trans·fer·ence: a novel Read online

  trans·fer·ence: a novel

  Copyright © 2016 by Ava Harrison

  Published by AH Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or restaurants referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  trans·fer·ence: a novel

  Cover Design: By Hang Le

  Photographer: Leonardo Corredor

  Cover Model: Rob Rea

  Interior Design: Champagne Formats

  Line Editor: Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing Services

  Editor: Jennifer Roberts-Hall, Indie After Hours

  Creative: Argie Sokoli

  Proofreader: Virginia Tesi Carey

  contents

  title page

  copyright

  dedication

  definition

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  chapter thirty-two

  chapter thirty-three

  chapter thirty-four

  chapter thirty-five

  chapter thirty-six

  chapter thirty-seven

  chapter thirty-eight

  chapter thirty-nine

  epilogue

  acknowledgments

  by Ava Harrison

  about the author

  To those who are looking to find the strength to conquer their fears.

  trans·fer·ence: n. in psychotherapy and psychoanalysis, a client’s feelings for the therapist. May be used to understand the origins of the client’s emotional and psychological problems.

  I’m hollow.

  My pain is an open festering wound.

  Unbearable.

  I hear the words that are spoken but they have no meaning.

  They’re only words. They will never bring him back.

  Grief.

  Loss.

  Death.

  The pain inside me roars out in a silent scream.

  Like ice spreading through my veins and numbing me to the outside world.

  Sucking me under, until all is gone.

  My hands swipe away my stained tears.

  My breath becomes short gasps of air escaping.

  Cold sweat. Hammering heart.

  A distant hum.

  The beat of a bird’s wings.

  I need to leave.

  I can’t be here.

  Beep

  Beep

  Beep

  Through heavy eyelids, flashes of white light gleam in. It’s like living in a world of solitude. All alone, no connections, no expectations, no pain, no memories, and then suddenly everything rushes back.

  Sounds overwhelm me.

  Swish

  Swish

  Swish

  Hummmmmmm

  With careful precision I pry my eyes open, but I’m unnerved as the world around me comes alive. The sounds, once muffled, attack me like a passing freight train. They infiltrate every pore in my body, relentlessly. They are an unwelcome attack on my senses.

  A voice breaks through. “I think she’s waking up.”

  Beep

  Beep

  “That’s right, sweetie, open your eyes,” coos a soft, comforting voice.

  My blurry vision focuses and I’m facing two women dressed in purple scrubs. Where am I? A plain room that’s void of all emotion and warmth. Sterile. The walls are a dirty white, not quite cream, and the smell of disinfectant permeates the air. My mouth opens to speak, to ask them for some explanations but it’s too dry. I try to swallow however the thickness of the saliva pooling makes the action feel impossible. With wary movements, I press my fingers toward my lips, but even this small gesture is too much as pain radiates throughout my body.

  “You need something to drink. Let me grab you some water.”

  “Where . . .” It sounds as though I’m talking with a mouth full of marbles, so I try again but my words are jumbled and make no sense. The sound of the faucet running causes even more liquid to collect. I watch in parched desperation as she slowly fills a pitcher and then grabs a cup and straw.

  “Where are you? You’re at Sinai-Grace Hospital. You were in an accident.” My heart rattles heavily at the new information. No wonder everything hurts. Even my skin burns.

  Finally, the nurse steps over to the bed, carefully fills a cup with water and then offers me the precious liquid. Thank you, God. The water feels like heaven against my tongue.

  “What . . . What happened?”

  “A car accident. You hit your head and were unresponsive. You’ve got quite a nasty gash on your left temple and on your cheek.”

  “An accident?” My eyes widen and the sharp bite of the bandage pulls against my skin. I wince in pain and then she gives me a small smile. “Can I see? Do you have a mirror?” I motion to my face and the shorter woman proceeds to leave the room. I turn my attention back to the remaining nurse, who is speaking.

  “Yes, you were brought in a little bit ago. I can’t tell you much more than that, but from what I hear, there’s nothing to fear. You’ll be okay.” The other nurse walks back in and approaches the bed, placing a mirror in my hand. Just as she had said, a bandage covers my forehead. My eyes are dull today. You can barely see the blue as my pupils are dilated. My once blonde hair is now matted and caked to my skin. I look skeletal and pale. “I notified the attendee that you’re awake, so he’ll come speak to you once he gets in,” she says before stepping out of the room.

  My gaze locks on the window, and I watch as the snow softly falls, drifting down the pane and leaving streaks of murky water. The familiar cage closes in all around me, robbing me of air.

