Page 89 of The Way We Fell

“No, it’s not.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I told you. I would’ve screamed it from the rooftops the second she let me kiss her.”

“But now it really is out in the open.”

“It really is. And I-I’m okay with it.”

“Good. That’s good. What else has happened, Jay? Tell me about your week.” Guy leans back in his chair and I catch sight of some colour on his sock as the leg of his trousers lift a little. I try not to make it obvious that I’m staring at my therapist’s ankle, but eventually, I work it out. It’s a pizza slice. With pepperoni. Which is perfect, really for the next thing I’m about to say.

“I met a dog.”

“You met a dog?”

“I met him before all the drama with my sister, but he’s a Hero Pup.”

“An excellent organisation. Are you looking for a Hero Pup of your own?”

“Maybe. They said I’m aperfect candidate.” I make air quotes with my fingers.

“I’m inclined to agree.” Guy cocks his head slightly and scrawls a word or two on the paper in his lap. It’s the first physical note he’s made all session. “Please give them my details if they would like any references from me.”

“Thank you.” I swallow hard. It’s validating, albeit a little disheartening, to hear Guy’s encouragement. I’ve been kidding myself that I’m fine, that I’m making it all up. But I’m not. And to hear that from a professional—well, it feels good. And it also feels really shitty.

We talk some more about the last week or two since our last session. In that time, I’ve had my most terrifying nightmare yet, where Caleb was replaced in the jeep by Katy. I’ve told Katy I’m in love with her, I’ve fought with my sister, and met Pup. Our last session feels like a lifetime ago. And before long, this one is over, too.

On my way home, I make a quick stop to put some fuel in my car. I’m pulling out of the forecourt when a horn sounds loud and long, angry in my ears. I stomp my foot on the brake and pain shoots up my right leg. My heart is in my throat. I throw up a hand at the driver of the car I almost hit, let them drive off, and pull away slowly, turning a corner and parking up outside a stranger’s house.

Guy Fitzjohn’s voice sounds in my ears. The deep, calming baritone that pissed me off to no end the first few times we met, but now feels like a comfort.What can I see? What can I hear? What can I feel, taste, smell?I breathe deeply and evenly, consciously holding each inhale and extending the corresponding exhale until my pulse begins to slow.

When I met them two weeks ago, Ruby and Julie both assured me that Pup would be able to help in this kind of situation. That his basic training is geared towards general triggers, and then geared more specifically to mine, and to recognise my own fear responses. Two months ago, I would’ve needed him, unable to calm my racing heart. But today, I managed to stave off the panic—just about—for myself. I don’t know what to do with that information, whether it means I’m a fraud who doesn’t really need one of the hero dogs, or whether I’m proud, because I’m making progress. Maybe I’m a wreck. Maybe I’m just gaslighting myself. Either way, I feel like something Ruth would call ahot mess expressright now.

Fuck, I miss my sister.

I give myself another minute to calm down, and then I pull away cautiously and carefully, checking each mirror multiple times. I drive in silence, leaning forward over the steering wheel like it’ll help me see better. Within minutes, I’m pulling into Ruth’s apartment complex. I would normally give her the respect of choosing to let me in, but today, I abuse the privilege of having the door code, and I drag myself up all four flights of stairs to the fourth floor and hammer my fist against her apartment door.

“Ruth, let me in.”

Silence. But I can hear muffled music from inside. It’s a Taylor Swift album, if I know my sister at all. I saw her Range Rover parked outside in its designated bay, too, so I know she’s home.

“Ruth.” I pound on the door a little harder this time. “Ruth, I know you’re angry and scared and you’re hurting, but for the love of fuck just let me in and talk to me.”

More silence. I’m sure all of Ruth’s neighbours will think I’m a jilted lover soon enough. Or maybe they’ll think Ruth is the scorned one.

I knock one more time.

“Come on, Rooey. Please.”

“Go away.” Her voice is quiet and muffled, but I can tell she’s right on the other side of the door. I raise my fist to knock again, but think better of it. Ruth is safe. She’s hurting, but she’s alive and she’s conscious and she’sokay. I’ll give her some more time.

Chapter forty-six

Katy

I’minthekitchenwith my hands wrapped around a hot mug, absorbing its warmth into my chilled skin. Steam billows from its opening, assaulting my senses with the fresh aroma of rich, Italian coffee. Before I’ve even had a chance to take my first sip, someone starts pounding at my front door.

I leave my mug on the kitchen counter and pad down the hallway. It’s dark; the only windows are in the kitchen at one end of the corridor, the living room in the middle, and the patterned glass in the front door. With the weather outside overcast and miserable, there’s not a whole lot of light spilling into the house. On my way through, I flick on the living room lights, relaxing a little as the room fills with a cosy yellow glow.

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