Chapter 27 Gwen #2
“Then why do I have to do this? Why do we have to sit here and talk about my feelings if there’s nothing wrong with them?”
“Because you need to be able to identify what they are, Gwen.” Deep lines etched her forehead, suggesting she was as confused as I was. “You need to be able to have a feeling and name what it is.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do I need to name my feelings? They come, and they go, and a new one comes, and it goes. It’s a never-ending cycle. I feel something, and I fix it, and I move on. What else is there to do with them?”
For a few heartbeats, Rhiannon just stared at me. Confusion dissipated as she nodded. “We might be getting somewhere here.”
“And where are we getting, exactly?”
“What you just said there, about fixing them. That’s the root of a lot of your problems, kid.”
Blood sloshed between my ears, throbbing harder and harder. I rubbed my temples. “You’re gonna have to explain this to me like I’m two.”
“You think that feelings are problems that need solving.” The beads in Rhiannon’s braids clinked with the shake of her head. “They’re not. A feeling might point to a problem, but if you can’t feel that feeling, then name that feeling, you’re not going to get to the root of the problem.”
“I thought you said trying to fix them was the root of my problem.”
“It is,” Rhiannon said. “Our goal is not to fix them. If you don’t learn to feel your feelings, name them, and search for the root of them, you’re just gonna bury yourself.
You’ve done it before. When you were with Troy, the first time he put his hands on you, he hurt you, and it scared you, but you resolved the issue at hand.
You two kissed and made up, because that was easier than dealing with the fear.
You solved the simplest problem in front of you instead of the root problem. ”
“Alright,” I said, sinking back in my seat. “A valid point.”
“The very first time he hurt you, what was the root of the problem on your end? Not whatever reason he gave to justify it.”
The words were sour leaving my lips. “He used violence to control me.”
“And what was the healthiest way for you to solve that problem?”
“Leaving.” I fought the urge to squirm at the unpleasant chill that ran down my spine. “But I did that, so I don’t see what your point here is.”
“Just that getting to the root of that problem is how we progress as people.” She leaned in again. “That’s why I asked about your mom. Not to judge her, but to understand what happened in your life that makes expressing your feelings so hard. Did you ever talk about your feelings with her?”
I went back to chewing my cheek. “Not really.”
“What about her feelings?” Rhiannon squinted me over. “Did she talk about hers?”
“I guess, yeah.”
“Can you give me an example?”
A deep breath escaped my nostrils. “I don’t know. She told me about feeling unloved and unwanted by her boyfriends a lot.”
“And what did you think when she told you those things?”
My heart thumped hard, and my chest got tight. “They didn’t deserve her anyway. She needed to stop worrying about them.”
“How did you know that?”
Raising my shoulders, I shook my head. “Because she could hold a job when she was single. She cooked dinner. She was awake when I was getting ready for school. She functioned better without them. They just made her life harder.”
Rhiannon’s phone rang on the side table. She silenced it. “And those feelings, you only saw her express them when she was having problems in her relationships?”
“I guess, yeah.” I gestured to her phone. “You can answer that.”
“It can wait.” Her eye contact didn’t waver. “Her feelings were catastrophes that did need solving, right?”
That wasn’t an insult to my mom. It was close to one though. I had to consciously release my tight fists. “Well, she was in a revolving door of abusive relationships, so yeah, I guess so.”
“And when she didn’t solve them, you had to pick up the slack. You got ready for school by yourself. You had to cook dinner.”
“She was overwhelmed,” I said, doing my best to keep from coming off aggressive. “I was fine.”
“I know. Just like you’re fine now,” Rhiannon said.
“And you are, Gwen. You show up to work each day. You’re saving to open your own business.
You’re opening yourself up to love again, and that’s huge.
I’m proud of you.” Her phone rang again, and she silenced it once more.
“But your problem has never been whether you can take care of yourself. It’s always been that you think you have to take care of everyone else. ”
I’d killed a man to protect my best friend. So I couldn’t argue with her about that.
“Is it such a bad thing?” I asked. “That’s what community’s all about. Sacrifice. Give and take.”
“No, it’s not a bad thing.” Eyes big, brows creasing in the middle, she frowned. “But doesn’t it get heavy? Carrying around everyone else’s pain?”
A chill swept over my arms. All I could do was shrug in response.
“Let me ask you this, Gwen.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Have you ever had someone you could really lean on? Someone you could tell everything to, and they wouldn’t judge you. Someone who would help if you asked.”
“Does Simone count?”
“Before Simone.”
