14. Veronica #4
“You tell me if I still look the same.”
His mouth opens and closes. He blinks a few times, looks from me to the screen, over and over, then leans in closer to the phone. “How is it possible? You don’t even look like the same person.” He hands the phone over to Noah, whose eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
It’s a picture of me on my sixteenth birthday, before my life took a turn.
I was wearing this hideous flower-printed turtleneck dress that ended mid-calf with ruffled sleeves.
My straight mocha brown hair falling to the center of my back, pearl earrings and necklace on display.
Not a touch of makeup, not a piercing in sight.
No ink crawling up my skin. Just pure, innocent virgin me, who had no idea how much her life was about to change.
Noah turns to another picture; it’s one with me and my parents.
I looked so happy there. I hate how much I ruined everything.
I loved my parents; they were like my best friends, but I hated the religion aspect of our lives.
I had never really cared about it, never truly believed in it, but I did it to please them.
And then I went and fucked it all up because I wanted a taste of freedom.
I look away, blinking the tears out of my eyes, my throat growing tighter with each swallow. I miss them so much. “Fuck. I’m gonna have to book another session with my therapist.”
I already know what happened today will mess me up some more, so talking to her about it will help. Besides, she’ll be happy to know I finally opened up about my past to someone else. Two someones.
“Do you see her often?” Noah passes the phone back to Gabe.
I nod. “Once a month for the past three years, although it was every week in the beginning.”
“And does it work…?” Gabe asks quietly, a sliver of hope in his voice.
“It does. I saw a few different ones at first, but it all felt like it was a waste of time. Until I found her. She didn’t ask me the same stupid questions they all do; instead, she asked if I wanted to play a game of cards with her on my first appointment.
We didn’t even talk about my problems, nothing.
We just played cards until my time was up.
” I laugh remembering how confused I was that day.
“When I got up from my chair to leave, I felt like I had once again wasted my time. She stopped me and said, ‘I don’t know what he did to you, but he’s a piece of shit, and you’re worth so much more than that'." I shake my head, smiling to myself.
“I was so shocked at her crude words because all the therapists I had seen before were so polite. I didn’t even make it out of the building before having another session already booked with her, and I haven’t stopped going back.”
I lean my head against Gabe’s shoulder, sensing him overthinking. I don’t know what his story is yet, but I can tell there’s one. Every now and then, he gets this faraway look in his eyes, like his mind is taking him someplace else, somewhere dark and lonely. I hate seeing him like that.
“I could give you her number… if you want,” I whisper to him.
His shoulder stiffens slightly, and I feel his heart thumping rapidly.
I place my hand over his heart for a few seconds, then glide it higher up his neck, over his jaw, and to his cheek.
I then turn his face down to me while lifting my head and bring my lips to his, kissing him softly until I feel his body relaxing.
I pull away and look into his eyes. “It’s okay to need therapy, Gabriel. There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make you inadequate or stupid for not being able to face your demons on your own. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, it makes you brave.”
His throat bobs as he nods slowly. “Okay,” he murmurs back.
I smile at him, pressing my lips delicately to his one last time before sitting back down properly in my seat.
I lift my right arm, stretching it out to show them my sleeved ink.
“She’s the reason I have this. After a month of sessions with her, I was still in a really dark place.
I had no desire to live. I felt dirty and used no matter how many times I washed myself.
” I swallow, remembering how many times I came close to just ending it all.
“She gave me a journal and told me to write down one word a day for an entire year about something that made me happy during that day. Even if it was as silly as a little bird sitting on the windowsill.” I glide my finger over my tattoo of a bird sitting outside a window and smile.
“After a year of doing it, I took my journal to Maze; she’s my tattoo artist and hairdresser. I told her I wanted her to take every word in that book and turn it into a tattoo all over my arm, and this is what she came up with.”
My eyes travel over every little image like I’m seeing them again for the first time. “Now I have three hundred and sixty-five reasons to be happy forever with me,” I finish quietly.
Although at this moment, I feel like I have three hundred and sixty-seven.