Heller's Punishment by J.D. Nixon Page A

from home.”
    “It’s all about
the moolah, remember? I do it for your retirement fund.”
    “For our retirement fund, my sweet.”
    My stomach
flip-flopped. “You’ll have fired me long before I’m ready to
retire,” I said lightly, glad he couldn’t see my face.
    “Probably.”
    “You won’t even
remember me. I’ll just be ‘old what’s-her-name’ in your
memory.”
    That low growly
chuckle. “As if I could ever forget you, Matilda.” A pause. “I’m
sorry, I have to go. I have another call. Take care. I’ll talk to
you tomorrow.”
    “Bye, Heller,”
I said, kind of glad the conversation had ended. I didn’t really
want to know why he thought he’d probably end up firing me at some
point, although I must admit that I didn’t have a great track
record in holding down a job. I returned to my book, flipping
through the pages to find my lost place.
    Not much longer
afterwards the door rattled and Jorge brought Felicia back into the
room. She looked as though she’d been crying and went straight into
the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I put my book aside and
looked over to Jorge, eyebrows raised.
    “What
happened?”
    He shrugged.
“One-on-one is always quite confrontational for clients. The
counsellors are very skilled. Happily, Felicia’s just shown that
she’s still slightly human after all. She does care about her
parents’ good opinion, even after all of her accusations about
them.”
    My eyebrows
rose even further in surprise. Perhaps there might be some progress
for her this week despite her recalcitrance.
    Jorge banged on
the bathroom door, reminding Felicia that dinner would be at six.
He threw me a smile and left for the day, back home to his family.
I briefly wished I was him.
    Felicia didn’t
come out of the bathroom for ages. When she finally flung open the
door, she was gripped with very strong emotion. She paced around
the room, rubbing the back of her neck, then rubbing her arms, not
being able to settle down for a second.
    “They don’t
know me,” she said angrily. “They don’t know anything about
me. I hate my parents. I don’t love them, not even a little
bit. Fuck! I hate doing that fucking counselling. It’s all just
massive bullshit! Fuck! ”
    “Hey!” I
yelled. “Knock it off. You’re making me dizzy walking around so
fast. What’s up your butt?” Then I giggled guiltily when I
remembered what actually had been up her butt the previous
night.
    She stopped
then and twitched her shoulders, but took a deep breath. “I’m cool.
No need to freak. No need to call anyone.” My hackles rose
immediately.
    “How about you
watch some TV and calm down? Right now,” I suggested coolly.
    She threw
herself on her bed so hard that it slammed up against the wall. I
shot her a glance and reached over to pick up the phone.
    “What are you
doing?” she asked me.
    “You’ve taken
some more, haven’t you?” I accused, holding the receiver in my
hand, about to speak into it.
    She launched
herself off the bed and threw herself onto me. It was an
anti-climax. She was just an unhealthy addict with no real fighting
skills and I saw her coming a mile away. I drew up my forearm in
defence and she stupidly smashed her forehead straight into it,
recoiling backwards onto her bed, groaning. It was the easiest
takedown I’d ever had.
    “Room 212?”
asked the voice on the phone. “Room 212?”
    I dropped the
receiver on the bedside table and prepared for more trouble as she
roused herself and came at me again. But by the time Dave and the
medics burst into the room, I had her subdued up against a wall,
face pressed to one side, arms behind her back, struggling and
swearing up a blue storm at me as I pressed my body hard onto hers.
She’d hardly caused me to break a sweat, so the level of force I
employed was all rather unnecessary.
    “Shit!” said
Dave. “Not again?”
    “I think she’s
taken something. She’s been agitated and angry all afternoon. She
tried to