No. I didn’t. Mom was chaos. Her problems were always bigger than mine. Throughout my teens, my friends had relied on me the same way she had. I was who they went to with their problems. When mine were bigger, they were nowhere to be found.
Chewing my cheek, I shrugged again.
“That’s why I want you to name your feelings, Gwen.
Because I want you to have mutual relationships.
I don’t want you to carry everyone else’s burdens and never lay out your own.
” Her phone rang. She grunted, ignored it, and muted the ringer.
“Closeness, real closeness, is vulnerability on both sides. Are you sure you weren’t afraid when David hurt Simone? ”
A knot swelled in my throat, and my fingers quivered. I clenched them steady. “I don’t know. Maybe I was.”
“And you didn’t want to tell Simone that because, like your mom, her crisis was bigger. She was the hurt one. Your feelings went to the back burner because they had to in that moment.”
A half smile touched my lips. “Are you agreeing with me?”
“I am actually.” Rhiannon chuckled, and so did I. “But Sebastian didn’t have a crisis, did he?
There went my smile. “No, I guess not.”
“And you still didn’t open up to him, even though he could’ve been exactly who you needed right then.” The corners of her lips fell. “I have a feeling he would’ve been.”
Yeah. He would’ve. Just like he had validated my experience that night in the truck. I didn’t have to put on a show for him. He didn’t judge me. We’d sat in solidarity together.
“That’s why, Gwen. That’s why we have to talk about our feelings, so we can unload our burdens together.” Her phone vibrated again. “Son of a bitch.”
I laughed. “Is one breakthrough enough for today? Someone clearly needs you more than I do.”
“Is that your way of saying you agree with me?”
I stood and headed for the door. “It’s my way of saying I see the points you’re making.”
“At least we made it that far.” A deep breath loosened her shoulders, but she smiled. “Get outta here, kid. But I still want you working on that poem!”
So far, the poem she wanted was still a blank sheet of paper.
As I left the rec center, it was the last thing on my mind. The heavy snowfall blurred around me and provided a blank canvas for my thoughts.
Why did I get angry when I sat alone with Rhiannon? Was it all about the pressure of having to talk?
Whenever she brought up my mom, I braced for an attack. Most my life, when people talked about my mom, it was to attack. I understood why. She was an addict. Her priorities were often skewed. She existed in a realm of moral ambiguity.
Maybe that was why I defended her. Because she had been hurt enough, and I wanted to honor her memory. To me, she was good. To me, she was kind. She wasn’t a perfect mother, but who was?
And why didn’t I like talking about Troy?
Because he was a chapter of my life I wanted to forget.
One that made me sick to think back on. The things I’d tolerated, the things I should’ve reported to the police, the things I should’ve killed him for.
It hurt my stomach and sent bile rising up my throat.
That was what made Rhiannon’s Ranch so appealing. Leaving that life behind and starting a new one. I knew we only did that for safety reasons, but—
A police car.
An SUV, to be exact.
A police-car rolled past me.
Was this about Simone?
About David?
Until David, I had never seen a cop inside the ranch.
My stomach fell in my ass as they pulled to a stop before the rec center doors. I tried not to look, only sparing a few glances over my shoulder. I still had a twenty-minute walk ahead of me. How long would they be in there, talking to Rhiannon?
If I slowed my speed, maybe I could get Edwards—if it was him—to roll down the window and tell me what was happening on his drive back out of the ranch.
Could I think of some excuse to stay close, so I could ask Rhiannon about it afterward? Maybe if I went to the cafeteria, or the gym, I could kill some time until they left, then find her after and ask what it was about.
But I didn’t have to.
I was just passing the daycare when I heard Rhiannon call, “Gwen, are you busy, sweetheart?”
It was so cold, so dark, that no one else was out and about. I had only made it a block away from where Rhiannon now stood.
Now, despite having wanted to know so badly what was going on, I was terrified to head back. What if she was calling for me because they had figured it out? What if they knew I killed David?
“Just heading home to take care of Honey,” I called back. “Everything okay?”
“I, um, I could just use your input right now.” Her voice was an octave higher than it had been earlier. I couldn’t make out her expression through the snow that fell between us. “Would you mind coming back?”
Did I really have a choice? What was my other option? Make a run for? If this was about me, if they believed I had killed David, wouldn’t they be the one chasing me?
This was something else. It had to be something else.
With a hard swallow, I started back in that direction. Once I was at the rec center doors, I opened my mouth to speak, but Rhiannon cut in first. Her voice was low. Quiet enough that Edwards and the suited man beside him on the far side of the entryway couldn’t hear.
“Delilah’s real name is Alison,” she said. “Alison Kennedy.”