Chapter 22 #2
Gabriel creeps closer to me, a nervous look on his face.
“Yes. No.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“I don’t know.” Kicking at the floor, he purses his lips.
He’s really worked up over this. Fascinating.
This isn’t the sort of jealousy a girl is usually after, but I wonder if Gabriel’s ever even felt that sort of jealousy before?
Doubtful. I don’t know a single girl at this school who’d turn him down.
I give him a minute to work out the thoughts in his head.
Jealousy over me going to therapy makes zero sense.
But he’s welcome to my appointment if he wants it.
I’d bet money Dr. Tabitha Walker would prefer his company to mine.
“It’s stupid but…” He curses under his breath and I reach out, drawing his face toward me until his forehead rests against mine.
“What’s going on?”
His chest heaves and he huffs out a loud breath. “It just bothers me that you, you know, talk to someone else.”
My brows pull together. “I’m not following.”
“You don’t talk to me.”
Yes, I do. “I’m talking to you right now.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not about—“ He looks around the hallway and lowers his voice. “—You know.”
Ah. I get it. But really, that’s what bothers him? A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “I don’t talk to my therapist about any of that stuff, either.”
His eyes widen a fraction of an inch. “You don’t.” I don’t know if it’s disappointment or relief I hear in his voice.
“No. I don’t really talk at all.”
Confusion has him frowning. “Then why go?”
“Because I have to. It keeps the parentals happy.” I shrug.
My parents and I made an agreement after the incident, as they like to call it.
I live at home for one full semester. I attend classes.
Get good grades. And I go to therapy twice a week.
I tried to get out of that last one, but they were sticklers and I didn’t care enough to fight them on it.
“Therapy is good, right? It helps?” The way he says it lets me know he himself isn’t a fan. But it’s sweet that he wants to be supportive.
“Not really. For therapy to work, you have to trust your therapist. Be willing to open up. Share your secrets. Bare your soul. All that jazz.”
His eyes flick between mine, looking for something. “So get a different therapist.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
Huh. I don’t know. I never really gave much thought to it before now. “My parents picked this one.”
“So? Do they go to the sessions with you?”
I shake my head. It’s bad enough when I’m alone, I can only imagine how much worse it’d be if either of my parents joined me.
“Then it doesn’t matter who they pick or who they want. If you’re going to therapy, it’s for you, not them. Find someone else.” It’s not a bad idea.
Did I mention I hate therapy?
“Cecilia?
Like really, really, whole bodily hate it.
“Cecilia?”
If I could climb under my covers, curl into a ball, and not wake up, I would, just so I never had to come here again.
“Cecilia?”
My eyes flick to hers before quickly looking away, but not before catching sight of the deep frown etched into her face. I smile to myself. Dr. Tabitha Walker used to wear this serene mask on her face during our sessions. I’ve dubbed it her everything is sunshine and rainbows expression.
No matter how long I ignored her, it never slipped. It was like remaining tranquil was her super power. I was sorta jealous of that. Of her ability to mask her frustration. Her impatience. Because she’s not a robot and I’m not an idiot. I know when I’m being rude and annoying.
I’ll give it to her, though. She made it longer than I thought she would. But all good things must come to an end, and six weeks into our sessions, her mask has slipped.
Dr. Walker taps her pen against her notebook. A sign of her growing impatience.“Cecilia, are you listening to me?” Her voice is filled with exasperation. I check the clock. Five more minutes and she’ll call it, ending our session fifteen minutes early to put an end to the silence.
I sigh and look out the window. I can ignore her for five more minutes.
“Cecilia, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
I don’t want her help. I’ve said so before. She just doesn’t listen.
“Wouldn’t you like to get better?”
Unable to help myself, I snort. What kind of question is that? Of course I want to get better. Does she think I enjoy this? I don’t. But, I’ve been coming here for six weeks and not once after an appointment do I ever feel better.
She can’t fix me. I used to think no one could. But things are getting better. Gabriel and Felix and Julio, they make everything a little better.
“How’s school going?”
It’s an innocent enough question, but I know what this attempt at small talk is and I’m not falling for it.
“Are you enjoying your classes?”
My phone buzzes against my thigh and my therapist purses her lips.
She’s older than my mother. In her late fifties, with a very negative outlook regarding the use of cellphones in the office.
She has at least three signs I can see from my seat that say, Please silence your phone during your session.
Technically, I am following her rules. My ringer is off. Her signs say nothing about vibration.
Glancing at the screen, I read the message that came in.
Gabriel: Evening swim? Coach suggested I try activities that utilize a full range of motion.
Heck yes! I type out a quick response, ignoring Dr. Walker’s very pointed cough.
Me: Meet in 30?
Gabriel: See you there.
Checking the time once more, I tuck my phone away and gather my keys to stand up.
“School is fine. I’m passing all of my classes.
I particularly enjoy my Diversity and Historical Oppression class.
Oh—“ I point to the clock. “Our time is up. See you in two weeks.” That should satisfy her for now. It’s more than I’ve given before.
Rushing from her office, I jog down the stairs and escape outside. Gabriel is right. I need to find someone else. I suck in a deep breath of warm fall air and as I exhale, it’s like a mountain of stress slides off me. Even coming to that one small decision is such a relief.