The Therapist

by Latoya Chandler

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

"Sometimes you have to give people a taste of their own medicine!" (Unknown)

Everyone has at least one secret they will carry with them to the grave. Some secrets have the power to destroy everything within their path. What happens when a secret has deadly consequences? Do you ignore it to escape the pain you have caused? Are you able to resist its grip on your life that would prevent any sign of progress?

Dr. Binet, your favorite doctor from Latoya Chandler's The Case Manager, returns in The Therapist to remind you that even therapists need therapy. After hearing so many painful stories from her patients, Dr. Binet finds her mind consumed in ways that drive her to action. The purpose of counseling is to heal open wounds, yet it can fuel the urge for revenge. Discover how Dr. Binet's dark secrets and unhealed wounds spill over into her daily decisions. A vow to confront her skeletons brings out an unfamiliar side that scares her. Her need for revenge intensifies and rouses Dr. Binet's urge to inflict pain. How long will she be able to function as a therapist and heal from the secrets held deep inside? Join Dr. Binet, Candice, and numerous other characters from The Case Manager as they strive to heal once and for all.

Release date: November 26, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

As I sit in my master bath, half of me feels overwhelmed with happiness because I know I am blessed. However, the other half of me feels a sense of guilt and unworthiness with it all. I’ve learned everything happens for a reason, but did we have to endure so much pain and abuse in our lives in order to get to where we are right now? I’d never question God. I sometimes don’t understand how and why we had to be abused physically, mentally, and emotionally to see what the other side of poverty and unhappiness looks like.

I flick on the bathroom television; my pastor just so happens to be on the screen. The more I listen to him, the more everything that I’ve been feeling fades away.

“We were all born in sin, and because we were born in sin, sin will run rampant and will have its way,” my pastor says on the TV. “God gave us a choice between good and evil. Unfortunately, some choose evil. That evil is and can be fully packed and loaded with hate, mistreatment, abuse, lying, stealing, cheating, you name it . . .”

As tears of clarity and understanding drench my olive-brown skin, I turn the television off. I have heard all that I need to hear. It confirmed what my new therapist said to me earlier today. I’ve been struggling with adjusting to her, as I am so accustomed to Dr. Binet and the way she says and does things. However, some good things have to come to an end, so others can flourish, but that bittersweet moment still stings a little. I think back on it now.

“Good evening, Candice. I want to have a word with you, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, Dr. Binet. Have a seat. Is it serious? You’re being extremely formal right now.”

“I apologize. It’s not serious. Well, maybe it is . . . but nothing for you to be alarmed about.”

“Okay. I am listening.”

“First, I want to say how proud I am of you. You’ve come such a long way, and I am honored to have been a part of your journey.”

“Thank you, Dr. Binet.” I started to tear up.

“Now you’re making me tear up,” she said as she wiped an eye. Then she took a deep breath. “Okay, let me take a different approach.” She exhaled. “You know that I’ve grown to love all of you, as if we are family, right?”

“Yes, some or one more than the rest of us.” I giggled.

“Yes, which is the reason this is so hard for me. In order for me to work here at New Beginnings, as well as further my blossoming relationship with Jenna, I must discontinue counseling you. It would be a conflict of interest for me to continue counseling you and the other girls. I will eventually speak with each of them. I just wanted to come to you first, because there is so much more at stake. I hope you understand, Candice, but I cannot be what you need me to be here at New Beginnings, and I cannot be what I need to be to Jenna if I continue being your therapist. It’s just too much. I’ve played different scenarios in my head, but ethically, I cannot do both, in all honesty.”

“Dr. Binet, you owe me no explanation. I had a feeling it would come to this. I just didn’t expect or want it to happen so soon.”

“You did?”

“Um, since when did you start canceling and rescheduling sessions? We haven’t met in about two weeks, even though I have seen you and have spent countless hours with you during those two weeks.”

“Now, you know I was here getting things situated for the grand opening, Candice.”

“I’m just kidding. But I had a feeling we’d have to part ways at some point because it’d become too much on your plate eventually.”

“Mommy, can you tell Dylan and Darren to get out of my room?” Amiya shouts from the other side of the door, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I’ll be in there as soon as I get out of the bathroom, Amiya.” I shake my head.

These kids. I grin.

After getting the kids settled in bed for the night, I make my way back to my bedroom to take off my robe and put some pajamas on. As I shuffle through my delicates drawer, my hand swipes over the latest assignment that my new therapist gave me. Dr. Raysor said it’ll bring closure for me. However, I’m afraid it might end up leading me into opening up a new can of wounds and reinjuring myself. I know one thing: the assignments in school are so much easier than those dealing with my issues. I’m great at being an ear and offering a word of advice for everyone else, but I don’t seem to have much to offer myself.

