Chapter eleven
I thought about that for a while, but I wasn't getting anywhere with my thoughts circling the drain.
In the end, it was a simple enough decision.
I'd never gone to therapy, aside from a brief work-mandated grief counseling thing when a coworker died.
But I knew from my training with the Shifters and Partners organization about how useful it might be for my partner, and for me.
They'd hooked us up with resources. It was easy to use that information now and find myself a therapist that would work with my situation—someone with training about working with shifters.
As Arlie's partner, and when some of my issues maybe sort of revolved around him, I thought that would be important.
I went with a small partnership. There were two therapists—the older guy, with a salt-and-pepper beard.
He was handsome and calm-looking, like a hot professor.
He was maybe in his fifties and carried it well, from his promo shot.
The other therapist was a woman, older, and looked to me like a grandma.
I didn't know which would be easier to talk to.
Would I get some weird, father-figure attachment to the man if I ended up going regularly?
Maybe it was a mistake to even think about it.
But I needed to talk to someone, and since it wasn't about anything more serious than my thoughts and feelings—not something that might affect my career, like a diagnosis of depression could—I should have the privacy I needed with a professional.
Even if it didn't fix anything. If I could just talk about it.
I went back and forth and honestly didn't know who would be better to talk to.
But at least some of what I was dealing with was stuff about Darby, and some part of me thought that a woman, even a therapist, would automatically take Darby's side, even at my therapy appointment.
Paranoid thinking, maybe, but I just didn't need anyone taking her side preemptively, and some part of me thought a male therapist would be more sympathetic to my breakup pains and the things I was trying to sort through.
I didn't need another woman judging me about Darby.
My own mother was already upset enough about the breakup.
She'd never seen the other side of Darby, only the nice public facing side, the sweet, friendly, perfect woman I'd thought I was dating, not the angry critique-filled woman who would break my things.
Not that the therapist would probably judge me.
But, you know, I was nervous enough about going.
I didn't need any other speed bumps to slow me down.
I went ahead and made an appointment with the man, Dr. Cavan. I told Arlie. He needed to be in the loop, if not the whole loop. He was excited for me and asked if I wanted him to drive me in and wait for me.
"No, I'll be okay on my own." I might need the drive time to compose myself, if I got emotional. I didn't want him to see me like that. I needed space to figure it out without making him worry, or feeling like I needed to contain myself.
I mean, hopefully it wouldn't be that messy. But I just didn't know.
I thought back to the grief counseling session.
Maybe if the death had hit me harder, I would've needed it more.
It had mostly felt awkward, almost like I was faking.
But the truth was, we were all having a hard time dealing with it.
It was one of those sudden deaths that made no sense, and it affected the whole precinct.
I'd barely known the guy. I didn't feel like I was grieving, but I did have a lot of confused and mixed-up feelings about it.
The thing is, one of those feelings had been relief.
Because I would never again have to face his "bro" brand of humor that edged past teasing and towards bullying.
He always had to make remarks like calling me a pretty boy, or "jokingly" implying I was gay.
It wouldn't even be anything if he hadn't meant it in a mean way.
But he had, and it was always clear in his eyes.
It wasn't as though guys in the precinct never teased me, or I couldn't take a joke. But what bothered me was having to take a joke, and everyone thinking it was a joke—except me, and the guy who made it, who knew very well it wasn't. He meant it in a mean way. He meant it to degrade me.
So I'd felt guilty about being glad he was gone, as well as sad to lose a coworker before his time.
It was weird, because maybe he would've grown up someday, you know?
But maybe he'd have gotten worse. In the end, I wished it hadn't happened.
And I was still glad not to have to deal with him day in and day out.
But I mean he could've moved precincts; it didn't have to be like that.
For my first therapy appointment, I felt extremely awkward going in. But it turned out I had plenty of things to talk about. The aftermath of my relationship with Darby would've been enough to fill the time.
I needed to talk about the rest of it. I knew I did. I just didn't know how to start.
