Page 47 of Every Hidden Truth

“I’m on your side. So let me help. Don’t make me leave.”

“I don’t want you to go,” I admitted, wiping at my running nose. “But I don’t want it to be like this between us.”

“Trauma doesn’t go away just because you want it to.”

“I know that!” I ground my teeth, taking a deep breath. The next time I spoke, it was softer. “I know that, the same way I knew it was you on the couch, the same way Iknewthat I wasn’t back in that bathroom. But knowing doesn’t mean shit when the wires in my brain are all fucked up.”

He nodded like I was proving his point with my rebuttal. Which I guessed I was. I’d never wanted to punch a wall before but I did now.

“Just because this is how it happened today doesn’t mean it will stay like this. It can get better.”

“Your therapist tell you that?” I said, and yeah, it was a low blow.

Ben, being Ben, took it in stride. “Yes, she did.”

“Was she right?”

“Most of the time, she is.”

“Is that why you go? So she can fix you?”

Another flinch.

Then, “I didn’t want to see a therapist. It was court mandated. They found weed in my locker, and I’d already been in hot water at the other school after I beat up that kid. The only way I wouldn’t get expelled for the second time in as many years was if I went to therapy and attended a separate anger management group. And do periodic drug tests, but that was Aunt June’s rule, not the school’s.

“So no, I didn’t want to go, not at first. But it helped. It still helps. I’m not fixed, and I never will be because that’s not how life works. But I don’t want to live the rest of my life being self-destructive and miserable. I don’t want to hurt the people I love most, so I go to therapy and I take my meds and I try to be better.”

“I don’t know how to be better,” I confessed, and his frustration melted away.

“We can figure that out together if you want.”

And because I was selfish, I walked back into his arms to take that which he offered but I didn’t deserve. He was too good for me in practically every way, but I wasn’t altruistic enough to let him go. So I held on as he whispered words of comfort and encouragement into my hair.

“You could meet with Sarah if you want. My therapist,” he said a minute later. “I could give you her number.”

Since I didn’t want to fight with him, I said, “Sure.”

At some point, we returned to the couch, and I curled up beside him, letting him comfort me. I hoped that we were done talking, but this was Ben and he was persistent as hell.

“Can I ask what I did that triggered you?” he said as he kissed my forehead, and I exhaled heavily through my nose.

“You didn’t do anything. It’s my fucked-up head, okay?”

“Okay,” he said diplomatically. “But if I can help, I’d like to. If there are things I should or shouldn’t do, ways I should or shouldn’t touch you, I’d like to know.”

“Me too,” I joked, but it fell flat. “I don’t know either, okay? It’s not always like that. Like, I jerked off once, and it was fine. But the next time I jerked off, it wasn’t fine.” My face flamed, but Ben didn’t shame me for my confessions. “It’s not just one thing, you know?”

“Okay.”

I knew he wasn’t going to let it go until I gave him more, so I grudgingly said, “Your weight on top of me made me feel trapped. Not completely, because I liked it, but then I also didn’t. If that makes sense.”

“I think so. Thanks for telling me.” He rubbed my arm and kissed my head again. “Next time, you can be on top then.”

And I immediately choked on my own spit.

“Oh God, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ben said, eyes widening as I gaped at him. “Not that I wouldn’t be into that. Because I think I would, but what I meant was, in that particular situation, we could just”—he pantomimed flipping a pancake—“switch.”

I snorted.

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