Together We Heal (21 page)

Throughout it all, Beth wrote on her clipboard, using several pieces of paper. I pretty much stopped caring about what she was writing. I was never going to see it, so it didn’t really matter.

When I finally squeezed all of my secrets out, she looked up from her clipboard and smiled at me.

“You’ve lived quite a life, Trish,” she said.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” I tried not to think about it too much.

“You’re so young, but you’ve been through more than some people go through in their whole lives. That can take a toll on a person.” I didn’t want her to pity me, or have sympathy. My life was what it was. I just needed to learn how to get over it and move on so I didn’t fuck up my relationships with Max and my friends.

“Whatever,” I said, trying to brush it off. How much time was left? I was only supposed to be here for an hour. The clock was behind me, so I couldn’t really check it unless I looked over my shoulder and made it obvious that was what I was doing.

“Don’t brush it off. The first step is recognizing that bad things have happened to you. Ignoring them won’t make them go away.” Well, damn. I almost made a snarky comment, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate it.

“Okay, so what do I do about them? I mean, I can’t deal with everything at once.” That was way too much shit to deal with.

“You don’t have to deal with everything at once. Just take one step at a time. One moment at a time. Think about how you felt when those bad things were happening to you. You can’t heal from the wounds if they’re still open.” Well, that shit was easier said than done. Why had I come here again?

She told me to start writing in a journal (which made me almost laugh out loud) and to keep opening up to Max and also Lottie.

“Your friends are clearly in it for the long haul. And you won’t know if they can deal with hearing about your secrets if you don’t even try.” Well, duh.

Just before I thought I was home free, she said we’d meet again in a week and to go out front to make an appointment. Well, shit. I didn’t know if I wanted to do that. Instead, I found myself nodding, shaking her hand and telling her that I’d see her next week.

I WAS THINKING
about her all day. I knew what time her appointment was, and I considered skipping class and showing up to wait for her, but I thought that might have been just a little too much. She’d let me know how it went, I was sure.

And just as I was thinking that it had been about an hour since her appointment, I got a text.

Ugh.

That was all she sent.

Ugh, what?
I sent back.

Ugh, I wish I hadn’t done that.

Uh oh.

Was it that bad?
I sent.

We’ll talk about it later. Promise.
That was a relief. I didn’t want her to clam up and shut down on me again.

I KNOCKED ON
my door that afternoon when I got back to my room. I’d never done that, so it wasn’t a surprise when Trish opened the door for me with a puzzled look on her face.

“Oh, it’s you. Why did you knock?”

I shrugged.

“I guess I just thought you might… I don’t know.” Now I felt like a dork. She let me in and I dropped my bag.

“So, how was your day, my dear?” I asked and she rolled her eyes before flopping down on the bed. There was a notebook and pen out and I saw some of her scrawly handwriting on the pages. Her eyes followed my gaze and she snapped the notebook closed.

“Well, it pretty much sucked, but I’m going back next week. She told me I should be more open with you and trust you and Lottie and everyone else. I have to sit down and think about the bad stuff, think about how it made me feel and shit.” That sounded intense. I didn’t blame her for saying that it sucked.

“That’s intense,” I said.

“Tell me about it.” She told me a little bit more about her therapist, Beth. Apparently she was really pretty. I’d take Trish’s word for it. Besides, even if she was an underwear model, I still wouldn’t want her. There was only one woman for me and her name was Trishella Grant.

“What were you writing?” I asked. She picked up the notebook and shoved it under the mattress.

“Nothing,” she snapped, but then sighed. “Okay, but you can’t make fun of me.”

“Trish, I would never make fun of you.” She gave me a look. “Okay, I would never make fun of you with malicious intent.” She nodded and pulled the notebook out again.

“She suggested that I write out how I feel about everything. Kind of like a journal, but not so—
ugh
.” I got it and I definitely wasn’t going to make fun of her about that.

“So that’s what I’ve been doing. Just writing crap down. It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels weirdly good to do it. Like the shit that swirls around in my head has somewhere to go. I like getting it out.” Good for her.

“You know what?” I said.

“What?”

“I’m crazy proud of you.” She blushed a little and ducked her head. I reached out and put my hand under her chin, lifting her head so she’d look at me.

“Really. Crazy proud.”

She smiled softly.

“Thanks.”

