Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
IGGY
THREE MONTHS LATER
Dr Williams’s office hadn’t changed.
Same armchair by the window. Same low table with a chipped coaster. Same faint smell of peppermint tea and old books. I sat on the couch, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in my lap, like I was trying to prove something to the room.
Or maybe to myself.
Dr Williams settled into her chair across from me, tablet resting loosely on her knee. She studied me for a moment, not clinically. Just attentively.
“Well, this is it.”
I huffed a laugh. “It feels fake. Like I’m skipping out early.”
She shook her head. Her dangly earrings—today they were oversized bunches of bananas—clinked against her glasses.
“You’re not,” she replied. “You completed the programme.”
“For the second time,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.
“It doesn’t matter how many times it takes, Iggy,” she said gently. “What matters is that you tried.”
I shrugged and started picking a loose thread on one of the couch cushions, avoiding her gaze. She closed her notebook and placed it on the table, resting her fluffy pink pen on top of it, giving me her full attention.
“Do you remember what you said to me the last time you left?”
I peeked up at her through my lashes, not answering right away.
But she didn’t push, just watched, waiting patiently for me to speak.
So I used the pause to think about the last time I’d walked out of the Willow.
I was filled with fear, and shame sat in my chest like a lead weight.
Like the word “addict” was tattooed on my forehead in cursive for everyone to see.
“I said I’d end up back here again,” I murmured. “Looks like I was right.”
She smiled softly. “You said you didn’t trust yourself.”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “I still don’t. Not completely.”
“But?” She prompted.
“But I trust myself more than I did.” I shifted in my seat. Rubbed my clammy palms on my leggings. “Enough to know when I need help. To know when I’m lying to myself.”
“That’s a big step, Iggy.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “It is.”
Dr Williams leaned back in her seat and crossed one leg over the other, her maroon gaucho pants swishing with the movement. I looked down at her trainers, fighting a smile. She still wore her favourite Converse, sky blue and covered in ducks.
“Let’s talk about the difference,” she said. “Between this time and last time.”
I didn’t need to think long.
“Last time I was angry,” I admitted. “At my parents, my body, myself.” I swallowed. “And I was lonely, even when people were around.”
She cocked her head and fiddled with the end of her long braid. “And this time?”
I thought about the nights alone, when I didn’t have Bodhi to speak to whenever I wanted. The cravings that came and went like the weather. The mornings I woke up and decided to stay. Chose to see the programme through to the end.
“I learned how to sit with myself,” I said, turning my attention to the window.
To the gardens two floors below that sat just beyond the glass panes. To the paths I’d once walked with Bodhi, the fields filled with wildflowers, the bench we used to share when we vaped.
“I learned not to run when things get uncomfortable.” I inhaled steadily. “That I won’t disappear just because I’m alone.”
Dr Williams’s expression softened. “You didn’t have Bodhi here.”
“No, and that was hard,” I agreed. “But also . . . necessary.”
We’d discussed my evolving friendship with Bodhi during my first stay, when she’d warned me not to put weight on relying on others to get me through recovery.
Of course, this time I’d told her how completely our relationship had changed, and she’d told me honestly that she’d expected it would happen if we ever bumped into each other in the outside world.
“Tell me why.”
I turned away from the window, directing my attention back to Dr Williams.
“Because if I hadn’t learned to stand on my own two feet, I would’ve continued to lean on him instead. Turned him into a crutch, or a distraction.” I swallowed. “That wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”
She nodded. “Love can’t be the foundation of recovery. But it can be part of the structure.”
I smiled faintly. “Bodhi understood that better than I did,” I whispered. “But now, so do I.”
Dr Williams wrapped her mint-green cardigan tighter around her middle. She studied me for a moment longer than usual, her gaze thoughtful.
“We haven’t discussed your family much during our sessions this time. Is that intentional?”
I exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I think it is.”
She nodded, inviting me to continue without pressing.
“I spent a long time believing that if I was someone better, if I was the person they wanted me to be rather the gay son who was a complete fuckup, then maybe they’d actually want me.” I chewed on my lower lip. “That they’d love me properly.”
She didn’t interrupt.
“But this time, I stopped asking that question.” I shrugged. “I stopped wondering why they couldn’t show up for me and started asking what it was costing me to keep hoping they would.”
