tori dug into her bag and threw a bill at him.
“So, did you get your DSM label yet?” Lash plopped himself on the chair next to the sofa. Acting as if nothing happened, he gave her another one of his dimpled smiles.
“DSM?”
“Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” Ellen pointed to a grey book on the bookshelf. “It’s the book that shrinks use to diagnose you.”
“Oh, uh, no. Not yet. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Everybody has one. I got mine yesterday,” Lash said proudly. “I’m schizoid.”
“What’s that?”
“It means he has problems with emotional intimacy,” Ellen said, looking sadly at Lash. “He’s not interested in personal relationships.”
“Yep. No baggage for me.” Lash placed his hands behind his head. “You can guess what Andrew has.”
She glanced at Andrew and saw that he was just as absorbed with his phone, staring at it glassy-eyed, as before. She nodded. She’d heard about video game addiction.
“And Tori over there is just all kinds of messed up.”
Tori flipped him the finger again.
“She has borderline personality disorder,” Ellen said softly. “Do you want to know what I have?”
Naomi sat down in the seat across from her. She thought it was strange that everyone was so open about their problems. She hoped that when she was given a diagnosis, she wouldn’t have to share it with everyone else. “What is it?”
“Dependent personality disorder and dysthymia,” she said, her eyes watering.
Naomi felt bad and wondered why Ellen looked like she was going to cry. “I’m sorry.”
Ellen blinked. “What are you sorry for?”
“I’m not exactly sure. It looked like you were going to cry.”
“She’s always crying.” Tori slammed her sketchbook shut and looked at Naomi. “She cries in every single session.”
Ellen’s lip quivered, and Naomi felt a rush of heat. “That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? I thought this was a place to get help with problems, not get more problems.”