Page 60 of Becoming Us
he asked about you last time I saw him
That fucking creep. Still kinda fun how much he was essentially gagging for it.
My dad’s face flickered across my thoughts—but the pressure in my chest only tightened.
Me
text me the address
I wouldn’t do blow. That was the rule.
Just a drink. Maybe a little weed. He didn’t have to know.
I looked back at the classroom door for a beat longer, then walked away.
Rubbing my hand over my chest, I hoped to hell this fucking feeling would go away if I took enough of those pills.
CHAPTER
NINE
AFTER
Dr. Samuel Price’s office was one of my favorite places to be. He didn’t subscribe to one set of beliefs or styles, and there were little quirks all around the place. They changed constantly, too, so even if you went there and didn’t say a word, you’d be entertained the whole time.
Too bad he was in New York now. Our sessions had to happen over video, the laptop propped on my bed while I sat cross-legged, squinting to make out the new additions behind him.
“Is that a Buddhist Santa statue?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the blurry shelf.
Samuel reached out and quickly moved it out of frame. “I wasn’t aware it was Avoidant Tuesday.”
I rolled my eyes, but with a smile. “How can you expect me not to talk about that?”
He gave me a patient look. “What’s on your mind, Noah?”
“Not much.”
“Last time we spoke, you were having a hard time with the property management. How’s that going?”
I sighed tiredly. “It sucks. I’m never sure if I’m doing it right. But it is what it is, right? It’s my responsibility.”
“Just yours?” he offered.
“Yeah, Sam. Who else’s?”
He stared, asking without words for me to answer. I shrugged and looked away.
“What about Atticus?”
My gaze drifted to the drum set now sitting in the corner of my room, my chin propped on my palm. “Things are still weird between us. They’re getting better. We have these little moments when everything feels good again, but then something shifts, and I freeze up. I can’t act normal.”
“What happens?”
I rubbed my face, trying to find the words. “He’s smiling—and then suddenly he’s not. And I get it in my head that I messed up. Said the wrong thing. Did something I shouldn’t have. Then I spiral, trying to figure out how to fix it, how to make him smile again.”
Samuel leaned his chin on his hand. “What makes you think that’s your responsibility?”
“Be so for real, Sam. How could it not be? I’m the one who fucked up. I should be the one fixing it.”
