Chapter 3 Ellis
ELLIS
Ilet out a frustrated breath as I tapped my fingers against the white keyboard, staring at the computer screen with mild distaste. Chewing the inside of my lip, I eyed the open Google Doc and ran my eyes over one of the many assignments Dr. Mason had given me this week.
The words stared back at me, smug and unhelpful.
I gritted my teeth.
2. Think about what you want to do with your life.
3. Go on a date.
Dr. Mason was pushing it this time, I decided as I typed in that last point.
Hadn’t I been a good patient? I thought I was mostly low-maintenance, and yet here she was, handing out existential homework.
I’d told her I wasn’t interested in bringing someone else into my life, especially given how precarious it was, and now she wanted me to go on a date?
What happened to the simple, meaningless tasks she gave me at the beginning of our sessions?
Write down five things you’re grateful for.
Journal about a time you were most happy.
Those kinds of things.
The checkbox exercises I did out of obligation. I mean, I could do gratitude journals until my fingers fell off if that’s what she wanted.
But this?
Figure out what to do with my life?
Go on a date?
Look up long-term survivors?
These were future-shaped tasks hidden inside homework and it made my chest feel tight.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.
My gaze drifted to my obnoxiously neat desk. Everything sitting in its designated place, a sharp contrast to the overwhelming, scattered mess inside my mind. I glanced down at my open planner, lips pursing at the color-coded sticky notes carefully placed along the page edges. I frowned at myself.
It was as if I had convinced myself that being hyper-organized might somehow give me a smidge of control over my own existence.
I twirled a strand of red hair around my finger and returned to glaring petulantly at the screen, wondering how I was supposed to get through these assignments without losing my mind.
Researching survivors.
After a full year of obsessively researching death, it felt unnatural to suddenly flip the script, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. Sure, my entire online presence revolved around survival. I’d been documenting everything for years, ever since I took over the account from my mom.
I gave people hope.
But it wasn’t like I believed in it.
I gave people hope because I didn’t want anyone else to feel the way I had. I could still remember the moment I woke up with someone else’s heart in my chest. With the crushing realization that someone had to die so I could live.
It was the most shattering feeling I’d ever experienced.
This assignment was already stupid. I was still thinking about the same horrible stuff.
Surely that hadn’t been her intention when she set the tasks.
I knew, at the core of it, what Dr. Mason truly wanted. She wanted me to think about the future. A real future. One where I didn’t fixate on worst-case scenarios, where I planned for things instead of waiting for them to fall apart again.
“Like it’s that easy,” I muttered grimly, scratching absentmindedly at the nape of my neck with a grimace.
With a sigh, I opened a new tab.
If I had to do this homework, I might as well start with the worst part. It was like eating dinner. Tackle the vegetables first so you could get to the roast meat and potatoes. In this case, my vegetables were the dating assignment.
I bit my lip.
I wasn’t actually dating, I reminded myself. Not seriously. I wouldn’t allow it. The idea was laughable. Who in their right mind would choose to date someone with my history? Who would willingly sign up for a relationship that would drain them the way one with me inevitably would?
Dr. Mason wanted me to engage with the world outside my family. Fine.
Did this also count as the “research anything other than death” component of her homework?
I grinned and opened Google.
Best LGBTQ dating apps.
My fingers typed deftly, and I hit enter before I could overthink it.
Immediately, a list popped up, and my eyes skimmed past the generic ones, skipping anything that looked too straight. I needed low stakes and low pressure.
One link caught my eye.
Femme – A dating app for LGBTQ+ women and nonbinary people.
My finger clicked.
Find love today! Create your profile now!
I grimaced but hit the sign-up button anyway, fully aware I wasn’t looking for love. I was looking for a coffee date. It would be just enough to get Dr. Mason off my back so I could return to practical assignments instead of whatever this was.
This was ridiculous.
But I was already in too deep.
Once sign-up was complete and I agreed to the terms and conditions I hadn’t bothered to read, I stared at the blank profile page.
Name, age, location.
Easy.
About Me.
I paused.
“Ellis, love, did you want to go out for some dinner tonight?” my mother’s voice called through my open door.
I slammed the laptop shut as she entered, spinning around in my chair like a guilty teenager caught watching something they definitely shouldn’t have been.
Her steps slowed at my flurry of movement, her brows raised as she nodded toward the laptop.