IT WASN’T EASY,
changing my habits to face things instead of shoving them away. I kept catching myself doing what I used to do, but at least I was aware I was doing it now.

Over the next week, I nearly filled the notebook during spare moments. Sometimes I would get up in the middle of the night and pull it out, writing by the light of the flashlight app on my phone while Max slept. I’d worried about waking him, but he didn’t seem bothered by the light, so I kept doing it.

I wrote about Ray and I wrote about the other foster homes and I wrote about school and Stryker and my other relationships and I wrote about Ric. The words just poured out of me. I couldn’t say them out loud, but writing them was somehow easier.

I even wrote Max a letter. It took up dozens of pages. I wrote basically everything I felt about him. I told him I loved him and how long I’d loved him and what I loved about him and just everything I could never tell him out loud but wanted him to know.

My ultimate goal was to give it to him, but I definitely wasn’t ready yet. Not even close.

Like a total dork, I’d found a used copy of the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
that mental health professionals used to diagnose people with various disorders at the bookstore and I’d flipped through it. At first I thought it was going to be like going to WebMD when you had a stomach bug and then convincing yourself that you had cancer, but it was actually really interesting. I ruled out a bunch of conditions that I definitely did not have, but then I was reading about Post Traumatic Stress and bam. Lightbulbs blew up in my brain. Like, a million of them. I was going to ask Beth about it today.

I’d never thought about working on myself like this. I guess I just figured people were basically okay when they were born and then life happened to them and some people got busted in the process. I assumed I was one of those people. Destined to have an abnormal life. To never get to have what other people did.

Maybe I wasn’t completely shattered, just a little dinged up? Like a used car with a few miles on it.

“Writing again?” Max said the morning of my second therapy session. I’d done more internal reflecting in the past week than I had in my previous eighteen years. It pretty much freaked me out. I hoped this didn’t mean I was going to take up yoga and meditation and become an insufferable vegan who said “namaste” all the time.

“Yeah,” I said, closing my notebook. The notebook only had a few pages left. I was going to need a new one ASAP.

“I'm dying to know what you’ve written in there, but I don’t dare peek,” he said. I knew he wouldn’t peek because I’d threatened a very important part of his anatomy if he did. Besides, I would know if he read anything because he probably wouldn’t be able to hide that he had when he saw me. Max wasn’t a great liar.

“Looks like you’re going to need a new one soon,” he said as I closed the journal and put it back under my pillow.

“Yeah, I’ll have to go to the bookstore today and get one,” I said, capping my pen and putting it in my pillowcase.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the room was filled with a dim bluish light. I wasn’t a morning person, but I did kind of love this time before the sun came up where the night was still holding on, but slowly relinquishing control. It was an in-between. Not night and not yet day. An eerie somewhat magical time.

“What are you thinking about?” Max said, turning on his side and propping his head up on his hand.

“Nothing special. Just how I’m hardly ever up at this time, but I really like it.” A few of his fingers brushed down my cheek.

“You look beautiful in this light. You look beautiful in any light, but especially like this.” We both smiled at each other and I found myself leaning forward to meet his lips. He was surprised, so he didn’t immediately respond, but then he did and I was kicking myself mentally for not kissing him for so long. Max’s kisses were magical. Fire and sparks and heat and good. So, so good.

It started out slow and sweet and then it started getting more intense. Not like our previous frenzied kisses that were all about right here, right now, OMG, I must have you. This was a more comfortable kiss. A sure kiss. Like we had all the time in the world. We explored every inch of each other’s mouth. I’d completely forgotten about the toothbrush rule. He didn’t taste bad at all and judging by the way he was using his tongue, I didn’t either.

His hands were gentle on my face and then moved down my neck to gather me closer to him. I touched the back of his neck and then his back and before I knew it, I was on top of him and well, that was happening.

Clothes hadn’t been removed, but I was pushing myself against him and he was doing the same. Slow and easy.

Things were building for me and for him. I could feel how hard he was, but he didn’t beg me to move faster, or do anything other than what I was already doing.

I unsealed our lips so I could look in his eyes. The look I found there nearly undid me.

“I love you so much,” he said. Those words and the way he said them set off the gentlest rolling orgasm I’d ever had. It started in my spine and bloomed out, like the petals of a flower. I moaned and then he joined me a few moments later.

We were both lazy and slow in the aftermath and he kept stroking my face and my hair and telling me how much he loved me.

