From my small, tense stance, I unfolded my shoulders and peeked up through my lashes. A loose circle of chairs sat scattered around the room, with a few others lined along the perimeter. I wondered if I could sit in one of those instead.
Suddenly, a woman moved near a table displaying a sad vegetable tray, some crackers, and a coffee carafe that probably held a weak, shitty brew no one could stomach. Appetite had been the least of my concerns over the last couple of years. I’d survived on coffee, takeout, or—when desperation really hit—Ichiban noodles. The desire to eat well, or even eat at all, had long vanished from my list of priorities. What did it matter, really?
“Hello there!” the woman greeted cheerfully. I gave a quick nod and looked away, heading for a seat in the far corner.
“Oh honey, come and grab some snacks! And we’ll be sitting in the circle as a group once everyone gets here.”
I felt conflicted—unwilling to engage too much with her. I assumed she was the facilitator, though, so I’d need to be at least minimally courteous so she’d sign off my attendance for Rachel.
“I’m not overly hungry, thank you,” I offered coldly, moving away from the chair off to the side and making a beeline for the one closest to the exit.
“My name’s Dana. I’m the group therapist. What’s your name?” she asked politely. The smile on her face creased the wrinkles earned from years of laughter. Her eyes were kind, and from the looks of it, this was her calling. She genuinely enjoyed helping people—people like me. But unfortunately, she was going to be let down by someone like me. I hoped she didn’t get too invested in her clients like Rachel had.
“Lennon,” I replied quietly, still avoiding eye contact. I looked down at my hands as some of the other participants began trickling in. Dana moved easily around the room, greeting each person and making them feel warm and welcome.
She offered snacks and poured coffee, cheerfully pointing each person toward the sugar and cream. Watching her, I had to admit—she was a good host. Her small but stout frame reminded me of someone’s grandmother. She probably was one. Her peppered hair was styled into a short bob, and her makeup-free face made her approachable.
I think I’d like Dana—as much as I was capable of liking anyone, that is.
“Once everyone gets a snack and coffee, please be seated in the circle so we can begin introductions,” she called out to the group hovering around the table. The dozen or so people collectively groaned.
“Oh, come on—it’s not going to hurt! Might be a bit uncomfortable, but hey, that’s what growth is all about!” Her optimism bordered on comical.
One by one, people began finding their seats, many settling near where I’d already sat. A wild-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen dropped into the chair to my right, dressed in cargo pants and a tattered hoodie. To my left, a man in a button-down shirt and slacks took his seat, clearly out of place but trying to blend in.
A bit uncomfortable?This was torture—and we hadn’t even started the introductions yet.
The scraping of metal chair legs across the tiled floor grated like nails on a chalkboard. I let my eyes close briefly in pure annoyance.Could no one else hear how obnoxious this was?I fought the strong urge to scream for everyone to sit the fuck down and shut up.
But I held back. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself—not this early on.
Dana took a seat in one of the remaining chairs and let her gaze rest on each of us, as though committing our faces to memory and taking a mental picture she planned to keep forever.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Dr. Dana Galloway, and I’m honoured to be your group therapist for the next twelve weeks as we work through Group Therapy for Mental Health Outcomes,” she began. “Over our time together, we’re going to explore new ways of seeing the world, new ways of seeing ourselves—and we’re going to push out of our comfort zones, at least a wee bit.”
She spoke enthusiastically, outlining the program and what would be expected of us as participants. Then came the kicker: there would, in fact, be a group assignment.
“But don’t worry,” she added with a grin, “after today’s session, your partner will be chosen on your behalf—by yourstruly—so it takes the awkwardness out of that part Iknowyou all love so much.”
Dana chuckled to herself, clearly familiar with the silence that came with groups like this. Not once has her confidence wavered.
Glancing down at her notebook, she ran her pen down a list, checking it twice to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Alright, looks like I’ve covered all the housekeeping. So, let’s pop right into the fun stuff, shall we? Introductions! Tell us your name, what brings you to group today, and your favourite activity.”
Dana was clearly eager to get started, which was more than I could say for the rest of us. The group radiated collective disinterest. No one wanted to be here—including me. But that didn’t seem to deter Dana. She turned to her right and motioned to the first participant.
A woman in her thirties, brunette and visibly tense, gave a nervous look as she realized she was first. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
“Umm…my name is Ashley. I’m here because my counsellor thinks I’m depressed or something,” she muttered, her eyes low. “And an activity I like is…drawing.”
Her cheeks flushed bright pink the moment she finished speaking, the embarrassment crawling all over her like a rash we were all forced to watch. Ashley was what I’d callaverage pretty.Nothing about her stood out, yet she wasn’t hard to look at. I wondered what her story was—what secrets she kept buried inside underneath her modest exterior.
I wondered if she wanted to die like I did.
“My name’s Asher,” said the man seated next to her. “I’m here today to hopefully accept new perspectives into my life, since I think sometimes I can be narrow-minded. And an activity I enjoy would be hockey. In fact, I love hockey.”
I eyed Asher carefully. He was confident, but in a quiet, self-assured way. Unlike Ashley, he didn’t stumble over his words or look uncomfortable. He spoke like someone used to being listened to. His hair was cropped into a faded buzz cut, his jawline sharp and defined beneath the soft shadow of stubble. He was stunning—unlike anyone I’d ever seen before. Beautiful, even.
He scanned the floor, then his gaze lifted and locked with mine. I quickly looked away, abashed that he caught me staring.
