Chapter Eleven
Knocking at my door startles me awake. Sitting up on the sofa, I groan and rub the sleep from my eyes.
“Gordy?” a male voice calls from the other side of the door, followed by more pounding. “I know you’re in there, so there’s no point in pretending I’m a door-to-door religion rep and hiding.”
“What the hell?” I grumble. “Who is it, then?” Maybe it’s the grogginess, but the voice is only vaguely familiar.
“The Ghost of Christmas Past,” whoever it is replies dryly. “Now, open up. We need to talk.”
I shuffle to the door, trying to smooth down my mussed up hair as I go. When I open it, I find—“Brooks?”
He looks down at himself, as if he’s searching for something. “Last time I checked.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I get the distinct feeling that you haven’t been keeping up with your therapy.” He shoulders past me, barging into my apartment.
“Come on in,” I quip sarcastically.
Brooks rolls his eyes. “You and I both know you weren’t going to invite me in otherwise.”
“Wow, Doc, you never used to be this pushy.”
He shrugs. “Been working on my own personal growth. Can you still say that for yourself?” he asks, glancing around my home.
“Also, I’m not a doc. I’m a social worker,” he hums. “But you already know that, and you’re just using that nickname to ruffle my feathers—which was something we were working on no longer doing, was it not? ”
“I’m not your client anymore, since you can’t be my therapist,” I remind him.
“No, but I can be your friend. One who happens to have a working knowledge of cognitive behavior therapy,” he rebuts. He pulls up a seat at the end of my sofa, and gestures for me to do the same. “So, fill me in on the last three years.”
“There’s not much to fill you in on. You’re looking at it.” Gesturing downstairs, then back here, I add, “Work, home, gym.”
“And where’s the Gordy that had aspirations of doing better?”
I snort. “In the land of make believe.”
“Why?”
“Because I gave up. Memories of my past still eat away at me. I can’t—fuck, I’ve tried to move on, but I can’t. I’m hopeless.”
Brooks shakes his head. “You’re not. I think you’re just stuck in a rut.”
“Obviously,” I scoff.
He sits back and steeples his fingers under his chin, studying me.
“You always used to tell me about how you hated owning the pub. Well, you hated serving people alcohol, because you loathed the thought of turning people into alcoholics, just like Marlin. While I don’t think that’s necessarily the case, because being a bartender does not an alcoholic make, I can see where that would cause you to feel as if that were the case.
First of all, Marlin was—and pardon my language—a fucked up individual who deserves to rot for all of eternity.
That’s who he was to his core, with or without the alcohol.
” Brooks gives me a pointed look that says we both know he’s not in the wrong about that.
It’s true. That fucked up asshole deserves to be rotting in the ground right now.
Brooks continues, “That’s besides the point, however.
What is the point is that you and he are not alike.
Marlin, by all accounts, was someone incapable of acknowledging how truly horrible his actions were.
And, sure, you may have done something crappy in the past, but it pales in comparison to what he did—and I know as well as you do how remorseful you are about that.
Evan knows it too. I can promise you he doesn’t still hate you, Gordy.
He understands now that it was out of self-preservation. ”
My jaw ticks as I struggle to hold back the flood of emotions that slam into me.
He sighs. “The pub is still here as a monument to your troubled past, though. I think the best thing you can do for yourself is to let it go, which isn’t an easy thing to say since I know it’s how you make your living—but I think it’s worth giving some thought to.”
I nod, because he does have a point there. It’s not lost on me that more and more frequently I feel like just handing the whole damn thing over to Taryn. He’s ready for it, and clearly owning it is his dream, unlike the nightmare it’s been for me.
“The gym?” Brooks continues “I’m not even going to touch that one, because I do think that’s a healthy outlet for you, and I’ve always been steadfast about that.
Heck, if you’re still sparring, I think that’s the best thing for you.
You get that release you always mentioned you craved.
Believe it or not, I think it can be empowering for victims of abuse to participate in some sort of martial arts, as it can build self-confidence. ”
“It does help tremendously,” I agree.
“So, tell me about home,” Brooks hums. “Taryn obviously moved out…”
“It’s, uh—quiet.”
