4. You Snuck Her Out The Window?
YOU SNUCK HER OUT THE WINDOW?
LIAM
The connection goes through. And within seconds, I’m staring at my therapist, her black-rimmed glasses glaring from the light.
“Good morning, Jasmine,” I greet hoarsely. Taking a slow sip of my coffee, I pray it wakes me up. Between my grueling class schedule and losing sleep due to the encounter with Aubrey replaying over and over again in my head, I’m desperate for it to bring me back to life.
Which is probably a lot to ask of a simple cup of coffee, since I’ve been dead inside for a long time.
“It is so good to see your face!” she gushes cheerfully, a stark difference to my current mood.
But she’s always annoyingly joyful. I can’t help but wonder if it’s genuine or just for show, a way to put her patients at ease.
But since we started together, I can’t think of one time she hasn’t been exactly like this.
After I was released from the emergency room, the doctors were insistent that I talk to someone. Apparently, it’s protocol for therapy sessions after people have…incidents like what I had.
“Let’s start with how things have been since we last met,” Jasmine announces.
I set down my coffee with a heavy sigh. I know I need to tell her what happened this week—running into Aubrey at Melbourne’s on Tuesday night. But I’ve been dreading having this conversation all week, so I’m not exactly eager to begin.
I look around my room, and I know Jasmine knows me well enough now to recognize that when I don’t make eye contact, it’s because I’m hiding something. But I find the courage and finally meet her soft smile. Knowing I need to start small, I offer part of the truth easily.
“I went out on Tuesday.” Though much more happened than that, I know it’s a start. During the thirty-minute session, it’s typically toward the end that I begin to loosen up.
I can see the surprise lining her face. “Okay. Tell me more about that.”
And damn, am I that predictable that she already knows there is more for me to tell? Or, maybe she’s just that good at her job.
I gulp, ignoring how hard it is for me to swallow all of a sudden.
“I went out with my roommates—Reid and Brennan.”
“Okay,” she makes a note on her paper. “And what made you decide to go?” She looks up over her glasses.
“Uh,” I sigh, rubbing my palms over my legs. Why are they so sweaty?
“The season—hockey season.” I can see from her face that she’s proud of me for speaking on the topic.
“It starts next week, and I know with classes and clinical beginning, I won’t have the opportunity to see my friends other than at games and practice.
So…” my neck pops from craning it. “So, when Reid asked me, I thought it would be good to go out with them…like old times.”
“Very well.” Seconds pass by, and I can’t believe she never thinks to ask if I had a drink, if I broke my sobriety. But I also know that Jasmine knows it wasn’t an issue, unlike my mother, who likes to believe it was. The incident didn’t happen because I had a substance problem.
I had a me problem.
“And did it go the way you expected?” Jasmine asks carefully.
Hot breath blows from my pursed lips as I let out a deep exhale. And so the fun begins.
“No…not exactly,” I snap. My leg twitches under my desk. My words catch her attention, and she sits up straighter.
“Okay, walk me through it.”
Deep breath, Liam. You can do this.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said—about facing my past.” She nods, and I keep going. “I’ve done well. I agreed to do clinical with the hockey team. My hockey team. And I still agreed to go out with my friends, knowing the temptations and past memories I’d face…”
Her hands find each other as she claps them in excitement.
“I’m very proud of you for those accomplishments, Liam.” Her head shakes, a gesture that she’s urging me to continue. “But tell me where it went wrong.”
My gaze falls to my record player—the vinyl we picked out together, now collecting dust. I picture Aubrey holding MGMT’s record, replaying “Indie Rokkers” over and over.
She wore that song out during the summer between our freshman and sophomore years.
A smile creeps across my face as I can almost see her leaning over, setting the record down, and dropping the needle.
Her bangs would always fall into her eyes, hiding that warm brown I think about so often.
I blink. Just once. And she’s gone.
“I saw my ex—I saw Aubrey.” I spit out, still staring at the place she once filled moments before. I shake my head, forcing myself to find Jasmine through the screen.
She shows no sign of emotion. Her fingers are weaving through one another as she lays them on her desk.
“And you weren’t expecting that—it took you off guard,” she confirms for me.
I nod.
“And did you speak with her? Was there an exchange of words?”
I stare over my computer, cheeks expanding with air as I draw in a breath. I shake my head. Eyes focused out my window, on the snow-covered lawn outside. I’m about to open my mouth, the words right on the tip of my tongue.