When I move a pair of socks in the drawer, I see the letter. My problem is that I shut down every time I see this letter. From the onset, being moved from New York to Connecticut’s Hope House, it was a place that was supposed to live up its name and give hope. Instead, it stripped us of that very thing. Having the place demolished was the best thing that I could have done for myself and for my house sisters in terms of our ability to move on. During the demo work, the demolitions expert in charge of leveling Hope House found a locked safe, and inside it were additional monies that Ms. Nancy had left behind and a letter she had written to me. I’ve never read that letter. When I received it, I tucked it in this drawer, and it has been here ever since. I’ve tried so hard to ignore it, and once I even decided to throw it away, but I couldn’t. Something in me won’t allow me to rest until I read it.

When I mentioned this to Dr. Raysor, she informed me that an abuse survivor needs to find closure with his or her abuser. Although Ms. Nancy didn’t physically harm me—Paul and Anthony did that—she’s considered an abuser because she allowed it to happen. Dr. Raysor said my refusal to open the letter is an indication of my hurt and pain. In order for me to completely let go, it is crucial for me to face the contents of that letter. No matter how big or small that letter is, I need to face it. She also said that reading this letter would bring the closure that I need. And I also need to take it a step further by writing my own letters to my abusers and then burning all the letters together.

“I guess there’s no time like the present,” I say aloud to myself. I take a look around me, and then I slowly remove the letter from the drawer and fumble to get the envelope open. I slip the letter out of the envelope, unfold it, and then I read it silently to myself.

“Ugh,” I cry out, drop the letter on the floor, and swipe everything off my dresser with one hand.

“Mommy, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Amiya asks me through the bedroom door.

“Y-Yes.” I clear my throat. “Yes, baby. I am fine. I will be out in a minute.”

I tie the sash on my robe, and then I gather myself as much as I can and open the door.

“Mommy, why are you crying?” Amiya looks concerned.

“Mommy’s okay, Amiya. Why aren’t you in bed? I just tucked you in.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Can I sleep in your bed?”

“How about I go in your room with you and stay until you fall asleep? I want you to get used to sleeping in your own pretty bedroom. You’re a big girl now,” I tell her and sniffle.

“Can Adrianna come and sleep over here with us?”

“I will see if they’re awake. After tonight, Amiya, you have to sleep in your room. Okay, baby?” I say as I lead Amiya back to her bedroom.

“Yes, Mommy.” She jumps up on her bed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Candice, what happened in here?” Nakita gives me a worried glance as we stand in my bedroom, staring at the mess on the floor in front of the dresser.

“Are the girls in bed?” I say, avoiding her question, as I pick Ms. Nancy’s letter up off the floor.

“Yes. They’re asleep. Now tell me what the hell happened in here.”

“That evil woman Ms. Nancy happened. That’s what happened. I don’t want any of this anymore, Nakita. I want nothing from her.” I begin knocking everything within reach off the nightstand.

“No, Candice. Please stop! Don’t let her take you there. What happened?” Nakita drops to the floor and wraps herself around my waist.

“I can’t do this, Nakita. I don’t want her guilt money. I don’t want any of this.”

“This is yours. I don’t care how you got it, but it’s yours. You’re the first one to say that God is a mystery that neither of us can comprehend. He doesn’t cause evil acts, but they happen. I know the only reason you’re this upset is that you read that stupid letter.” Nakita pauses and looks up at me. “I tried to steal it on many occasions,” she confesses as tears stream down her face.

“W-Why did you want to take it?”

“I knew no good could come from that letter. I am no therapist, but I know my heart couldn’t take all of that. Sometimes things are better left unknown.”

“I don’t want to live in denial, Nakita. I want to face what needs to be addressed.”

“Candice, you already knew what that woman did and why she did it. What more could she have to say in a letter?”

“You’re right. I just feel horrible, as if I am being paid off to forget what happened.”

“No matter how hard we try, we will never forget. We will move forward, but pieces of our past will always live with us. That doesn’t mean we have to pick up those pieces and put them back together again.”

“Listen to you,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion.

“I guess all that therapy is paying off.”

“Or we traded places. Look what I’ve done to my bedroom.” I shake my head.

“Girl, it’s about time. Getting mad is good for the soul. Now that that’s out of the way, you mentioned that Dr. Raysor said to burn the letter and let it go.”

“She said to write letters to all my abusers and burn them all. However, I don’t have anything to say. I feel like I’ve said all that needed to be said during my sessions. I am glad I read the letter, because knowing it was here bothered me. I sort of feel a sense of relief, if that makes sense.”

