Chapter 13 #2
"He passed away four years ago on my sixteenth birthday."
"I… I'm sorry to hear that," I muttered, unsure of what the right thing was to say.
"It's fine," she whispered, but her eyes didn't match her words. "It's what he wanted, I guess. Life got too hard for him, so he chose death."
I stared at the slow-moving stars on the ceiling, searching for the right thing to say because, in a way, I understood her father, and that understanding made my stomach churn. A few times, I've stood on the same ledge, staring down at peace like it was the only thing I had left to grab.
"That's not what he wanted," I finally said. "That's what he thought he needed."
Wynn's eyes locked on mine, glassy but holding it together.
"And I'm sorry you have to carry that on your birthday."
Wynn blinked slowly, as if she weren't expecting empathy from me.
"Most people don't understand the heaviness it put on my birthday," she admitted. "When I tell them I don't celebrate it, they just look at me weird."
"Most people never had to carry something like that. People only understand life through the lens in which they've lived it."
"Wow, are you sure you need a therapist?" Wynn joked.
"The reason you asked is the same reason I need a therapist."
Wynn didn't push. She just nodded as if she understood.
"Any who… that's why I wanted to give you that advice. When you walked in here, I could see it on you."
I nodded, and that was the best response I could give.
The door opened a second later, light spilling in from the hallway, bright enough for me to catch the chocolate complexion and wild curly hair of an older woman who resembled Wynn.
"Hello, Honor," she greeted, her voice softer than anything I've ever heard. "My name is Dr. Lockhart."
"Nice to meet you," I responded, standing up.
"Oh no," she smiled gently, "you don't have to stand."
"My bad." I sat back down, my shoulders too stiff to pretend I was relaxed.
"It's okay." Dr. Lockhart's eyes flickered to Wynn. "Bronwynn, did you give Honor the forms to fill out?"
"Yes, but he didn't get a chance to complete them," Wynn answered, slightly nervous, but I could tell she was trying to put my advice to use.
"Okay, no problem. Thank you."
Wynn nodded at Dr. Lockhart, then flashed me a small smile before slipping out of the room. Dr. Lockhart took her seat across from me and folded her hands in her lap
"How are you liking the room?" she asked.
"It's cool for what it is." I shrugged.
"Would you have picked a different room?" Dr. Lockhart asked.
"Honestly, whichever room I sat in wouldn't have mattered much."
"Do you not believe the ambiance of a room can sway your emotions or put you in a relaxed state of mind?"
I shrugged. "I never put much thought into it. Ambiance wasn't a thing in my home, and being relaxed…" I let out a dry laugh. "I can't remember the last time I was genuinely relaxed."
"Let's start there." She smiled.
I chuckled. "That was good."
"What was good?"
"Baiting me into conversation," I told her. "You asked about the room, knowing my answer would be morbid. Instead of dictating where we started, you allowed me to lead us into conversation."
"As much as I would love to take credit for being that creative, that wasn't my thought process at all. I ask all my patients about the room because I believe it's important to provide a sense of comfort. Therapy can be an awkward thing."
"I thought talking to strangers was supposed to be easy."
"That's what some say, but I don't believe it's easy at all," she replied.
"Allowing anyone to catch a glimpse of your most vulnerable self is hard, no matter who you're speaking with.
Whether or not we realize it, we all want to paint the perfect picture of ourselves, and we want others to see us that way too. "
She paused, holding her gaze steady.
"However, that's not what I'm here for. I'm not here to perceive you through a lens you crafted. I'm not here to judge or fix you."
"Then what are you here for?" I scoffed, confused about this whole shit.
Dr. Lockhart arched a brow. "Why would you assume I'm here to fix you?"
"You fixed Cortez." I shrugged. "When he left home, he was spiraling. Then he came back calmer, more levelheaded, and talking shit about me being more honest."
"Was Cortez not asking for honesty before he left?"
The room went quiet as I thought on it.
"He's never asked," I admitted. "I guess he always expected it and assumed I was being honest. I remember when he used to hang on to my every word like that shit was law."
"That's the thing about brotherhood. Young men who need guidance often follow someone they see themselves in or someone they believe they can become. Cortez didn't ask you for honesty because he didn't see you as a liar."