  I’m afraid . . .

  And I’m not ready to face the truth.

  I’m not ready to face what’s happening to me.

  Hearing footsteps, I turn my attention back to the door and am met with a pair of soft brown eyes that I know so well.

  “Oh, my God,” Sydney cries as she steps into the room. Her face is blanched and her straight brown locks are now back to their curly form thanks to the snow. “You’re awake. Thank God. I was so scared.” She grabs my hand and it feels so warm wrapped around mine. I welcome the comfort, leaning
closer to her to bask in the feeling of home she evokes.

  “What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

  Her brow lifts up in confusion. “How could I not be here? I got the phone call and I came at once.”

  Of course she’s here. She’s the type of friend who would always be there for me. That’s one of the things I love most about her: how fiercely loyal she is. We’ve only been friends for a short time, but with Sydney, time doesn’t matter. The moment we met at the office, I felt as if I had known her a lifetime.

  When my father passed, his best friend Richard had stepped in, assuming a father figure role. After I told him I was uncertain what major I should declare, he volunteered to discuss my options. Richard also happened to own one of the leading marketing firms in the city. Together we decided a degree in marketing would be a great fit, and once I was done, he had a spot ready for me.

  I had been at my new job for all of one minute and I already loved it. The energy, sounds and excited voices booming through the hallways were everything I hoped for. As I stepped further into the space, Richard lifted his head. His lips turned up in a giant smile and he strode over to me. Greeting me with a fatherly hug, he walked me over to a set of desks positioned in front of a giant window overlooking Park Avenue.

  “This will be your desk.” Richard pointed to the desk adjacent to where a pretty brunette worked. “And this is Sydney White. She’s on your team.” Her eyes were locked on Richard as he spoke and as if on cue her mouth split into a large smile, showcasing a mouth full of perfectly white teeth. “Get settled and then come to my office so I can go over some information with you.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s good to have you here.” He gave me one last smile, then turned his back and walked down the hall.

  Sydney sighed. “Damn, that was a close call.” Her brow furrowed.

  “Are you okay? You look a little pale.” I asked her as she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone is behind her. “Is it Richard? Do you not like him?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s really no biggie. I’ve just been spending a lot of time lately looking for a roommate instead of leads and I thought I was busted.”

  “Roommate?”

  “Yeah, my current one totally ditched me. She met some guy and skipped out. Didn’t even pay this month’s rent. Trying to find a roommate sucks.” She huffed as she threw her hands up in the air.

  “I wouldn’t know. I live with my mom,”

  “Shut up!” she exclaimed, making me laugh. This girl definitely had a flair for the dramatic. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “You’re twenty-two and you’ve never had a roommate? Not even in college?”

  I shook my head and her eyes grew wide. “My college was close to home. I didn’t need to dorm. It’s pretty pathetic, actually.” I responded in a timid voice.

  “Move in with me.”

  My mouth flew open.

  “I’m not even joking. You have no idea what types of freaks I’m finding on this site. I mean, you seem like a cool girl . . . please. Unless you’re a serial killer or something, then I revoke the invitation.”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Come on . . . You can’t live with your mom forever. Time to fly the nest.”

  She did have a point. “Um . . .”

  “Say you’ll think about it. Please,” she whined and I couldn’t help but nod in agreement as I stifled my laugh. I knew, right then and there, that not only would I move in with this crazy girl, but also it would be the best decision of my life.

  One week later we were roommates.

  Shaking my head to pull myself out of the memory from two years ago, I focus on Sydney and try to remember why I’m here.

  “What happened?” My brain feels cloudy. It’s as if the information is hovering above me but I just can’t reach it.

  “We were at the funeral. You remember being at the funeral, right?” Her eyes close, then reopen with unshed tears.

  The muscles in my chest tighten, gripping my heart to the point of pain. How could I forget? Richard is dead. My mentor, my boss, my father figure. The only father I know—knew. Closing my eyes, I think back to him. He was the one who was there for me through everything for years.

  My small, fourteen-year-old body wracked with sobs as I pressed my head to my pillow. Tears poured from my eyes, wetting my long, tangled hair. In the faint distance the door creaked open, followed by footsteps padding on the wood floors.

  “Where’s your mom?” Richard asked as he walked into my room. Often he stopped by our apartment to check on me and my mom, always making sure we were okay. I peeked up at him, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

  “She’s sick.” My voice cracked as my chin trembled with my sobs.

