Lyla sat down gingerly, not knowing what to do or say as Bessie left.
"I'm a retired psychologist," Dr. Manson broke the silence after a few minutes. "My wife and I moved to Bayfjord many years ago, and while I don't see clients anymore, Mr. Blackthorne was very persuasive."
Lyla stared at him for a second, biting her lip. "What… what do you do exactly?"
"I help people deal with their mental issues."
She had mental issues. She knew that. "What kind of issues?"
Dr. Manson tilted his head to the side. "Whatever kind you want help with. But only if you want my help. Do you want my help, Lyla?"
Hesitantly, she nodded.
The older man smiled. "Great. Then know, that going forward, whatever you tell me will remain between us. Even though Mr. Blackthorne employs me, he won't know anything we discuss. Is that alright with you?"
It felt odd to be asked so many questions, like her choice in them mattered. She nodded again.
"Good. Then tell me anything about yourself."
Taking a deep breath, she began to stutter her way through some of her trauma.
***
It took her a few days to recover from the after-effects of the drugs. She slept a lot, day and night, and mostly stayed in her room, or sat on the deck watching the view unless Dr. Manson called her to the greenhouse every afternoon. While she hadn't talked to him about everything, even talking a little was slowly making her feel better. She told him about the tea incident, and he told her it was most probably an anxiety attack, that she would probably have more of them randomly until she gradually healed. He told her to talk to Mr. Blackthorne too, to try and find some middle ground between them, since she clearly cared for him.
Except Mr. Blackthorne was giving her apace. He came to her with trays of food, made sure she ate, and let her be. And for some reason, she both appreciated and abhorred that.
She took that time to come to terms with the fact that she had actually done something to end her life, and in the hole she had been, she didn’t blame herself. But as the days passed, and she spent time alone in this beautiful place, somehow never feeling alone because she knew he was somewhere in the house, she also admitted that she didn’t want to stay in that hole. She wanted to come out of it and she wanted to live. She wanted to experience beauty and feel like she belonged. She wanted to have him hold her and promise that she would never be hurt again. And knowing him, despite the last six months, she would believe him because she had the evidence of the last few years.
For the first time in a few days, she ventured outside the bedroom to find him on the couch watching TV. Hesitating on the landing, she tentatively walked over to where he sat with one muscular arm on the back of the couch, the other holding the remote.
At the sight of her, he muted the sound, but a couple kept kissing on the screen.
Fascinated, her eyes glued to the visual as she took a seat in the corner of the couch, she watched the man hold the woman’s face in his hands, gently teasing her lips with his as airplanes flew in the background.
Throat dry, she asked. “What are you watching?”
“A romantic movie.”
The answer, coming from him of all people, felt so ridiculous a bubble of laughter left her throat, the sound strangled halfway as she recognized it.
Her hand went to her neck, her eyes flying to him, only for her body to freeze as she saw the intensity of his gaze on her.
“I… laughed,” she murmured, still stunned.
“Do it again.”
“What?”
“I want to hear it again.”
It was ridiculous. “I can’t do it again.”
Before she could blink, she was flat on her back on the couch and he was looming over her, one of his hands pinning her wrists above her head, the other on her ribs. Heart pounding, she gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Making you laugh again.” With that, he began to prod the side of her ribs in quick motions that made her squeal and struggle to get away from him, sensations buzzing on her skin.
He was tickling her. The feared Shadow Man was tickling her.
The thought itself was so ridiculous, added to the motion of his fingers, that she began to laugh. “Stop, stop, stop, please!” She begged in between bouts of laughter, trying to move away from his hand but unable to in his hold, tears running down her cheeks with the intensity of her release, a high like never before buzzing in her head.
After long moments, he stopped, his hand stilling, both his hands coming to the side of her head, caging her in between as she caught her breath. His hypnotic eyes swirled with something hot, his face inches from hers as she stared up at him, her eyes flickering to his lips.