CHAPTER 43
Troy
“WHEN YOU LOOK at this picture, what do you see?”
My therapist asked me that question during our first session together.
With the persistent nudge from my older brother, I was reluctantly convinced to talk to a professional about my bouts of self-destruction post Mom’s death.
At 17, therapy was the last place I wanted to be, especially on Friday afternoons.
But that was when my therapist, Stephanie Wong, could work me into her schedule the easiest. Just hours before my weekend plans filled with booze, girls, and bad decisions could begin, Stephanie decided to show me the most random image. A landscape of the ocean.
“Is this a trick question?” I replied.
“No.” She smiled at me, amused. “What’s the first thing that you see?”
“The ocean, I guess?” I followed up with.
But the entire picture was of the ocean, so her question left me puzzled.
“There’s nothing else in the picture,” I added.
Stephanie handed me the picture, waiting until my eyes settled on it, before she replied, “No? What about the waves in this corner? The light beaming on this end of the water, casting a shadow over this other end? The seagull in the middle, right over the water?”
I focused on the image, closer, and all those things, sure enough, were in the same picture.
Still, I had no idea what the point of her initial question was.
But then, she set aside the picture, and threw me a different question. A curveball.
“When you look at an ice rink, what do you see?”
It only took a few seconds for me to reply:
“Expectations. Death. A lifeline.”
Stephanie sat there before me, pointing out the obvious. That none of my answers this time were of physical characteristics:
Ice. Plexiglass. Bleachers.
“We see what we want to see.”
That was the point of her seemingly unnecessary question.
That every time we glance at a picture, think of a place, object, or even a person, we use our own personal bias to analyze what exactly we are seeing.
It doesn’t mean what we see is true. We could have the most awful situation staring at us and find a lesson in it.
Or be surrounded by the most beautiful thing and appreciate none of it. We see what we want to see.
The mark on Ana’s hip resembles a post-surgical scar.
But a surgery of that nature would require decent recovery time.
Give or take two-three months. Ana’s never missed three months of skating except for the time she sprained her ankle two years ago.
When I spotted her scar during our volleyball game an hour ago, I immediately assumed the worst. That she’s majorly injured.
I also assumed the worst the other day when I raced over to her house.
All because of a horrible picture I saw years ago.
Slipping away from the crowd after the game helped untangle the deep knot in my stomach from seeing Ana’s scar for the first time.
I’m relaxing by the pool, my back against a lounge chair, with an arm draped over my forehead to block the sun that’s about to dip into the ocean. I hear footsteps, and peer over my shoulder to find Ana approaching.
She’s still wearing her red bikini. Except, now her hair’s damp and droplets of pool water tease her skin, from her perfectly tall legs up to the tiny string that’s stretched between her perky tits.
I try my best to tear my gaze away from her. Hell, I’m lucky she’s engulfed in her phone, too distracted to notice my ogling, her other hand holding a pinky red popsicle. Must be a strawberry popsicle. Those have been her favorite since we were little.
The fond memory rushes back into my head as if it was just yesterday.
It was the first recess of first grade for her, third grade for me, and our school was having its first bake sale of the year.
Since it was still summer, they had added popsicles as one of the endless dessert options to select from.
Ana always chose strawberry, while pretty much everyone else wanted lemon.
I found it odd. She was sour like a lemon popsicle, not sweet like the strawberry flavor.
Ana plops onto the lounge chair that’s furthest from mine. There’s a gap between the wheatgrass that’s fronting the pool, giving us a view that overlooks a sliver of the shoreline.
“Just couldn’t wait a couple more hours until tomorrow to see me, huh?” I greet.
“Ooh, I have something for you. One second.” She drops her phone onto the small table between us. Then thrusts both her middle fingers up toward me with a grin. I roll my eyes. “Wanted to watch the sunset, asshole.”
“Yeah, and this was the only spot where you could watch the sunset,” I dramatize with air quotes.
“It was the best spot. But you’re welcome to move if I’m disturbing you. I’d more than understand.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes again, trying to relax the way I had originally intended to. Before I was rudely interrupted by her…
But it feels different now that I’m not alone. I open my eyes up a few seconds later, feeling the weight of her presence all around the air. She’s back on her phone, licking her dessert that’s now also melting over her fingers.
“Am I supposed to keep watching you lick your popsicle like a frog?”
“No one asked you to watch, perv.”
“Poor popsicle.”
“Aw, I know you wish this was you.” She waves the dripping popsicle my way. “But you’re just going to have to find someone who can actually stand you first.”
“Ha, more like you wish that was me, brat,” I say. She gawks. “Your fingers are drenched.”
I watch her stomach tighten. I smirk.
“Your popsicle’s dripping all over your hand, Ana.”
“Oh.” She looks around her, trying to find something to dry the sticky liquid with.
I reach for the napkins resting on the small table close to me, extending them her way.
“Thanks.”
“Yup.” I gesture toward her hand. “Just make sure to clean yourself up well. That can leave a stain.”
Ana grimaces at me while I watch her dry her fingers.
Every coat of watery red she removes, my throat clamps up.
I’m caught in a dangerous daydream where I picture my mouth cleaning the mess off her body.
My tongue licking the sticky liquid from her sweet skin.
Skating up her chest, pushing the thin fabric of her bikini out of my away before my lips can finally wrap around one of her ready, tight nipples.
The sweet sounds she’d make squirming underneath me.
Pulling on my hair to steady herself. Until my mouth captured hers, giving her a taste.
I swallow the tangy lust down my throat.
The sun’s now half-submerged in the water, and the air’s colder.
Glancing away from Ana’s hands, my eyes travel to her waves.
She pushes a few tendrils away from her shoulders to rest against her lounge chair more comfortably, breathing in deeply.
On her exhale, I catch the small peaks that I was just fantasizing about poke against the fabric of her bikini top.
My dick strains against my swim shorts, half-mast at the sight of her.
Feeling my abs tighten, I push my leg slightly up to cover what she’s done to me. What she’s been doing to me lately.