Page 25 of Perfectly Us
“What brought it on?”
Dr. Larson isn’t like other therapists I’ve talked to in the past. Where their questions and answers can feel formulaic, indifferent, he talks to me like I’m an actual person, not just a bag of flesh that pays him once the hour is up.
“I went to a party.”
“That must’ve taken a lot of courage to step outside your comfort zone.” He jots something down.
“Yeah. I met a guy named Alex. He came into my work and invited me.” I clasp my hands together on my lap. “I almost didn’t go.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Him. Alex. He’s a nice guy. Not fake nice either. I don’t know. He seemed to really want me to go, so I did.” When I talk to Dr. Larson, I don’t stress over saying the wrong thing or sounding dumb. I’m comfortable around him. “Right away, he smiled and acted like I was his best friend or something. We sat by the pool and talked.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Our jobs. College. He’s going to major in psychology.”
“That sounds like a good discussion. Did you talk about anything else?”
“Semicolons.” I stare at my bracelet. “He asked why I wore one.”
“Did you tell him?”
I shake my head. “Not exactly. I got nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because Alex doesn’t know my history. To him, I was just a normal guy. And it felt good to pretend that I was. At least for a while.” My sternum aches. “But then I ran into a guy I went to school with. He spouted off something about me cutting my wrists. I panicked and took off. It might not make much sense, but I felt like my world was crashing down around me all over again. I felt so…” I deeply inhale and hang my head before releasing the breath. “Angry. Alone. Like I’m here but not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m in a different reality than everyone else. I see them, but they can’t see me. Can’t hear me.”
“What about Alex? He saw you.”
I look at Dr. Larson. “He does. Did.” The backs of my eyes sting, and I avert my gaze to the window. “I screwed everything up. He started asking questions I didn’t want to answer, and I told him we shouldn’t hang out anymore.”
“Did he accept that?”
“It’s been three days and he hasn’t texted me. You tell me.”
“Have you considered reaching out to him?” Dr. Larson makes another note, but then his attention is back on me. “You said you went to that party because he wanted you to. I could be wrong, but I get the impression you don’t really want to stop talking to him. You seem to like him.”
“I do.” I picture Alex’s wide smile and gold-flecked green eyes. But then I recall the shake of anger in his voice as we stood in the movie theater parking lot. “He told me he’s gay.”
“Does that bother you?”
I shake my head.
“Why did you mention his sexuality just now?”
I regard Dr. Larson, confused. “Just stating a fact. It’s one of the last things we talked about. He thought I had a problem with it. He got upset. And instead of talking things out with him, I got in my car and left. I ran away.”
“Speaking of running,” Dr. Larson says. “Are you still having the same dream?”
“Yeah.” I rub at the back of my neck. The muscles are tight. Tense. “I still haven’t reached the end of the street.”
“Maybe you’re not meant to.”
