FINN THOMPSON
“Are you listening, Finn?”
I swallow back the razorblades in my throat and glance up at my therapist, Samuel, who adjusts his glasses. “Uh…” I force a nod. “Yeah.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You seem very distant today. Do you want to talk about that?”
“Not really.”
“Okay,” he says as he crosses his legs “Then what would you like to talk about?”
Nothing. I don’t want to be here.
I’m in therapy because I’m an alcoholic, and a bleak future is destined for me. I’ve barely been sleeping and letting the voices in my head get louder and louder until they’re all I can hear.
“Has something happened?” he asks softly.
I move to shake my head but stop myself. I raise my eyes, and his expression remains neutral as he watches me for a long moment.
“Guess I’ve just been having some head fog over the past few days,” I confess.
“Do you know what it stemmed from?”
Realising I’ll never be the father I want to be.
I already missed Skye’s birth. I should have been right by Maya’s side. The most important day of our lives, and I wasn’t fucking there.
A curse word falls from my lips, and I can’t stop fidgeting. There’s an itch beneath my skin that I cannot reach, a voice in the back of my head telling me what I should do to numb the pain.
“Finn,” Samuel says as he leans forward. “I know this is difficult, but we can work through this together. You’re not alone.”
“But I am,” I bite back. “I am alone. You’re not the one with the alcohol problem. You’re not the one who blacked out when your girlfriend told you she was pregnant. You’re not the one who told her that I didn’t want our daughter.”
My eyes start to burn at the memories, but my tears are pathetic when Maya was the one I upset. I did this. I did this.
“And these are things we’ve gone through together,” Samuel responds calmly. “Do you remember what we said to do when these thoughts come back?”
My face scrunches up, and I wave a hand frustratedly. “But they’re always going to come back. No matter how hard I try. So what’s the point? I’m going to end up disappointing them in the end anyway."
“No,” Samuel says firmly. “You’re not. You’re going through a journey that might not be linear, but you’re here, and I know you know that means something.”
I bite down on my jaw and roll my finger over my temple. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the first place. How could I hate myself that much? It just proves who I am.”
“No. People can change, and that doesn’t represent who you are. Just because you’ve struggled with alcoholism doesn’t mean it’s your life forever, Finn. We make choices to better ourselves, the ones we love, and the future you’ll have without alcohol.”
“But it’s in my veins,” I bite. “I can feel it now. The desperation to just knock back a drink to get these thoughts to go away. It’s so confusing because it’ll be a thousand steps backwards, but at the same time, it will stop that feeling that I’m fucking drowning.”
Samuel blinks at me a couple of times before nodding.
“Okay,” he says. “Finn, if you feel like you might be encouraged to do that after our session, then I highly suggest you either go to a meeting, or you tell your friends, your family, or your girlfriend that you’re struggling and you need the support. ”
A cold laugh echoes from me. “And tell them that I’m falling apart again? For them to look at me differently and see that I’ve made no progress at all.”
“You’re not falling apart. I know how much your friends and family care about you from what you’ve told me, and all they’ll want is to support you. You’re having a small blip that can be helped with extra support. I can give you some numbers to call if you’re feeling isolated.”
My head lowers, and I stand, panic starting to rise in me.
“I-I can’t do this.”
“Finn—” Samuel calls out. “Please, let’s just talk. Okay? We can change the subject.”
I swipe a hand over my face. “I need to go.”
Without looking back, I walk to the door and head outside. The second my lungs come into contact with the crisp winter air, I gulp it down like I’m working at half capacity. I’m shaking from head to toe, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
I make it to the car as my legs feel like they’re about to give out.
My hands grip the steering wheel, and I lower my forehead down onto it as I breathe in as deeply as possible. It feels like someone has shot nails through my chest, and every inhale is raspy and uneven.
Why am I letting that asshole’s words affect me?
Because you know they’re true.
And they always will be.
Maya didn’t want to go to university this morning. She stressed her concerns for me as I didn’t sleep much last night and instead lay awake and stared at the ceiling. I convinced her to go, and that I was okay, and I just had a hard session with my therapist.