“Do I want to know what that was?”
“It was nothing,” I said quickly, my voice pitched higher than normal. I cleared my throat. “Just... nothing.”
She folded her arms and gave me the look, the one that used to terrify me as a child but now mostly just made me feel like an idiot.
“Ellis.”
I groaned and dragged a hand down my face. “It’s just a stupid assignment from Dr. Mason.”
Her eyes flicked to the closed laptop, then back to me, curiosity sparking in her expression. “A therapy assignment?”
“Yes,” I admitted after a moment’s hesitation.
I braced myself for soft looks and concern, maybe some gentle prodding.
Instead, she gave me a knowing look. “Dr. Mason’s making you stop researching death again, isn’t she?”
I huffed and shook my head. “That and… she’s making me research life. Among other things.”
Mom’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “Sounds… healthy.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited,” I muttered with a sigh.
“Oh, I’m not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice was an octave higher than usual.
She was definitely excited.
“What are we researching, then?”
I should have lied. I could have—I could’ve said something vague, like new hobbies or random career paths I’d never actually pursue.
Instead, I made the classic mistake every young woman knows not to make with her mother.
I told the truth.
“Dating.”
Mom visibly perked up.
My stomach dropped. “No. Don’t. Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop.”
“Oh, Ellis!” Mom clasped her hands together and looked as if she were physically holding in a squeal. “Are you serious?”
“It’s homework,” I said quickly. “Not like an actual interest. Dr. Mason wants me to socialize.”
Mom’s eyes stayed lit as she perched on the edge of my bed. “What app are you using? Aunt Junie went on .”
I wrinkled my nose at the name, and she laughed and nodded.
“Come on,” she urged.
I groaned and turned back to my laptop, opening it. “This is so dumb.”
“Femme?” Mom grinned, leaning in with sparkling eyes, clearly amused. “I like that. It sounds classy.”
God, this was a mistake.
She scanned my barely filled-out profile, her smile dimming into a small frown. “What are you going to write for your ‘About Me’?”
I shrugged lamely and resumed tapping my finger on the desk as I stared at the blinking cursor. “I don’t know. How do I sum myself up in 100 characters? How about: Ellis, 21. Lover of reading, iced coffee, and staring at my ceiling while contemplating my own mortality.”
“Well,” Mom said lightly, “you had me in the first half. We all contemplate our mortality, Ellis. We just don’t admit it publicly. You should hear my head at three in the morning when I can’t sleep.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, pretending to consider it. “Ellis, 21. I make YouTube videos about surviving heart failure and they pay me for it. Currently researching what normal people do for fun. Open to suggestions.”
Mom snorted a laugh and shook her head. “You kill me. Listen, just put: Ellis, 21. Caffeine fan, bad reality TV enthusiast. Swipe if you love someone who can organize their life into a spreadsheet.”
“Mom!”
Despite the dig, we both laughed, because, it was true. My life was so tightly organized that nothing was going to throw me. Not anymore.
“The first bit, though,” Mom said, nudging me. “Use that. Just don’t overthink it.”
I let out a heavy breath and typed in the bio, then selected three pictures I actually liked.
A decent selfie. Me smiling, good lighting; one of me at the beach last summer, hair messy from the wind, holding a pink soft-serve ice cream; and a candid shot Mom had taken on my birthday, smiling over the candles.
My nose wrinkled again.
I felt like I was trying to sell something that didn’t exist.
The girl in those pictures looked carefree, happy.
She looked normal.
She certainly didn’t run her life with an iron rod.
I hit save, and Mom squeaked, clapping her hands.
Your profile is live! Let the connections begin!
“This is such a bad idea,” I muttered grimly, shaking my head.
“Oh, Ellis,” Mom sighed with a smile. “This is good!”
I snorted and shook my head. “I joined an app. It’s not like I cured cancer.”
Mom’s expression turned serious as she looked at me.
“It’s a good thing, Ellis. You’re doing something.
You’re looking at the future. That’s all I want for you, you know?
You don’t have to date anyone, but making a friend?
That could be nice. I surely can’t be the best friend you could possibly have at twenty-one. ”
My throat tightened, and I blinked.
“Okay, look, that was a fish for compliments. I’ll put the rod away.” Mom got to her feet and gave me a wink.
My laptop dinged, and I blanched.
Katie M has liked your profile!