“It makes a lot of sense. I do think burning that letter will do us both some good.”

“I think you’re right,” I tell her, holding up the letter.

We head to the kitchen, where I retrieve a box of matches, and then we step out onto the back patio. I strike a match and light a corner of the letter, and as a flame races toward my fingers, I release the burning paper. It lands on the flagstones, and we watch as fire devours the words and red and yellow sparks fly.

“I am done. It is finished,” I declare when ashes are all that remain of the letter.

Although my life has done a complete 180, I am not completely happy. It’s crazy, because I want for nothing at this point. The little black girl that once used safety pins to hold her bra together now has bras and panties in every color and with every design you can think of. My daughter will never see a day of lack. I can provide for her and then some. However, there’s a part of me that is uneasy. Material things don’t make you a parent or a person, and I think those are the areas in which I am failing or will fail.

I am anxious all the time, and I feel like it is almost impossible for me not to be anxious at this point. I’m scared that I’ll regret having my Adrianna. Sometimes I wonder if she is a blessing or a mistake, as horrible as that sounds. I don’t ever want to look at her as a mistake. Adrianna has brought an enormous amount of happiness and love to my life, as well as a boatload of fear. I thought having her would make me complete, but instead, I’ve been a complete mess ever since she was born.

Sometimes I wonder if we would all still be at Ms. Jasmine’s place if Candice didn’t get all that money and share it with me, Judith, Samantha, and Simone. Things were so much easier before the settlement. I always had Candice, the other girls, and Ms. Jasmine there around the clock. It’s not like that any longer, and I don’t trust myself alone with Adrianna for long periods of time. I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong and hurt her by mistake.

I was beginning to have a meltdown when Candice phoned last night. But she was able to talk me down off the ledge. She’s talked me down one too many times, and yet I still find myself climbing my way back up to the top. Since Dr. Binet concluded treating us, I haven’t seen or talked to anyone besides Candice. I don’t do well with change, and all this is too much for me. I believe my therapy sessions have run their course, so it doesn’t really matter to me that they came to an end. Candice believes that I am making a mistake, that more therapy would be a good thing, but I disagree.

Adrianna and I are together in my bed now, and Adrianna is finally asleep. She went to bed a little upset and disappointed. The kids wanted to have a sleepover tonight, but I ended up having to bring her back to the house because she was not feeling well. She has a mild fever. Candice said it could be just a head cold. I have been giving her Tylenol Cold, and it appears to be working.

Adrianna’s coughing pulls me from my sleep about three hours after she settled down.

“M-Mommy,” she says in a small voice.

Exhausted, in a bleary-eyed state, I grab the Tylenol Cold from my nightstand, pour some in the dosage cup, and give it to her. Sometime later, she coughs again, and I repeat the process and give her more cold medicine. As I lie back down, the realization dawns on me that I mistakenly gave her the medicine too frequently, and so she has taken too much.

“Oh my God. Adrianna, wake up,” I yell and grab her.

Seeing that she’s still asleep, I reach for my phone and dial Candice.

When she picks up, I stutter, “C-Candice, I th-think s-something is wrong with Adriana—”

“Hang up and call nine-one-one,” she orders, interrupting me. “I’m on my way over there.”

This had to be one of the scariest nights of my life. It never fails; I am bad luck to anyone within arm’s reach. Adrianna wound up with a bad stomachache and the runs, but overall, the mild overdose didn’t do anything to her. Since I really don’t trust myself with her now, I wanted Candice to take Adrianna home with her, but she refused. I wasn’t in the mood to argue with Candice, but I didn’t see why she just couldn’t keep her over there for now.

I have been nursing Adrianna for three days now, and I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. I am going to ignore the knocking at the front door. But then Candice barges into my bedroom.

“Nakita, what is wrong with you? Open these curtains. Get up.”

Almost jumping out of my skin, I stare at her, wide-eyed, before turning my back to her.

“You forgot I have a key. I need you to get up. It has been three days. You cannot sit in this room in the dark. It smells in here too.” She pulls the curtains back.

“I have a headache. Just leave me alone right now.”

“From what? This?” She storms over to me and waves an empty bottle of wine in my face.

“No, Candice! Now let me be.”

“Your daughter needs you, Nakita. It was an honest mistake! You cannot continue to beat yourself up.”

“A mistake that could have killed my daughter, Candice.” I break down.

“But you didn’t. Adrianna is fine. I just checked on her. You’ve been taking great care of her. You’re fine, Nakita.”

“I am not fine, Candice. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what? What are you talking about? Every day won’t be perfect. We are not perfect. And guess what?”

“What?”

“We all make mistakes. You cannot give up on yourself and life because you made a mistake. You have to fight. Yes, we went through hell and back, but you can go through hell and still be happy.”