Brooks smirks. “What the heck even is this quiet you speak of?”
I snort. “Trust me, it’s not all it’s glammed up to be.”
Brooks nods. “I think you’re right. I’m certain that, after a while, I’d be lost within it myself.
I’d miss my family too much. Thankfully, it’ll be a while before Tallulah moves out, and even then, I’ll still have my husband.
And I don’t say that to rub that in at all, so don’t think that.
Having a partner is just the truth of my existence, though, and I wish it were your truth as well.
I know with all your other history with Trista-Lynn, it can be hard to think about romantic relationships…
but, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask, have you given any thought to your love life? ”
I shake my head. “You and I both know I’m too broken for that.”
“You’re not,” he disagrees. “Before we stopped working together, we had set a goal for you to work on being open to partnership again. We talked about starting with body image and being comfortable in your own skin first, before tackling emotional intimacy. We agreed on working on self-love first, remember?”
My molars grind again, anxiety starting to fizzle within me.
“I don’t really want to talk about that.
” Because I don’t. As far as he knows, Trista using me is the only reason I haven’t moved on in the intimacy department.
I almost spilled everything to Evan the day of my panic attack at the barbeque—I should have, he deserved my truth—but in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to relive that shame. I don’t want to now either.
Brooks leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Look, I know it’s awkward having this conversation in person—with me, even—but, Gordy, I still care about your well-being all the time.
Pretend I’m anyone else besides Evan’s husband, someone totally unbiased.
And, whoever my new identity is, picture me being on the other end of a computer screen, just for this exercise. ”
I whoosh out a steadying breath, trying to do as he asks.
“What stage are you currently at with trying to become comfortable with intimate physical touch?” he asks.
“Still just masturbation only.”
Brooks’ brows furrow. “You make it sound as if that’s a menial thing, and not a giant hurdle you’ve overcome…”
“It is trivial,” I scoff. “What thirty-eight year old wants to admit that anything more than jerking off sends him into a panic attack?”
“You need to train your mind to see it differently, Gordy, because it is an accomplishment and a stepping stone to moving forward. The right person will understand, if you let them. I know your default is to guard yourself, and I completely understand why, but you’ve got to trust that not everyone’s going to use you like Trista-Lynn did.
There will be someone who can handle you with the care you deserve. ”
Almost immediately, the doofus I woke up glued to the other night comes to mind.
The one who protectively held me in his arms, no doubt having come in to stop me hurting myself during one of my terrors, and who, even in his half-conscious state, rubbed my back until I drifted back off again.
Gannett, who has literally begged me to offer him mere crumbs of my past hurt, and yet who I haven’t been able to trust it with, even though I know, in my soul, he wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly.
I mean, the man has been coddling a seagull, for Christ’s sake.
“Outside of that, as far as connections go, would you be willing to try working on fostering friendships first?” Brooks asks, drawing me back. “I feel like that’s a solid stepping stone. Something gradual.”
“Who the fuck would want to be my friend, after what I did to Evan?”
Brooks looks me dead in the eyes. “Me. Evan too, believe it or not. Regulars at the pub you’ve gotten to know.
Surely there must be people at the gym. Trust me, the only one holding this eternal grudge against you is you.
Start letting people in. If they define you by a mistake you made in your past, then they aren’t worth your time. Let them see who you can be now.”
I offer him a placating, “I can try,” but I know I really won’t. I’m just… tired. Tired of putting in the work to no avail; I only ever feel like shit. Tired of trying when all I’m met with are setbacks and regressions, over and over again.
Brooks must believe me, though. He offers me a small smile.
“That’s all we can do. Listen, I don’t want to seem like I am passing the buck here, but I really do think that you should continue to see someone for treatment.
Maybe even a real doc, like a psychologist, who can prescribe medications in conjunction with the therapy.
You told me before there were some meds that had helped you in the past. I can recommend someone, if you’d like.
Not saying that I won’t be just a text or phone call away either, but, I don’t know, I think it might be beneficial to see me as a real person in your life, and not a clinician.
Heck, our kids are dating—how weird is that? ”
“Very.”