CHAPTER 35
Diego glared openly at the woman seated across from him. He had to admit that Dr. Sharma did appear very wise. Maybe it was her long gray hair or the expression of sublime patience. She remained unfazed by his behavior so far, which had been anything but cordial.
“I don’t want to be here,” he stated, so there could be no doubt.
“Perhaps you don’t in this moment,” she replied, not seeming offended, “but nobody forced you through the door. You must have thought therapy could be helpful when making your appointment. Is there a reason for your current pessimism?”
“Yeah,” he growled. “You aren’t the only shrink I’ve seen.
The first time was when my dad—the guy who raised me anyway—blew his brains out.
I wasn’t exactly feeling chipper after that, so my mom took me to see someone who told her I was a psychopath and put me on some pills that made it hard to think. ”
“You aren’t a psychopath,” Dr. Sharma replied.
“I know that!” he shot back.
“I rarely prescribe medicine,” Dr. Sharma continued unabashed.
“I’m sorry that you had a negative experience with this other doctor, but perhaps you could give me the benefit of the doubt.
You repair cars, correct? If someone received poor service from another mechanic, you could understand why they might feel wary when coming to you.
I’m certain you would want the chance to prove yourself to them. That is all I ask.”
“Sounds fair,” he admitted grudgingly. “So what’s the deal? Ricky says I can talk about anything, and that you aren’t allowed to tell anyone else, no matter what.”
“Yes, with the exception of you intending harm to yourself or others. Or if for some reason the law requires me to divulge the contents of this session. Aside from these caveats, anything you share with me remains between us.”
Diego glanced around the office. Two small sofas were unoccupied, the plush chairs they each sat in roomy enough.
A square table separated them, so it’s not like she was going to lunge at him with a syringe full of tranquilizers.
Daylight flooded in through the windows, outside sounds distant.
If ever he was going to try to fix what was broken inside him, this was as good a place as any.
“All right. Ricky has obviously told you about me, or you wouldn’t have known that I’m a mechanic. ”
“Which is public knowledge, not a lapse in discretion.”
“Has he told you the rest of my story?”
“I couldn’t confirm that, even if he had.”
“I’m only trying to save you time. Never mind.
Of course he told you. So yeah, the man I thought was my father killed himself when I was twelve.
I found his body. That screwed with me pretty bad.
I’ve been trying to make sense of it ever since, but my mom wouldn’t let me see the note he left behind.
Ricky managed to sniff it out, and I learned that my dad is actually my uncle.
His brother, a piece of shit named Oscar, is my real dad.
Here’s the kicker: He fucking raped my mom.
That’s where I come from.” Diego thumped his chest. “That’s who I am! ”
“This must have been a very difficult realization,” Dr. Sharma replied, “although I wouldn’t let it define your identity.”
“Yeah, well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I look just like the guy. He was a drug runner.
I sell weed. He did time. I spent last summer in juvie.
That’s what really messes with my head, because I don’t want to be a rapist. I can barely bring myself to touch Ricky anymore.
I’m worried in the heat of the moment that he’ll want me to stop and I won’t be able to. ”
Dr. Sharma considered him. “Has anything like that ever happened before?”
“Sort of. Sometimes he likes it rough. More than once, he’s had to ask me to back off.”
“And did you?”
“Of course, but that’s before I knew that I’m the child of a goddamn rapist!”
“Imagine being a test tube baby.”
Diego scowled. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m not kidding. If you had learned that artificial insemination was responsible for your conception, would you feel a sudden affinity for science? Or if you were the product of a one-night stand, would that make you any less inclined to seek out a committed relationship?”
Diego stared. It was a fair point. Except… “We inherit bad traits from our parents. If your folks are alcoholics, then you probably will be too, right?”
“There is an increased risk, based on hereditary and environmental factors, yes. Did you witness any domestic abuse when you were growing up?”
“No,” Diego said. “My dad—I mean, Lorenzo—he was really good to my mom. He loved her.”
“Have you ever wanted to hurt Ricky or anyone else you’ve been involved with?”
“Never,” he said. “Except…” He hesitated, realizing that patient confidentiality wouldn’t protect him, but his criminal record was no secret. “I got suspended for beating up a couple of guys. I’ve been in plenty of fist fights before. More than most people.”
