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I’m about to say no, but then I change my mind. She’s right about one thing. It will help me take my mind off Dad.
“Sure. Great idea.”
The smile she gives me is so happy and genuine that I feel awful for lying to her. I walk into my room and toss the clothes on my bed. I groan as I sift through the offerings. Am I really doing this? I laugh. This is fucking ridiculous. I pull a dress out and study it. I can already tell it's going to be way too small, but just to humor her, I put it on anyway.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I mutter.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. There’s a chick I really like, standing in my living room and I'm in the bedroom, trying on her old dresses. Who the fuck does that? I laugh. I can’t keep doing this. If she hates me, she hates me. Either way, I need to go out there and tell her the truth. I stomp out there. I’m ready to confess everything, though I probably should’ve thought about taking the dress off first.
“Darcy, can we talk—”
I stop when I see Lewis. He does a double take when he looks in my direction. His eyes widen as they lock on mine. Then he starts laughing.
“Wow, Cam,” he chuckles. “I really like that shade of blue on you. It really brings out your eyes.” He studies me thoughtfully. “Actually, do you have red? Because I’ll need to see you in that—"
“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble, glaring at him.
“I’m sorry, he kind of let himself in,” Darcy says helplessly. She jumps to her feet. “Shit. I totally forgot. Mom wanted to take her to the lady who’s doing her dress alterations,” she explains. “
“She’s cutting that a bit close, isn’t she?” Lewis muses.
I snort. “Oh, are you’re a fucking dress expert, now?”
“No, but going by this, you might be,” he says with a grin, nodding at my sexy little black number.
Darcy’s eyes briefly meet mine. “Mom had to buy another dress.”
“Another one?” Lewis asks. “What happened the first one?”
Darcy’s eyes flicker to mine, sparkling in a way that makes my stomach churn.
“She decided that purple isn’t really her color.”
My eyes widen. “No,” I gasp.
“It’s fine,” she giggles as I walk her to the door. “She likes the new dress better, anyway.” She gives me a kiss, then walks out.
I stole my future stepmother’s wedding dress?
“What the fuck is going on?” Lewis asks when I walk back down to him in the living room. “You’re wearing a dress, dude. If I thought for a second you were into that, then fine, but you’re not.” He pauses for a moment, uncertain. “Are you?”
“I’ve got no idea anymore,” I mumble into my hands.
“You’re losing the plot,” he comments. “Is this all just some silly game to try and land Darcy?”
“It appears that way,” I say, clenching my teeth.
“Man, you need to tell Darcy the truth. Whatever the fuck that is.”
“I know,” I say grimly. “Trust me, I know.”Chapter FourteenDarcy“Finally.”
I look up as I walk into the office to find Sarah standing there, arms crossed. I smile at her, wondering what her problem is. You’d think I was ten minutes late, rather than early.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Did she see me talking to Linton out in the courtyard? I glance at the window. I’m pretty sure she could see us from there. Why would she have a problem with that, though? I get that having a brother in the same field as you would be hard, but if she has a problem with me even talking to him, then she’s even more insecure than I thought. It’s so easy to forget that they’re siblings, because they’re so different.
“I thought today we could see how you handle your first group session.”
I keep the smile plastered on my face, even though the last thing I feel like doing is smiling. Me running group therapy? God no.
“Great,” I manage to say.
I’ve been dreading this day since I started. It’s strange, because the idea of leading a session makes my stomach churn, but I could get up and make a speech in front a thousand people without batting an eyelid. I’m not sure how that works. I think what I have an issue with is having other people’s lives in my hands. How can I tell someone else how to live their life when I can barely control my own?
Maybe I’m onto something there…
I snap back to reality when Sarah thrusts some papers in my face.
“Here are some sheets that might help as prompts, but there isn’t much you can do to mess it up. You’re in room seven.”
“Seven?” I repeat. “What happened to three?”
I’ve been sitting in on the same group, twice a week since I started and it’s always in room three. I assumed when the time came to run my own session I’d be working with the group who were not only used to me, but I was used to them.
