Chapter 9
In complete contrast to last session, this week I accidentally, and shockingly took a nap, and slept past when I should have left to make it in time.
I woke up to sunlight bleeding through the broken blinds, my chest clenched and my brain jumped to feeling disoriented, before I even fully opened my eyes.
I thought about skipping. About texting Carter that I didn’t care anymore.
To do what he wanted with my videos. But then my body got out of bed as if on its own volition, and I got dressed robotically, grabbing the first hoodie I saw and tugging it on.
I shoved my phone and wallet into my pockets and left my apartment without even being fully awake yet.
I wasn’t completely through the doorway to her office before she said, “You’re late.”
“No hello?” I muttered, as I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets. “What if I brought you a muffin or something? You don’t know. Maybe I was being nice.”
“You didn’t,” Iris smirked. “But now I know you’re capable of kindness, so I’ll be expecting muffins next time.”
I didn’t smile, but I also didn’t roll my eyes. Progress. Maybe.
I dropped into my usual chair. It had some loose stitching along the arm. I’d noticed it last time, right after counting how many freckles dotted her right cheek. Nine. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to look at them again.
“You seem agitated,” she observed, settling across from me with the notebook she never wrote in.
“I’m here, isn’t that good enough?”
“Physically, sure.”
I shifted in my seat. “You want to know why life sucks today, or are we pretending this is about growth and healthy change this time?”
She studied me. “Actually, I thought we could veer to unpacking what is the point of being alive.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big one. Do you think you can handle it?”
She didn’t even blink. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”
Iris didn’t flinch. “Tell me, Danny. Why do you think you’re still here?”
“No reason,” I said. “That’s kind of the point.”
She crossed her legs, her skirt rustling softly. I hated that I noticed the shape of her knee beneath the draping material.
“If there’s no reason,” she said, “why keep showing up to these sessions?”
“Carter said I had to.”
“He said you had to come. You could just sit here in silence.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I like annoying you.”
“Or could it be that you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts?”
That hit a little too close to home. I looked away, focused on the small stain her coffee mug had left on the wood of her desk. She waited. She was good at waiting.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s pretend there is a point to life. Enlighten me. What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said simply. “But like I told you last week, I think we’re meant to strive to live a life of meaning, and meaning comes from connection.”
“Ah. The ‘you need people’ argument. So original.”
“Have you tried it?”
“Define tried,” I said.
“Have you let someone in? Shared yourself with anyone?”
I gave her a long, deadpan look. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“You’re deflecting.”
I tapped my foot, slow and rhythmic. “Look, I’ve met people. I’ve existed in groups. Had teammates. Coworkers.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
She blinked. “Ever?”
“No.”
Iris didn’t push, which made it worse.
“Do you date?”
The silence hung between us like a thick fog.
Something in me froze. My mouth dried till my tongue was stuck to the back of my teeth.
My shoulders tensed. My lungs and stomach seemed to fuse till I almost felt like gasping for air.
It was like her question had spun around inside me and reached up to press a hand to my throat.
My first instinct was to make a joke. My second was to lie.
But I didn’t do either; instead, I just sat there, feeling like she’d opened a door I’d nailed shut a decade ago.
All my thoughts scattered as the memories surfaced in painful, sharp fragments.
These were things I didn’t touch in the daylight.
Things my mind only pieced together in my nightmares.
“I don’t,” I said finally, thickly, practically prying my lips apart to force the words out.
“Why?”
“That’s not really your business.”
“I’m not asking who the potentials were. I’m asking why. You brought up this running theme of disconnection in your life. I’m just following the thread.”
I felt something sharp build behind my ribs. “I don’t date because I don’t want to. Not everyone has some tragic love story, okay? Some of us just skip the whole thing altogether.”
Her voice was gentler now. “Some people don’t trust it; doesn’t mean they don’t want it. Or don’t need it.”
I hated how right that sounded. I shrugged again. “It’s exhausting. The pretending. The interest. The performance. Besides—”
“Besides?”
I waved a hand at myself. “Come on. I’m not exactly… the warm and fuzzy type.”
“You’re not,” she agreed. “But you are—”
She stopped. I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, come on, you were about to say something.”
She bit her lip.
“What?” I repeated.
“I was going to say… you’re right, you may not come across as approachable, but you are—good looking. Surely someone has wanted to date you at some point.”
My breath caught. It wasn’t the compliment itself, although the delivery had left much to be desired; it was the way her words landed.
Like a slap and a balm at the same time.
I despised it. Hated the heat that crawled up my neck.
I suddenly didn’t know what to do with my arms. They hung awkwardly at my sides.
I folded them against my chest. I felt my jaw clench.
I had never felt like someone could want me for me.
Only for my body. Only as something to be used.
Her words lodged in that soft, hidden place inside me that I never let anyone see.
I wanted to get up, leave, and never see her again.
I wanted to scream at her for saying it.
I wanted to thank her for treating me like I wasn’t a fragile grenade always on the edge of exploding.
She immediately looked down, flustered. “That was—sorry. That was unprofessional.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Wow. I can see the headlines now. Life coach flirts with depressed, suicidal client because he’s really not much of a commitment if he doesn’t plan on staying here long.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“Sure.”
Her cheeks flushed. She didn’t look up. “It was purely an observation.”
“Well, thank you for the observation, Iris.”
We sat in silence.
I hated how aware I was of my body ever since she’d made her observation. My skin. My face. I didn’t like being seen. Not like that.
“You say you don’t believe in much,” she said, finally moving on. “But you did those stunts. You threw yourself into situations most people would never risk. You clearly believe in yourself.”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t care if I made it out.”
“But you did make it out.”
“Unfortunately.”
She paused. “Why do you think that is?”
“I told you. No divine plan. No cosmic reason. Just bad odds.”
“Do you think it’s bad luck to be alive?”
That shut me up.
“I think,” I said slowly, “it’s bad luck to feel the way I do and still wake up every day.”
She wrote something in her notebook then. Her first note.
I hated that I wanted to know what it was.
“I want to circle back,” she said. “You said life has no point. But yours has been making a huge impact on people lately.”
“By accident.”
“But it happened. Millions of people saw you. They were moved by you. It’s been fascinating to see just how much of an impact you’ve had without even wanting to.”
I stood. “Great. So, I’m just your little case study now?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“No? What is it then? Some passion project? Fix the broken boy?”
“You’re not broken.”
I stared at her. She said it again, quieter this time. “You’re not broken, Danny.”
I hated the way my throat suddenly felt.
Like something had lodged itself there. A sob that wouldn’t come out, a scream I couldn’t let free.
I wanted to throw her words back at her.
Tell her not to say things like that. Not to offer me hope that I couldn’t hold.
But I didn’t. I just stood there, fists curled at my sides, every muscle bracing for the moment I might shatter.
“I have to go,” I said.
“We still have time—”
“No,” I said firmly. “We’re out of time.
” I turned toward the door but didn’t move right away.
My feet felt heavy. Like part of me wanted to stay and ask her to say it again.
That I wasn’t broken. Even though I didn’t believe it.
But I couldn’t, so I forced my body to move, one foot in front of the other until I got to the door and pulled it open. She waited.
“Bye, Iris.” I said it without turning around.
“We’ll talk about it more next time?”
“Don’t count on it.”