I wasn’t ready to say it yet, but I was getting closer than I had ever been. Guess there was something to that whole therapy thing.

“That was nice,” Max said. “Really nice. Even though now I have to get another pair of boxers.” He looked down at himself and I shrugged.

“I don’t have to deal with that problem. I kind of forget that you do sometimes.” He rolled his eyes and then I rolled off him so he could get up and clean off.

I allowed myself to ogle his ass as he put on a fresh pair. Hot damn. It really was perfectly shaped. I just wanted to get my hands on it and squeeze both cheeks.

He turned around and totally caught me.

“Were you checking out my ass?” I almost buried my head in my pillow.

“Maybe,” I said, smirking at him. He just turned around and yanked his boxers down.

“Get a good look, sweets,” he said, wiggling his ass. Well now. I was torn between being turned on and laughing like hell. I did a little bit of both.

“Are you laughing at me?” he said, shimmying backwards until his ass was right within spanking distance. I gave him a good smack and he jumped, dropping his hold on his boxers.

“Oooohhhhh, do it again,” he said, grinning at me over his shoulder. I wound up and smacked him again.

“Yes, mistress, yes,” he said, pretending to be in the throes of ecstasy. Sure, we were being silly, but it was kind of hot at the same time.

I gave him one more smack and then pulled him back into bed with me.

“You’ve been a bad boy,” I said.

“Yes, I have,” he said, his face serious.

I sighed dramatically.

“What am I going to do with you?” He raised and lowered his eyebrows, which only made me laugh more.

“Anything you want,” he said in a seductive voice. He knew just which buttons to push, in my brain and on my body. It was like he was designed to turn me on and make me want him.

“I want to do everything with you,” I said, getting a little serious. “You know I do. And we’re going to do it. We’re going to do everything.” As I said it, I started aching again.

“Everything?” He raised one eyebrow and I could tell he was also getting turned on. I had no idea how guys walked around with those things all the time. I’d go crazy.

“Yeah,” I said. Once we got to that point, I literally wanted to do anything that two people could do together when they were naked.

“Well, fuck me,” he said, shifting and trying to discreetly adjust himself.

“I plan on it,” I said and then he groaned and rolled onto his back.

“You’re killing me, woman.”

IT WAS AMAZING
to see how much progress she’d made in such a short time. Even after just one session she was more introspective. More thoughtful. I caught her staring off into space and thinking a lot. It was sexy as hell. She also wrote incessantly in her notebook, sitting cross-legged on her bed, pen flying across the paper and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I snuck a few pictures of her on my phone because I couldn’t help myself.

It made me consider maybe going myself. I didn’t have as intense issues as Trish did, but I didn’t know what to do about my parents. I wished they would just be normal and be happy for me and ask about my grades and when I was coming home to visit. Right now, I was worried that by the time I graduated I would have driven a wedge between us that couldn’t ever be removed.

We were heading to dinner at Lottie and Zan’s tonight and everyone was hoping for an update on how Trish was doing. I’d already gotten calls from everyone asking me if I would tell them how it had gone. Guess Trish was telling them to mind their own business. I would have been lying if I said that didn’t make me smug that she shared about her sessions with me and no one else.

I beat her back after class. I’d shifted my hours around at the gym again so I was working a little bit less. I wanted to see Trish more than I wanted financial stability, which was probably not the right place to put my priorities, but whatever. I had the rest of my life to earn money. Besides, summer was coming up and I could work as many hours as I wanted to get cash.

I was happy I was there first, because it gave me time to set up her little present. I’d found a cool notebook in the bookstore today with a picture of an orange goldfish on the front. I hoped she’d like it. I also got her some fun colored pens to go with it. Sure, it wasn’t much, but I hoped she’d like it.

She came through the door with a smile on her face, which was definitely a good sign.

“Hey, Max,” she said, coming over and giving me a kiss, nearly making me fall off the bed in surprise. Damn, this therapist was good. I was definitely thinking about going to see her.

“Well, hello, hun. How was your day?” I said and she sighed happily.

“Really good.” She set her bag down and leaned against me. “Therapy was good. Beth isn’t what I initially thought she was. I guess I just assumed when I saw her what she’d be like, but we actually have a lot in common, crazily enough. She told me about her childhood and afterward I don’t know, it was easier to tell her about mine.” She shrugged one shoulder like it was no big deal.