"Maybe." I sighed, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck.
"Today, I don't want to talk about your relationship with your brother. I want to talk about you."
"Ight."
"Let's double back to your home life and why being relaxed feels so out of reach for you," she directed.
"What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you feel comfortable sharing."
I dropped my head, nodding a few times as thoughts of my younger self flooded my mind.
"I don't remember much forreal. My mom did the best she could raising me.
Then she passed, and I went to live with Luc…
" I let his name fall short. "I guess what the state would consider my foster father.
I stayed with him for five years, then went to a group home.
I aged out at eighteen and been on my own ever since. "
When I looked up, Dr. Lockhart was staring at me with an unreadable expression.
"The shit don't sound worth dissecting, does it?" I coldly laughed.
"Actually, the opposite," she replied. "The way you ran down your childhood was pretty vague, but the muscles in your face tensed when you mentioned your mother, your foster father, and the group home…
" She tilted her head, studying me. "You remember more than you're admitting," she cautiously added. "You just don't want to sit with it."
My eyes narrowed. "More like I don't see the point in any of this shit."
"Then why are you here?" Dr. Lockhart asked.
"I promised Cortez."
"Then don't you think it's important that you show up and really be in it for him?"
"If the shit from my past was different, I'd agree with you, but nothing can change what happened."
"I agree." She nodded. "Nothing about your past will change by talking about it, but we can change how it affects you here in the present."
I scoffed and leaned further into the chair, like somehow the distance between us would void what she was saying.
"All that sounds good in theory. This is real life, tho'," I muttered.
Dr. Lockhart didn't argue, and that's what pissed me off the most. She didn't discredit my feelings just because she didn't agree. She validated them, offered me a different perspective, and watched me with patience for the parts of me I kept tucked away.
"The point of this isn't to fix the past," she explained. "I'm here so you can stop paying for it because your past doesn't deserve another day of you."
I clenched my jaw and leaned my head back, staring at the stars moving slowly. They danced across the ceiling as if peace were simple.
"What do you need from me to make this work?" I asked, still watching the stars.
If I was gon' do this, then I had to give it my all, so at least when the lights finally faded, I could be at peace. Not just with my decisions, but with my past, too.
"I would like for you to allow yourself to feel it."
I dropped my gaze to hers, brows furrowing, and she laughed softly at my confusion.
"What I mean is, stop running from what you feel. Let it come. Let it hurt. Most importantly, let it pass." She smiled. "If you move through it, you'll realize you don't have to carry your trauma like it's a life sentence."
"I don't know where to start," I huffed.
"We can start simple. Tell me one of your earliest childhood memories."
I looked away, focusing on the wall instead of her face, because staring into her empathic eyes felt too intimate for a conversation like this.
"My mom and pops…" My eyes closed. The memory hurt 'cause it was the only one I had of my pops and my last.
"They brought me a bike and…"
The air felt thick in my throat. I tried to breathe through my nose, but it didn't do shit to help. The room felt smaller as the walls began to close in. The stars on the ceiling blurred while my heartbeat sped up. I swallowed, but nothing went down. My palms became slick with sweat.
"Honor?" Dr. Lockhart's voice was barely loud enough for me to hear.
My vision tunneled, and suddenly I wasn't in the room disguised as a night sky. I was back on the cracked pavement outside my building.
"They brought me a bike," I forced out again. "It was red and I—"
I gasped, sucking in air as if I were drowning. I tried to stand, but my legs didn't feel right. My whole body felt out of my control. I pressed my palm to my chest, thinking it would calm my heartbeat, but it only made it race faster.
"Honor," Dr. Lockhart's voice cut through, composed but firm, "look at me."
My breathing became ragged, sharp pulls of air that didn't feel like they were enough.
"I… I'm good," I rasped, but I wasn't. My chest felt like it was collapsing from the inside, and there wasn't shit I could do to stop it.
"Honor, look around the room and tell me five things you see," Dr. Lockhart softly instructed.
"Stars," I forced out like the word was too heavy to leave my vocal cords.
"Okay, good." She nodded. "Now name four things you can touch."