“Were those fights a matter of self-defense?”
“Not always, no.”
Dr. Sharma nodded grimly. “Then it sounds like you do indeed have some work to do.”
“I’m right to be worried?”
“Your concern isn’t misplaced. Relying on violence as a solution isn’t healthy and is likely to hurt those you love, even indirectly. How do you think Ricky or your mother would feel if you ended up in the hospital?”
“I’m no pushover,” Diego said. But he understood what she was getting at. In a way he felt relieved, since she was confirming that he wasn’t crazy. All the stuff he’d been freaking out about really was a threat. “So what do I do?”
“Regular therapy sessions would certainly help, but I understand your reluctance based on past experiences. So for the remainder of this session, since it might be our last, I would like to teach you some basic techniques for managing your anger.”
She walked him through recognizing the early signs of when he was about to lose control, and tricks for how he could remain calm.
Which was a place he desperately wanted to get back to.
For much of his life, Diego had felt like he was one of few people who saw the world clearly.
Especially for his age. He’d long ago been stripped of the naivety of youth.
Instead of reacting with shock and outrage to the injustices of the world, he accepted them as par for the course.
That usually allowed him to keep his cool.
But life had thrown him one hell of a curveball with everything that he’d learned about his parentage, while simultaneously taking away some of the comforts he’d gained in recent years. Like his boyfriend.
“Think this stuff will help me in the bedroom?” Diego asked.
“Communication is key,” Dr. Sharma replied. “From what you described, Ricky already feels free to express his needs, and you’ve responded to them, but there is no harm in touching base on occasion, to make sure both partners are comfortable enough to assert themselves when necessary.”
Diego shifted uncomfortably. “How open do I have to be? Nobody knows about the whole rape thing. My mom does, obviously, but none of my friends do. I don’t want Ricky to find out. He’ll see me different. But then, that feels fake, like I’m hiding who I really am, just to be… loved, I guess.”
Dr. Sharma leaned forward, her tone firm.
“You are still the same person you were before. That sense of self wasn’t an illusion.
He was, and is, real. Yes, you discovered upsetting details, much in the same way that we all grow up to learn about the atrocities that were committed on American soil, or during any of the wars that are part of human history.
Our innate decency recoils from that darkness.
We question who we are as a species. But at the end of the day, we can only take responsibility for our own actions.
Those upsetting feelings guide us away from making the same mistakes as our ancestors, but by no means should we allow them to define us.
No matter who your true father is or what either of them might have done, you are you.
Simple as that. And like anyone else, you have the right to choose if and when you are comfortable divulging deeply personal details.
That doesn’t make you fake. It ensures the authenticity of your relationships. ”
“Damn,” Diego said, his mind whirling. “Ricky was right. You are good.”
“And we are out of time.”
Diego wouldn’t have minded going twice as long. He didn’t make another appointment, still unsure how he felt about everything, but he did thank Dr. Sharma on the way out.
Diego hopped on his Harley, thinking hard on the ride to Ricky’s house, since he wouldn’t have a moment’s quiet once he got there. Sure enough, as he was walking up the steps, the front door opened.
Ricky managed to wait until Diego was in the entryway before asking, “How’d it go?”
“Fine. Are your parents home?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Diego was finished with being passive. He’d always been in control of the monster inside him, only unleashing it when he chose to, and now he had the tools to ensure that wouldn’t change.
He grabbed Ricky, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him up the stairs, his boyfriend squealing with delight along the way.
He wasn’t as small as he used to be, but he knew how to handle his own weight, thanks to the judo stuff, so he made it easier on Diego instead of harder. Consent, in another form.
He kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and set his boyfriend down. Then he began undressing him, Ricky writhing beneath his touch. After yanking the shirt off over his head, Diego spun him around and began working on Ricky’s jeans, grinding against his cute little butt as he worked.
“Did you miss me?” he rumbled into Ricky’s ear.
“Yeah. Really bad!”
“You’ve been bad, huh?” Diego asked, swatting him on the rump.
“Uh huh. I might get detention.”
“You’re gonna get something.”