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I am mortified.
“No,” I repeat.
George laughs. “So, talk to me about Atticus. What’s happening there?”
I explain what Micah and I talked about last night in the bath, and George nods along as he listens. He makes notes—because the discussion, of course, requires evidence in case the Alpha decides to kill him—and I’m feeling a little better after sharing it.
And that’s even without his advice.
“So, I obviously don’t know Atticus anywhere near as well as you do, but I don’t think you’re too off base. I agree that he’s playing the blame game, and that’s likely what is causing all the tension.”
I nod.
“If this were me and my mate, I’d be hurt, of course, I would. But I’d be even more annoyed with myself. Atticus has done a lot of things for very, very good reasons, and those things have led to this. Now, don’t mistake me and say I’m putting the blame on him—because I’m not. The blame goes solely to your poor mental health. But from his point of view?” George shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I understand why he’s struggling.”
“Yeah.” That doesn’t help anything, though, does it? I surmised the issues all on my own.
“But that then leads onto you. What do you want to achieve?” George asks. “Because I could sit here, and I could say, right, okay, let’s haul Atticus in here and sit and chat with him, but I don’t think that’s going to be beneficial for you. And Nora? You are my priority. Not Griffin, or my Alpha, or any of your other mates. Helping you is my only goal.”
“Yeah, I don’t think making him come here will help me.”
“So, what do you think will help you? Do you want to chat with Atticus privately? Do you want to make him have a family meeting where he gets to talk about his feelings? Do you want to give him time? Do you want to repair the bond? Where do you want to go from here, Nora?”
“Of course, I want to repair the bond. I want to undo the hurt I’ve done, but that’s just not possible.”
“It’s not,” George says. “Have you considered that maybe there’s more going on than you know about?”
I nod slowly before shaking my head. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m so broken that nobody ever wants to talk to me about anything that happens around here because they’re scared I’m going to go kill myself. And look what happened the first time somebody talks to me? I went and killed myself. And what am I doing about it? I’m sitting here moping about how I’m so sad, angry, and jealous.”
“You’ve mentioned this jealousy a few times,” George says, looking at his notes.
I sigh. “I just want things to go back to normal.”
George does such a good job at following along my train of thought, never once pushing me or steering me in a direction. And, whilst it does lead to a very disjointed and disrupted therapy session, it means I get out all my feelings.
But I think today we’ve not actually managed to get into the nitty gritty. I think today is the first time I’ve been appreciative of his notes. He tends to go over them after a session, and compiles things he wants to ask me about in our next therapy session. It’s a process that seems to work.
We continue to chat today, and it feels a lot better knowing I’ve got the time to just get things off my chest. We’ve bypassed the therapy session and gotten into a venting session, and it feels so fucking good. Time passes so quickly as I go ahead and complain about my childhood, my relationship with my family, how I don’t even know if I want to get back to work.
I talk to him about how my wolf is begging me to reconnect, but I want some time and space, and how we just can’t get on the same page. It’s so therapeutic.
“I think I’m done,” I say, sitting back up from where I’ve been lounging on the arm chair. “My brain is like mush.”
“Okay,” George replies. “I’d like to sit and talk through some things I want you to do between now and the next session.”
I nod, slowly, not liking the sound of that. Homework from George has yet to be completed, and it always makes me feel like a failure when that happens. I already know about him wanting me to reconnect with my wolf, but the others? Well, they’re a bit of a mystery.
I’ll probably not do them, though.
“When is our next session?” I ask.
“That’s up to you,” he says. “At the moment, I’d like them to still be pretty regularly, but I can’t force you to be here.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so melodramatic. I want your help. I will be here,” I say, and he laughs.
“I’m not saying that because I don’t think you wouldn’t be here. I’m saying that because when I say pretty regularly, I mean, at least every other day. I don’t think weekly is enough, but I do think daily is too much. So, maybe once every two days to once every three days for now.”
I nod. “So, today is… what?”