  “Why are you crying, sweetheart?”

  “She’s always sick. She doesn’t do anything but lay around in her bed,” I stuttered and he nodded with understanding. This was what my mom did. She said she was unwell and never left her room. Just cried all day and all night. But no doctor could ever find anything wrong, and that made her cry even more.

  “What happened? What did she miss?”

  “She didn’t miss anything, but you know how she is. There’s always something. What if she’s sick again? What if she won’t leave her room again for days?” Richard sat on the edge of the bed. I scooted closer until his arm draped against my shoulder and I let out a muffled cry.

  “I know I’m not your father but I think of you as my daughter. Tell me where you need me to be, and I’ll never let you down. I promise.”

  Life was never easy with my mom, but Richard made it bearable. He never forgot his promise. He was always there.

  I open my eyes and meet Sydney’s stare.

  “When they pulled you out of the car, you wouldn’t wake up, so someone called for an ambulance and they brought you here.” She bites her lip. Sydney only does that when she’s nervous.

  “What? What aren’t you telling me?” My eyes narrow.

  “They tried to call your mom as your next of kin, but she refused to come in to the hospital, so they got in touch with me. Good thing we added each other as emergency contacts when you walked into that wall and had to have stitches.” She laughs, but it does nothing to soothe the pain growing inside me.

  No matter how much I tell myself not to expect much from my mom, that she’s “sick” and can’t help herself, it doesn’t lessen the ache in my heart. At the end of the day there isn’t anything wrong with her other than the fact that she’s a hypochondriac. One who, for the last eighteen years since my father’s death, has been too scared to live. She wouldn’t even go to Richard’s funeral and that felt like a slap in the face considering all he’s done for us.

  Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to Sydney. “Do they know what caused the accident?”

  Sydney’s nose crinkles and she puckers her lips as she peers around the room. The nurse is in the corner, but she’s rummaging through the cabinets looking for something and it appears she’s not paying attention to us. Satisfied with this, Sydney leans in closer.

  “They’re not really sure,” she whispers. “But . . . but they said you didn’t hit your brakes.”

  “I don’t understand?” My hand rises to my mouth, smothering a gasp. “Oh, my God, they think I did it on purpose?”

  “I know, sweetie, I know. But do you remember what happened? What made you crash?”

  “I honestly have no clue.”

  Her hand strokes my arm as I continue to sob. “I’m sure it will come back to you. You were really distraught when you fled the funeral.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t remember anything from the funeral. Is that normal?”

  “I don’t know, but they did say you had a concussion.”

  The nurse chooses that moment to make her way to the side of my bed with a blood pressure kit.

  “Excuse me, I was wondering if it’s n
ormal for Eve to not remember anything from right before the car accident?” Sydney asks her.

  “It’s actually quite normal, dear. After a concussion, sometimes your memory will be a little spotty. It should come back as the swelling recedes.” She smiles down at me as she places the strap around my arm.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  I hear the relief in Sydney’s voice and smile weakly at her. “Syd, did I say anything before I ran out?”

  “No, not really—”

  A man walks into the room before Sydney can continue. “Hello . . .” he looks at my chart, “Ms. Hamilton. I’m Dr. Levin. I’m glad to see you’re awake. I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

  “Yes,” Reluctantly I agree as my stomach clenches tightly against the idea of talking about myself.

  “And your friend?” He motions to Sydney, who is now perched on the foot of my bed.

  “She’s fine. You can speak in front of her.” Sydney and I have no secrets. We accept each other, faults and all.

  He looks back down at the tablet in his hand. “Have you ever had a concussion before?”

  “No.”

  His fingers tap lightly on the glass. “And how are you feeling right now? Dizzy? Lightheaded?” I shake my head no. “What were you feeling right before you crashed?” He lays the tablet down and pulls the stethoscope from around his neck.

  “I don’t really remember, but my heart has been racing quite a bit recently and I guess I’ve been feeling kind of dizzy, like I can’t breathe.”

  “How long have you had these symptoms?” Leaning forward, he places the cold metal against my skin. I start to breathe in deeply, then exhale my breath.

  “I guess maybe they started when Richard died.”

  “And you never experienced any of these symptoms before his death?” He pulls away from me and straightens my gown.

  “Not that I recall.” My memories are blurry, like a fading dream. I search through them, grasping at anything that will make sense of what happened. A strange clarity forms as I begin to remember feeling a cold sweat, the knots that formed in my muscles and so much more. “I actually kind of remember—”