“It’s hard to fight for a life that you’ve given up on for so long.”

“Well, you have to keep fighting, Nakita, no matter what. You also need to go back to therapy. It was helping.”

“I’m not starting over with someone else. I don’t need to talk about anything anymore. All talking does is dig everything up that I buried. I am sick of resurrecting my dead issues and demons. I am done talking about all of that, and I’m done talking to you right now. Now, please leave me alone for a little while.”

“I will leave you alone for now, but I will be back bright and early tomorrow morning. You know what tomorrow is, and you know that I need you there.”

“Fine. Now shut the curtains and close the door behind you. Thanks.”

For as long as I can remember, I have always admired and had a thing for older women. Women that I’ve seen on television, in malls, teachers, you name it. I thought I was weird at first, but I then realized boys my age—and boys, period—didn’t interest me. Initially, I told myself I was looking for a mother figure. I had say to myself, I don’t want to hold hands, kiss, or take long walks on the beach with my mother. Or do I? Minus the kissing?

In actuality, I’ve never had a relationship with a woman, or with a man, in all honesty. I have never had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or been on a real date. I remain a virgin. I have never been able to interact with women on anything more than the level of friendship. I’ve had a few casual “dates,” which consisted of a one-on-one girls’ night out, but nothing serious. Until Brianne. So of course, with Brianne, I was intimidated at first. Without question, she saw right through me. She is an amazing woman. When we met, I had no idea of her relationship status, and with my insecurities, I could never have imagined that she would be interested in someone like me.

During the family counseling sessions I attended with Candice and my dad, Dr. Binet—I mean Brianne . . . I’m gushing just mentioning her name—would always have her hair tied in a ponytail that she’d slicked back and wrapped into a tight bun. Glasses and little to no makeup to accompany her everyday ensemble. Not even lipstick. She was always professionally dressed in dark colors, such as gray, black, and navy, and she wore blazers paired with skirts or pantsuits. Pretty much a plain Jane, so I never really paid her that much attention to her physical appearance. I admired her intelligence, but not in a romantic way, so to speak.

That was until Candice’s graduation day. A few months back, Candice received her associate’s degree in mental health. She swore then that Brianne and I were already an item and in love, because of the way I watched her and stared at her. I disagreed for the simple fact that I wasn’t attracted to Brianne romantically. And for the fact that she was a therapist and knew all my dark secrets. Maybe I was in denial. I had never really looked at a woman of a different race in that manner. Primarily because I had thought all of them looked, smelled, and acted like my evil stepmother. Either way, Candice’s revelation was on point and smacked me dead in the face. Brianne walked into the auditorium for the graduation, she took my breath away. I remember that moment now.

“She’s absolutely stunning,” I mumbled.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” Alonzo joked.

“N-Nothing.”

“And you’re st-stuttering? Yeah, you’re in love,” he said, ribbing me.

The person who was once plain Jane was no more. Dr. Binet had transformed into sexy Susie, as radical a change as Clark Kent into Superman. Dr. Binet was absolutely breathtaking. For starters, the tight bun that she wore had been freed from the top of head, and now her kohl-black, curly tresses plunged over her shoulders. Her eyeglasses, which usually covered her brown eyes, were gone, and I found her glance hypnotizing. I didn’t think I could stare in her eyes any longer. Dr. Binet wore a black wraparound dress that flowed just right and hugged her curves in all the right places.

In an instant, her beauty matched her brains, and I fell completely in love. The perfect woman. At least that was what my mind told me as she closed in on my personal space.

“Hey, Jenna!”

“H-Hello, Dr. Binet.”

“It’s all right for you to call me Brianne.”

“No problem, Brianne,” I whispered, though I wanted to shout.

“Are you okay? You’re sweating.” She brushed the perspiration from my brow.

“I think you took her by surprise, coming in here looking like America’s next top auntie or model,” said a male voice behind me.

“Alonzo,” I said. My eyes pierced him.

“My bad. No disrespect, Dr. Binet, I mean Brianne. Jenna is a little shy, and I think she’s blown away by your beauty. The same way I am blown away by the graduate’s beauty.” He beamed as the color vanished from his face.

Sheepishly, Brianne suddenly became interested in the stitching of her pointy hazel pumps.

“I love your shoes,” I told her in order to change the topic.

“Thank you. I search for reasons to dress outside of my professional garb.”

“You look like a totally different person,” I noted.

“Everyone says that when they see me outside ‘the office.’”

“They aren’t lying.”

“Well, thank you, Jenna.”

“You’re welcome. I’m not sure if this is out of place or wrong, but would you mind joining me for coffee some. . .