Vivaldi in the Dark Box Set

“That does demonstrate that taking your mind off things helps,” she said, and Darren raised his eyebrows.

“If you say so.”

“Darren, we’ve discussed this before. A lot of your emotional problems are rooted in your upbringing. It is difficult to alter the way we think and feel and react as a result of our childhoods, but it is wholly possible, and shedding the things that remind us of those histories is an excellent first step. I truly believe when you ceased to play the violin, you took a valuable first step.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think the more steps you can take to separate your current life from your childhood, the easier you are going to make things on yourself.”

Darren narrowed his eyes. “So, what, change my name? Father had this way of saying it so it was like a whole sentence on its own. Darren. Just like that.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Perhaps not that extreme.”

“My best friend has asked me to play the piano at his wedding.”

“Now that I suspect might be a bad idea, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, you’re the psychiatrist.”

“Counsellor, Darren. I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“And yet we’re in the psychiatry clinic.”

“Not every medic in the hospital is a doctor either,” she said gently. “My point is, Darren, that your secondment has demonstrated that you are in a different place—a better place—than you were four years ago when you and Jayden separated to begin working.”

Darren sat back in his chair, waiting. He felt suspicious, suddenly, and felt his guard rising. He made no attempt to stop it.

“I truly believe a fresh start will help you, Darren. You have never separated enough from your upbringing to begin to discover who you really are, and I believe that is contributing heavily to your depression and anxiety issues.”

“Anxiety issues?”

“And I think that some time apart will…”

“You want me to break up with my boyfriend.”

“You have been with the same man for seven years, and you’re only twenty-two yourself. I think that says something.”

“Yeah, it says there’s this weird part of me that actually loves him and doesn’t want to break up with him,” Darren said sarcastically.

“I think some time apart could help you build up the self-resilience that you need to…”

“Dumping my boyfriend is going to help me?”

“I think by holding on to Jayden, you are…”

“I’m in love, I’m not holding on,” Darren remarked and rubbed his fingers at his temple to ease the growing irritation. “Okay, I’m done.”

“We have another twenty minutes.”

“I’m done,” Darren snapped. “Get bent. I won’t be seeing you next Sunday.”

“Darren…”

“I’m out,” he said and stood up. He was a lot taller than her standing, and with Elaine still seated, she looked dwarfish. “Thanks for the advice, but you suck, you don’t know what you’re talking about, and you’re asking me to dump the reason I’m even still alive. So: no, goodbye, I won’t be staying in touch.”

He stormed out. The office broke off from the main psychiatry waiting room, and the look on his face frightened a small child in the waiting area enough that she started crying in his wake. A nurse glowered, and he ignored her, stalking out into the car park. He didn’t care what they thought. He felt angry, hot and twitchy, and stalked around his car for a good five minutes pulling his hands through his hair before getting in and starting the engine.

He reversed out too fast, and an angry cabbie hit the horn, but Darren just swore at him and drove off. He needed some air, some space, and some kind of really fucking good excuse.

Because Jayden was going to kill him.

9

The door to the bag room clanged, and a voice filtered over the rhythmic thu-dump, thu-dump of Darren’s gloves against the bag.

“Are you actually planning on coming home tonight?”

Darren stepped back from the bag, chest heaving. He’d taken off his shirt some time ago and was still sweat-soaked. His hair felt damp, and he had to keep blinking the salt out of his eyes just to see. His knuckles hurt even under the thick leather, and his legs were going to kill him on shift tomorrow. Even his head felt kind of…weird. Spinning a bit, maybe.

But he felt a little less angry. A little less like he was suffocating, or being crushed into a box again by the same old psychoanalytical bullshit being spouted by a dull, fat bint who just didn’t fucking understand. He felt…better. Kind of.

Jayden stood in the doorway in his heavy winter coat and scarf, flushed from the cold outside or the heat inside, blond hair ruffled from the wind on his walk down, and frowned slightly.