Wiping my mouth of excess water with the back of my hand, I trudged back to my bedroom to get dressed. I lifted my shirt to my nose—definitely needed a wash—then fully pulled it off, my naked reflection catching in the mirror. I glanced up through long lashes that lacked makeup, taking in the lean lines of my hips, the faint outline of a few ribs, and my small breasts peaking with tight nipples.
Biting the inside of my lip, I checked the time. Twenty minutes until group started. I needed to get dressed. It had been a while since I’d used my vibrator—the one sitting in my dresser drawer calling my name—but I shook the thought away. Not now. I needed to get out the door.
I tossed on a loose, cotton, grey shirt and pulled on a pair of black, baggy jeans that clung just enough to my hip bones to stay up. Running my fingers through my hair to loosen any tangles, I headed down the hallway and out the door.
I rushed down the street, not wanting to have all eyes on me if I were to walk in late. I hated showing up at all, but showing up late was even worse. So I aimed to be slightly early. Last time it only took a few minutes before everyone started piling in, so I wanted to time it just right.
Running up toward the hospital, I pushed through the doors feeling slightly less anxious than last time. I glanced at a clock on the wall. Six minutes to spare before I was officially late. I picked up my pace down the hall toward room C125.
I slipped through the stream of hospital foot traffic and into the quieter space labelledGroup Therapy for Mental Health Outcomes. Other than Dana and myself, only two others were inside. I spotted the seat I’d used last week and made a beeline for it, claiming it as my own once again.
“Welcome, Lennon!” Dana said brightly. “How are you?” Her sincerity made me bite down on my bottom lip, uncomfortable with small talk, yet knowing I had to push myself to say something.
“Fine,” I replied, keeping it short.
“Please, help yourself to snacks and coffee! There’s lots to go around.” Taking that as her cue to leave me alone, she moved on to greet others who began to trickle in through the doorway. I nodded and dropped my gaze to my lap, avoiding any opening for more conversation.
Twiddling my thumbs, I tell myself,Slow your breathing, Lennon. The amount of times I left the confines of my apartment was minimal. And the times that I did, I wasn’t willingly sitting with a group of strangers. I’d spent years isolating myself—by design. No friendships, no deep connections, pushing away anyone who tried. Besides Rachel and Jase, no one stuck. This life was created by intent, knowing the final outcome. Being surrounded by a dozen people now felt…unbearable. Horrendous, even.
Metal chair legs screeched across the floor as people dragged them into place, the high-pitched scrape making me cringe each time. I needed everyone to just sit the fuck down already. I peeked up long enough to catch who was entering before they had the chance to see me looking. A bald man walked in—one I didn’t overly remember from last week. Did he sit near me? Was he even here last time? Maybe he’d introduced himself right before my mini-panic attack and choking episode. Fantastic. I’m already a fucking mess.
“Hey, Greg!” Dana greeted him as he entered the room. I must’ve missed his introduction entirely on Monday. So much for paying attention.
And thenhewalked in.
He looked so good, it was irritating. I couldn’t stand his presence, yet everything about him was unfairly flawless. His buzz cut was perfectly faded, the top left slightly longer—fresh enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he came straight from the barber. His rigid bone structure gave him a cruel, almost intimidating look—but then he’d ruin it by smiling warmly at everyone, going out of his way to greet people. It was maddening.
He grabbed a cracker from the snack table and tossed it effortlessly in his mouth. He wore a dark grey, athletic, long-sleeve shirt that hugged every shape of his upper body, paired with black, tapered sweatpants and crisp white runners. Did he just go for a run before this? Helookedlike the kind of guy that would have gone for a run before a group session like this. I rolled my eyes subconsciously—right as he looked my way.
A playful smirk lit up his face, clearly catching the dramatic eye roll aimed directly at him.
“Morning, Lennon.” His voice danced in my ears like velvet.
He took up space on the chair directly next to me. I could feel his body turned completely in my direction.
“It’s the afternoon,” I say, annoyance radiating throughout every word.
He only shrugged, unbothered. “Depends what time your day began, I suppose.”
I shook my head, not responding. But he leaned over slightly in my direction as he asked, “How were your last couple days?”
I closed my eyes for a brief second, irritation flaring. “I’m sorry—do I give you the impression that small talk is something I indulge in?”
He laughed—actually laughed—his eyes bright, smile wide, all with perfect teeth. A small twinge of sadness blanketed me. I wished I could feel that kind of freedom, that kind of ease, theability to laugh so openly like that. But that wasn’t in the cards for me.
“You’re a firecracker, Lennon,” he said.
Not allowing myself to fall into his banter, I said dryly, “I’m so glad you find me amusing, hotshot.”
“Oh, we’re on a nickname basis already, are we?” His grin was infectious, attempting to seep behind my hard exterior. I wasn’t having it. I didn’t care how smooth he thought he was. I refused to let it in.
I scoffed and ignored him.
“Why don’t you like me?” he asked suddenly, straight to the point.
A sarcastic chuckle exited my lips—harsher than I intended. “What makes you think you’re so likeable?”
He tilted his head toward me, that sly smile permeating. “I’m likeable, Lennon.”
