His Nanny Mate (Moana and Edrick Morgan) novel Chapter 216

#Chapter 216: Worried Sick

Moana

“Moana… What happened?” Selina asked as she looked around at the mess in my room with wide eyes. Scattered all around us were countless violent, graphic drawings that I somehow scribbled out in an unconscious state, even though I had absolutely no recollection of any of it. I didn’t know how to respond, because I didn’t even know what happened. All I could do was stand there, frozen, and stare at Selina.

Selina slowly came into my room and set the tray of food down. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

I nodded. As I did, I already felt that all-too-familiar sensation of hot tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. “I don’t know what happened,” I finally managed to say. “One moment I was just sitting in my bed and drawing in my sketchbook, and then it was like I blinked and my whole room was just covered in… whatever this is.”

The old housekeeper looked around with a wide-eyed gaze for a moment. “I’m so sorry,” I said quietly as I began to stoop to pick up all of the discarded papers. “I made a huge mess.”

However, Selina just shook her head and took the papers out of my hands. She set them down beside the food and then guided me over to my bed. “I’m calling the doctor,” she said. “Stay here.”

Within half an hour, the doctor was standing by my bedside. Selina had already cleaned up all of the papers. She didn’t say anything in particular about the contents of the violent and graphic images, but I could tell that she was deeply concerned by them. The doctor looked at a few after he took my vitals, and sighed.

“Your vitals are fine,” he said gently as he flipped through the drawings. As he did, I felt my face go red from embarrassment. It did seem, at the very least, as though Selina hid away the drawings that were the most graphic to save my dignity, which I appreciated more than anything.

When the doctor was finished looking at the drawings, he handed them back to Selina and then gave me a worried look. “I can only reiterate that you need to see a therapist,” he said. He paused, then made a sound to himself under his breath and pulled out his notepad. I watched as he scribbled on the pad, then tore the piece of paper off and handed it to me. On it was a name and a phone number.

“What’s this?” I asked, looking up at him.

“It’s a therapist that I’d highly recommend,” he replied. “He specializes in post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. His methods are a bit… out there, so to speak, but he’s very good. I’d highly recommend giving him a call.”

I furrowed my brow. “What sort of methods are you referring to?” I asked.

“Hypnotherapy, mostly,” the doctor replied. “Some people see it as more of a fringe science, but his clients have all had very good results from what I’ve heard. Give it a try; you never know.”

I nodded slowly as I held the paper firmly in my hand. Hypnotherapy… It wasn’t exactly something that I had ever thought of trying, but I supposed that it wouldn’t hurt any to give it a shot.