My fingers curled into the sleeve of my hoodie. Bodhi’s hoodie. One of his baggy Noctis jumpers that he’d snuck into my bag. I’d cried when I pulled it out, and had spent the afternoon burying my face in the material. Sniffing the cologne he’d purposely sprayed.
“And?” Dr Williams asked.
“It was costing me everything,” I said simply. “My self-worth. My progress. My peace.”
She tilted her head. “So, what have you decided?”
I swallowed, then lifted my chin.
“I’m done chasing them,” I replied. “I’m done trying to earn love from people who’ve made it clear they don’t know how to give it.” I curled my hand into a fist. “I’m cutting contact with all of them. My parents, my brother. Anyone who acts like my existence is a problem to be managed.”
There was no tremor in my voice. That was new.
“How does it feel to say that out loud?”
I searched myself for the answer, for the guilt or fear I thought I would feel, but found none of it.
“Relieved,” I admitted. “Sad too. But mostly relieved.”
The corner of her mouth ticked up in a small smile. “Family doesn’t always mean blood, Iggy.”
“I know,” I replied, thinking of those I’d met while on tour. The family I’d built rather than being born into. “I believe that now.”
“And you don’t feel like this is running away?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said firmly. “This is moving forward. I gave them chances, and I kept the door open until it started hitting me in the face every time it slammed shut.”
Dr Williams nodded slowly. “Boundaries aren’t cruelty,” she explained. “They’re clarity.”
I let out a small humourless breath. “I used to think I needed the approval of others to be okay,” I admitted. “Now I just want to figure out who I am without being constantly told who I’ve disappointed.”
“And who are you, Iggy?”
I smiled at that.
“I’m someone who messes up. But I also get back up when I fall. I’m someone who loves fiercely and is learning how to stay.” I paused. “I’m not a failure anymore.”
Dr Williams’s eyes shone with something like pride.
“No,” she agreed. “You’re not.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, letting the room breathe. It was one of my favourite things about Dr Williams. Unlike me, she didn’t fill the silence for the sake of it. She allowed it to sit, to seep into the walls, to just be. It was nice. Calming.
“What do you expect when you leave here today?” she asked eventually.
The question was gentle, but it held weight, and I pursed my lips, thinking through my answer.
“I don’t expect things to be easy or perfect. There’ll be bad days, triggers and doubts,” I answered honestly. “But I also expect myself to survive them.”
“And Bodhi?” she asked with a smile.
I gave her one of my own. One that was wide, genuine, filled with joy, just like it was every time I thought about him.
“I don’t expect him to save me or try and fix me,” I said. “I just . . . want to walk forward with him. Side by side.” I paused. “As myself, not as a fixer-upper.”
Dr Williams tapped her candy-floss pink nails on the arm of her chair. “That’s a very different place to when you started.”
I let that sink in, and the silence stretched once more, comfortable.
Finally, she stood and extended her hand. I rose from the couch and took it.
“I’m glad you came back, Iggy,” she said. “Not because you relapsed, but because you chose to return.”
I squeezed her hand. “Me too,” I replied.
And I meant it.
I walked towards the door, but stopped when Dr Williams called my name.
“You don’t have to prove anything out there, Iggy,” she said softly. “Not to your parents or the world. Not even to Bodhi.”
Our eyes met.
“Just keep choosing yourself.”
I nodded, blinking hard.
“I will,” I replied. “Because I’m worth it too.”
I stepped through the double doors of the Willow, duffle bag in hand, and for a moment, the late autumn sun blinded me. Then it slipped behind a cloud, my vision cleared, and my face split into a grin.
Bodhi leaned against a bright red Vauxhall Corsa, black leather jacket catching what little light there was, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, legs crossed casually at the ankles. When he saw me, he pushed his black Ray-Bans up into his hair and grinned back.
“Iggy Pop.”
That was all it took.
I broke into a full sprint, flying down the stone steps and onto the driveway, kicking up dust and loose pebbles. Bodhi ran too, and we crashed into each other in the middle like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.
I dropped my bag and jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms tight around his neck.
A sob tore out of me as I buried my face against his shoulder.
The scent of his hoodie was long gone after wearing it for weeks, and I realised how much I’d missed the sandalwood that had become synonymous with him.
When we pulled apart, he still cradled me in his arms. I cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the tears tracking down his cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.