Chapter 12
Lennon
The days used to crawl, but now it felt like time was speeding through some kind of time warp.
How was it already Thursday? I’d spent my entire morning in bed, clinging to the safety and security of it.
How was I supposed to get through eleven more weeks of this?
I’d only attended one session—hadn’t even finished the first week—and I was dreading everything that came next.
One thing at a time. One small task at a time.
I exhaled out through my lips that felt swollen from dehydration.
I was thirsty. Dragging myself out from under the covers, I staggered toward the kitchen.
As I glanced around my apartment, it hit me how badly it needed cleaning.
Dust coated surfaces I barely touched. Takeout containers and ramen packets were scattered across the counter and kitchen floor. I sighed a heavy breath. Maybe later.
When I opened the cupboards, only one pathetic plastic cup was clean enough to use. Great. Add wash the fucking dishes to the ever-growing to-do list. Everything felt fucking heavy, unbearable, unmanageable. As if the weight of normal life was out of reach.
I reached for the singular cup and filled it to the brim with tap water. I chugged the whole thing, my breath catching once the last drop was gone in its entirety. Still thirsty, I refilled the cup. Then again. And again. After the fourth cup, I finally felt somewhat human.
Wiping my mouth of excess water with the back of my hand, I trudged back to my bedroom to get dressed.
I lifted my shirt to my nose—definitely needed a wash—then fully pulled it off, my naked reflection catching in the mirror.
I glanced up through long lashes that lacked makeup, taking in the lean lines of my hips, the faint outline of a few ribs, and my small breasts peaking with tight nipples.
Biting the inside of my lip, I checked the time. Twenty minutes until group started. I needed to get dressed. It had been a while since I’d used my vibrator—the one sitting in my dresser drawer calling my name—but I shook the thought away. Not now. I needed to get out the door.
I tossed on a loose, cotton, grey shirt and pulled on a pair of black, baggy jeans that clung just enough to my hip bones to stay up. Running my fingers through my hair to loosen any tangles, I headed down the hallway and out the door.
I rushed down the street, not wanting to have all eyes on me if I were to walk in late. I hated showing up at all, but showing up late was even worse. So I aimed to be slightly early. Last time it only took a few minutes before everyone started piling in, so I wanted to time it just right.
Running up toward the hospital, I pushed through the doors feeling slightly less anxious than last time. I glanced at a clock on the wall. Six minutes to spare before I was officially late. I picked up my pace down the hall toward room C125.
I slipped through the stream of hospital foot traffic and into the quieter space labelled Group Therapy for Mental Health Outcomes. Other than Dana and myself, only two others were inside. I spotted the seat I’d used last week and made a beeline for it, claiming it as my own once again.
“Welcome, Lennon!” Dana said brightly. “How are you?” Her sincerity made me bite down on my bottom lip, uncomfortable with small talk, yet knowing I had to push myself to say something.
“Fine,” I replied, keeping it short.
“Please, help yourself to snacks and coffee! There’s lots to go around.” Taking that as her cue to leave me alone, she moved on to greet others who began to trickle in through the doorway. I nodded and dropped my gaze to my lap, avoiding any opening for more conversation.
Twiddling my thumbs, I tell myself, Slow your breathing, Lennon.
The amount of times I left the confines of my apartment was minimal.
And the times that I did, I wasn’t willingly sitting with a group of strangers.
I’d spent years isolating myself—by design.
No friendships, no deep connections, pushing away anyone who tried.
Besides Rachel and Jase, no one stuck. This life was created by intent, knowing the final outcome.
Being surrounded by a dozen people now felt… unbearable. Horrendous, even.
Metal chair legs screeched across the floor as people dragged them into place, the high-pitched scrape making me cringe each time.
I needed everyone to just sit the fuck down already.
I peeked up long enough to catch who was entering before they had the chance to see me looking.
A bald man walked in—one I didn’t overly remember from last week.
Did he sit near me? Was he even here last time?
Maybe he’d introduced himself right before my mini-panic attack and choking episode. Fantastic. I’m already a fucking mess.
“Hey, Greg!” Dana greeted him as he entered the room. I must’ve missed his introduction entirely on Monday. So much for paying attention.
And then he walked in.
He looked so good, it was irritating. I couldn’t stand his presence, yet everything about him was unfairly flawless.
His buzz cut was perfectly faded, the top left slightly longer—fresh enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he came straight from the barber.
His rigid bone structure gave him a cruel, almost intimidating look—but then he’d ruin it by smiling warmly at everyone, going out of his way to greet people. It was maddening.
He grabbed a cracker from the snack table and tossed it effortlessly in his mouth.
He wore a dark grey, athletic, long-sleeve shirt that hugged every shape of his upper body, paired with black, tapered sweatpants and crisp white runners.
Did he just go for a run before this? He looked like the kind of guy that would have gone for a run before a group session like this.
I rolled my eyes subconsciously—right as he looked my way.
A playful smirk lit up his face, clearly catching the dramatic eye roll aimed directly at him.
“Morning, Lennon.” His voice danced in my ears like velvet.
He took up space on the chair directly next to me. I could feel his body turned completely in my direction.