It’s not a complete lie.
I can’t bring myself to tell her that Alfie got under my skin and voiced my deepest, darkest insecurities into my soul. I should be stronger with all the coping mechanisms Samuel has helped me with, but none of them seem to work when everything is grey and miserable inside my head.
Maya held my face before she left and forced my eyes to hers. She kissed me and told me that she loved me. The words didn’t have their usual effect. I’m so numb with internalised pain that I didn’t even feel my heart pound.
I spent the day looking after Skye and staring at the TV endlessly, regardless of the program. Tiredness hit me, but I forced myself to stay awake.
When Maya returns home, she finds me in the place she left me. Her brows crease as she shrugs off her coat and dumps her bag at the door.
“Hey,” she says cheerily. “You okay? It’s a thousand degrees in here.”
I merely hum.
She studies me for a long moment before walking towards me and gripping my chin. “Finn, I need you to be honest with me,” she murmurs. “Have you…are you okay?”
I scowl defensively. “I’m just tired.”
Maya purses her lips and studies my face again. “You look exhausted.”
“And the first thing you thought was that I was drunk?”
I know what she was going to ask.
She blows out a slow breath. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while. I’m worried.”
“I’m fine,” I brush off.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Finn, you can talk to me.”
And hear that I’m deteriorating again? I don’t want to lose everything I’ve built.
“I’m okay,” I say with conviction.
She sighs and goes to Skye, who is on the floor, and cradles her in her arms. For a moment, she stares at our daughter before pressing a hand to her forehead and neck, then panic washes over her.
“She’s got a temperature, Finn,” she blurts before flicking her eyes to me. “Didn’t you notice?”
My eyes are so blurry that I can barely fixate on either of their faces. “What? Does she?”
Maya releases a jagged breath before taking off Skye’s clothes, then I hear a gasp.
“What?” I say as I stand up.
I glance at her back to find dark red splotches that look sore and itchy. “She has a rash,” she says with panic in her voice. “Oh god, she has a rash.”
“Fuck,” I murmur as I step closer to inspect the marks.
Maya glances at me with disappointment on her face. “How did you not know?”
“Maya,” I exhale. “I just—”
“You need to pay attention to her! What have you been doing all this time?”
My stomach bottoms out, and bile rises in my throat as I stare at our daughter before raising a hand to her forehead to find her skin heating up. I’m awash with immediate shame. I’ve been wrapped up in my thoughts all day and ignored what was most important.
Skye immediately begins to cry, and Maya attempts to soothe her. “It’s okay,” she murmurs as she rocks her from side to side. “Give me your phone.”
I slide it out of my pocket and hand it to her as she races to do something. “What do we do?”
Why do I feel utterly helpless? I know nothing about being a father, and if this is just the beginning, then I’m going to keep letting them down.
“I’m calling the doctors.”
My heart is beating so fast that sweat trickles down my back.
How did I not realise? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You’re a terrible father.
They’re better off without you.
You’ll only end up disappointing them.
“Maya, I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I-I don’t know what happened.”
She glances at me with anger in her eyes. “You had one job, Finn. One job. It doesn’t take a genius to work out when a baby has a temperature, or even the rash on her back, and it could be serious. I don’t even know how long she’s been like this.”
Oh god. My chest tightens, and nausea makes a reappearance.
Maya presses the phone to her ear, and I listen to the conversation with the doctor, who urges us to take her to get seen as soon as possible. I blink back the tears that build in my eyes at knowing I enabled this.
I grab my keys and help Maya get Skye settled into her seat, but she won’t look at me. She’s breathing unevenly, and her entire body is shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I say again and feel my bones begin to crumble.
“Let’s just go,” she says as she climbs into the passenger seat.
It doesn’t take long to get to the infant clinic, and every minute that ticks by, more guilt rides on my shoulders.
Shit father. Shit father. Shit father.
And I believe it because that’s exactly what I am.