I glanced at the clock. I still had time, if I just got it out. I could bring up Arlie. It didn't have to be only about my ex. If I could just get the nerve up.
Dr. Cavan seemed like a good fit so far, listening carefully and taking me seriously, and he hadn't made light of any of my feelings.
I just needed to say it.
I cleared my throat. "I'd like to talk about my partner, if we have time." I knew we had time, unless he was going to shoo me out early.
"Of course. Your wolf partner. Tell me about him."
I paused. How to describe Arlie? "He's great. We're good friends as well as partners."
Should I say he was my best friend? Should I admit it felt like he'd been in my life forever, even though I hadn't known him long?
That I didn't know what I'd do without him?
It sounded so intense, even in my head. Much less if I said something like that out loud, when it was going to be analyzed and remembered.
"I'm staying with the pack for now. I'm renting a room there, till I'm more on my feet."
I thought about how to say it. Should I just say it? This was really why I'd made the appointment. It was probably something easy to solve, and the rest of my visits would just be about Darby, which was where I really needed to do work. Yeah, I should just say it.
"Do you like staying with the pack?" he asked.
I wondered how much grooming a beard like that took. It certainly looked movie star-like, with its neat trim and aesthetic salt and pepper mix. Would I ever be able to pull off a beard like that?
"Sure. I like the pack a lot. Arlie and I are close. It's nice to have a support system." Oh God, why couldn't I just say it? "But, recently some things have come up." I sounded casual. Casual enough?
This is why I made the damn appointment. Just say it.
"Uh, recently some things have come up. My partner is bi, but he only dates girls, girls he clearly isn't interested in, and it was pissing me off.
I told him he should start dating guys since he's obviously not clicking with anyone.
He said the pack wouldn't approve. The pack knew he was bi to begin with, before he joined, so they'd better not disapprove!
But anyway, my point is that I promised to talk to someone and figure out if it would actually be an issue or not. "
I took a deep breath.
The therapist looked a little confused, but he was still listening carefully.
"I talked to the alpha. He was very chill about it—but mostly when he thought I was...asking for his blessing, I guess, to date Arlie." There, it was out. I sat back, releasing a breath. Such a small thing to be so upset about.
It wasn't the end of the world if someone thought I was gay. Except that it kept happening, and it kept hurting. And I couldn't change my feelings of caring so much about Arlie, and wanting to be part of his life. A big part.
When he realized I wasn't going to elaborate, Dr. Cavan said, "It bothers you that he thought that?"
"Yeah. I've gotten it a lot in my life, and it's kind of a sore spot.
I was teased all the time when I was younger for being sensitive and 'too pretty.
'" I made air quotes. "It never completely went away, no matter how into girls I was.
I was kind of a slut in college. I mean, I slept with a lot of women.
They found me attractive, and I was only too happy to have sex.
I've never done anything with guys. I never experimented.
I've always felt like I was straight. But it really bothers me to have that old assumption poked at. "
"You can't control what other people think about you, but it doesn't define you. Only you know yourself."
"I think it's just a little more...warranted, I guess, than it ever was before. I can see how from the outside someone would think I'm into Arlie. We're very close. I just didn't think shifters made assumptions like that. So it threw me for a loop when the alpha said that."
"Anyone can have culturally ingrained ideas. Shifters are not inherently immune to that, or better at knowing other people."
"They can usually read attraction, though." There, it was out of the bag. I stared at him, and he looked calmly back. "It's weird when they're wrong, basically."
"Have other shifters told you they thought you were attracted to your partner?" he asked patiently. "Or was it just this alpha?"
I thought about that and shook my head. "If anyone else thinks it, they don't feel the need to tell me."
"Do you have reason to trust his opinion more than your own? Are you particularly close to him?"
"No, we haven't talked a lot. He's a great guy, but I don't see him very often."
"Perhaps he means well, but doesn't understand your dynamic. An outsider's perspective—especially one who isn't close to you—is probably not reliable compared to your own lived experience."