“It’s the afternoon,” I say, annoyance radiating throughout every word.
He only shrugged, unbothered. “Depends what time your day began, I suppose.”
I shook my head, not responding. But he leaned over slightly in my direction as he asked, “How were your last couple days?”
I closed my eyes for a brief second, irritation flaring. “I’m sorry—do I give you the impression that small talk is something I indulge in?”
He laughed—actually laughed—his eyes bright, smile wide, all with perfect teeth. A small twinge of sadness blanketed me. I wished I could feel that kind of freedom, that kind of ease, the ability to laugh so openly like that. But that wasn’t in the cards for me.
“You’re a firecracker, Lennon,” he said.
Not allowing myself to fall into his banter, I said dryly, “I’m so glad you find me amusing, hotshot.”
“Oh, we’re on a nickname basis already, are we?” His grin was infectious, attempting to seep behind my hard exterior. I wasn’t having it. I didn’t care how smooth he thought he was. I refused to let it in.
I scoffed and ignored him.
“Why don’t you like me?” he asked suddenly, straight to the point.
A sarcastic chuckle exited my lips—harsher than I intended. “What makes you think you’re so likeable?”
He tilted his head toward me, that sly smile permeating. “I’m likeable, Lennon.”
A small voice inside me whispered that I didn’t have to be this cold. That I could be kind. But every other part of me shoved that voice down.
Don’t let anyone in.Don’t let anyone see inside of you.
Don’t let anyone see inside your tough exterior.
You’ve made it this far by keeping the world out.
Don’t stop now.
You’re so close.
Keep going.
“I don’t know if you’re on some mission from God or whatever to save the sad girl who wants to off herself,” I spat, “but if that’s the case, I’m going to stop you right there.”
Asher brows shot up, clearly thrown. His mouth parted to say something—but I raised my hand to stop him.
“Don’t. Nothing you say or do is going to change my mind. So if it’s all the same to you, hotshot, I’m going to finish out this twelve weeks with as much peace as I can possibly muster before my time is up. Capiche?”
The look that was plastered across his beautiful face was that of dejection and confusion.
His mouth parted like he was about to say something, but he caught himself, finally understanding that I wasn’t about to change my mind.
I wouldn’t budge. I turned my head away, refusing to give him space to speak and piss me off even more.
I could feel his eyes on me, and the air between us thickened with his hurt feelings.
Dana began speaking to the group, sometime between Asher trying to derail me and my irritation rising, once everyone had settled into their seats.
But not this time. I forced myself to focus.
I needed to get through the session. One day at a time.
One moment at a time. One less distraction at a time.
“So, group! I have your assignment ready to roll out, as well as your assignment partners. I can appreciate that sometimes choosing your partner when you aren’t familiar with everyone can feel daunting.”
Dana continued talking, but my attention drifted in and out.
I didn’t want to do anything with anyone.
I wondered if I could just take on the brunt of the work so that I wouldn’t have to engage with the other person.
If partnering was mandatory, I could go see Rachel—she’d advocate for me.
She knew how poorly I coped with things like this.
“For your assignment,” Dana began, “you’ll be paired up with someone.
The two of you will have the duration of this session to compile a list of bucket list items. For anyone who doesn’t know what a bucket list is—it’s a list of things that you want to do before you die.
Things you’ve always wanted to do, but have been too scared to try, or haven’t had the resources for, or just never got around to.
The sky’s the limit. I want you to really dig deep.
Share at least ten things between the two of you.
Write them down and we will have them for the next session. ”
Dana looked up at us, her enthusiasm filling the room.
A few people seemed intrigued. It was sort of peculiar and not something I expected, nor do I think half of us expected it.
A bucket list? Really? Before we fucking kick the bucket?
That was somehow even more depressing than living in my head every single day.
“So, my lovely participants, here are your partners. Jane and Greg. Marco and Ashley. Desmond and Athena. Asher and Lennon. Aria and Ophelia. And last but not least, Landon and Lorna. Please join your partners and head to the side of the room where I have placed notebooks for your bucket list items, along with writing utensils.”
My brain misfired. Did she just say…No. No fucking way.
That can’t be what she said. She did not just pair me up with that asshole sitting next to me. There has to be a mistake.
“Ms. Galloway—” I started. But she interrupted with, “Please, call me Dana.”
I restructured my thoughts, composing myself by straightening in my seat. “Sorry. Dana, has there been some sort of error? You said I was placed with Asher.”
She nodded. “Yes, Lennon. No mistake made. Is there a problem with being partnered with Asher?”
Her question made heat crawl up my neck. The whole group could hear me. Fuck. Exactly what I wanted—humiliation, round two. He must have put her up to this. There was no other explanation.
I pressed my lips together and gritted out between clenched teeth, “No. Not at all. Just wasn’t sure if I heard you correctly.”
Dana gave me a polite smile and carried on, addressing the rest of the group as everyone stood and made their way to grab a notebook and pencil.
I turned my head and caught Asher letting out a slow sigh before looking at me—defeat written all over his face.
“Shall we go and grab a notebook?” he asked quietly.
“Sure,” I said, stiff as stone.
What the hell was his problem now?