But my brows furrow together as I hear a loud thud from the room next to me—Brennan’s room. A few seconds later, I see a dark-haired woman tiptoeing through the layers of snow outside, and for a second, I question if it’s just another memory. Another vision of Aubrey plaguing me.
Sure, the figure is recognizable, but not familiar in the way I know—knew, Aubrey.
The woman turns around, eyes going wide as she glimpses me staring at her out the window. Her face goes red, and she raises a hand and bolts off.
It takes me several seconds to recognize who she was.
June Vaughn…Aubrey’s cousin.
Oh, I’m going to fucking kill Brennan when I get my—
“Liam, everything okay?” Jasmine questions as if I had entirely forgotten about the therapy session. “I asked if you talked to Aubrey…”
I shake my head. “Sorry.” Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to the video call. “I, uh, I didn’t,” I admit readily. “I-I bolted before my name fully left her lips.” And boy, do I feel like a coward for admitting that.
Jasmine makes another note. Is that a smile on her face, or am I imagining it?
Imagining—because a second later, her face is all hard lines.
“Okay. Let’s pause there.” She waits until I meet her eyes through the screen.
“You left before talking with her. That tells me something felt overwhelming to you.” She explains.
“Did this interaction take place at the bar, Melbourne’s?
” she questions, looking through her notes of places from my past that might be cause for concern.
I nod.
“The bar was already a trigger.” Her words come slowly. “Alcohol, noise, people from the past who might remember you a certain way. That place holds many memories…You were already dealing with a lot.”
I think back to the game rerun, and the woman, Emery, and how I had a flashback of that night in the hospital. I was already spiraling out of control long before I ran into Aubrey.
“I don’t believe seeing your ex was the problem. It was just the final stack on triggers that were becoming too heavy.”
I know her words are valid. I was already in a dark place long before Aubrey showed up.
“I’m not saying you need to see her anytime soon—especially not right now with you juggling the upcoming season and possible triggers associated with that…
but—” she gives me a look over her glasses, “I do believe meeting with her eventually would be good for you both. I would suggest doing it in a place that isn’t tied to drinking or the past. Perhaps you would feel a lot more in control. ”
I consider her words, but don’t say anything more on the subject.
We talk for several more minutes, mainly about school and how I’m handling the stress appropriately. As the session ends, Jasmine admits she’s very impressed with my progress, which is a relief because I feel like I’m failing.
And the worst of it hasn’t even started yet.
“Next week we will have a lot to unpack,” she puts forth softly.
Seems she’s as concerned about my upcoming time working with the team as I am.
“Please call me if anything happens or if you need to talk. You know I’m always here…
but…think about what I said regarding Aubrey.
” Her brows shoot up, giving me an encouraging look as she states, “Perhaps that could be one of your long-term goals, something to do before the end of the semester?”
She smiles widely when I agree, and we share our goodbyes.
I snap my computer screen closed, feeling better about the session now than I did going in. They are emotionally and mentally exhausting, but I can’t lie: I know they are helping.
I sit there in silence, finishing my coffee, trying to unpack everything we talked about.
But one thing keeps interrupting my thoughts.
So, I leave my room and pound on Brennan’s door.
He opens it quickly, his tousled hair covering his sleep-deprived eyes, narrowing on me as I mumble, “Why was June Vaughn sneaking out your window at nine a.m.?”
Brennan’s mouth drops open as he quickly turns around to pull on a pair of grey sweats.
I make myself at home, pushing open his door and letting myself in.
“You’re totally hooking up with her. Aren’t you?” I know my voice is rising. But at the moment I couldn’t care less. My head feels like it’s splitting apart.
Therapy was enough for one day, but now I have to deal with this.
He sits on his bed, leg shaking as he looks out the window. Brennan raises his hands, but just as I think he’s about to admit to it…Reid walks in.
“Why the fuck are we yelling?” He looks from Brennan to me, holding up his index finger as he scolds us. “It’s the one day I get to sleep in, and I wake up to you assholes arguing.”
“He’s sleeping with June Vaughn,” I declare as Brennan throws his arms in the air.
Reid only shrugs.
Well, that was anticlimactic.
I was certain Reid would back me up on this. But he just shows me his palms as his shoulders pull upward.
“Brennan sleeps with everyone,” Reid states plainly.
I slam my eyes closed as Brennan chuckles.
“But—” I begin.