"The chair, my jeans—" Panic crashed into me like a wave, pulling me under.
"Stay with me, Honor."
I dug my fingers into the fabric of my jeans, desperate to anchor myself to something real.
"Four things I can touch—"
The door swung open. Light spilled in from the hallway, harsh and bright. Wynn rushed in her eyes wide with urgency.
"Dr. Lockhart," Wynn called out, voice shaking, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's an emergency."
Dr. Lockhart's gaze sharpened. "What is it?"
"Mr. Darling is having a hard time adjusting to the new nurse. He grabbed his cane and started whacking her with it."
Dr. Lockhart stood up immediately. "Have security meet you at his room. I'll be there in a second," she directed, already moving. "Just give me a moment."
Wynn nodded, already stepping out of the room. Dr. Lockhart turned toward me, but it was too late. I stood up, my breath still uneven, chest still tight, but the panic had shifted into urgency, and I needed to get the fuck out of here.
"Honor—"
"I'm straight," I cut in, voice hoarse. "Handle your people. I'll have Cortez schedule me another appointment."
She hesitated like she wanted to tell me to stay but didn't. Instead, she nodded, then left the room with Wynn trailing behind her.
I stood there alone, staring at the ceiling like those fake stars had traced every one of my scars, then bitterly laughed at the monstrous painting they left behind. I exhaled hard and shook my head.
Fuck this.
I grabbed my phone and texted Crown as I walked out of the room.
Me
Fuck therapy.
On the way out of the facility, I heard footsteps rushing toward me. I turned around and saw Wynn running.
"You good?" I asked.
"Uh, yeah." She slowed, catching her breath. "I… I wanted to walk you to your car."
"I must've scared Dr. Lockhart forreal if she got you walking me out," I joked, pushing the door open.
"Oh no, she didn't send me," Wynn quickly said. "I saw a little of what happened in the room. I… I just wanted to tell you not to give up."
Her voice softened, as if she were talking to an older sibling she admired.
"Whatever caused your panic attack is something you need to get out, but when it comes out, it's gonna be heavy. Make sure you have the right people around you when that time comes. You'll need them to keep you grounded."
Wynn hesitated, then quietly added. "If you don't have anyone… I know we just met, but you can come to me."
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't respond and let my silence speak for me. Not saying anything must've made her nervous because her chin started to drop like she regretted saying anything at all.
"I… I wasn't coming on to you. You… you are handsome, I…" Wynn stumbled over words, then took a deep breath. "I think you're too old for me and have lived too much life."
I chuckled and lifted her head with my finger.
"I didn't take what you said as you trying to get at me, Wynn," I reassured her. "I don't even see you like that. What you said caught me off guard 'cause I'm usually the one doing the saving."
My voice lowered without my meaning for it to.
"I never had someone I ain't done shit for act like they care."
"It's not an act," she insisted, holding my gaze. "I can't tell you why, but I care."
"Probably 'cause I remind you of your pops."
"Maybe," she chided.
"Aye," I said, tapping her chin lightly, "remember what I said 'bout that head of yours. Ain't nothing worth looking at on the ground."
Wynn smiled, that nervousness easing off her face.
"Take my advice, and I'll take yours?" she suggested.
"Bet," I confirmed. "Next time I see you, that head better not drop."
"It won't," she promised.
I waited until Wynn was back inside the facility before I pulled off.
I was thankful for the long drive back to The Grove 'cause even though my panic attack had passed, my thoughts were still reeling.
It'd been a minute since I left myself think that far back or even acknowledge my pops at all.
What happened with him was my first taste of trauma and, in a way, my first heartbreak.
"Fuck," I grunted, banging my fist against the steering wheel when I came to a red light.
I reached for my phone and was about to call Navy when her words echoed in my head.
"I don't want to be your reason. I just want to love you the way normal, everyday people love."
"Fuck!" I gritted, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat.
When the light turned green, I drove off, spotting a liquor store on the corner up ahead.
Liquor wasn't how I preferred to deal with my shit.
Navy was my drug of choice, but she didn't wanna be that for a nigga anymore.
So it was up to the bottle of D'ussé to numb the pain an I love you from Navy could've cured.