Page 19 of The Has-Been

CHAPTER 4

YOU SNUCK HER OUT THE WINDOW?

LIAM

The connection goes through. And within seconds, I’m staring at my therapist, her black-rimmed glasses glaring from the light.

“Good morning, Jasmine,” I greet hoarsely. Taking a slow sip of my coffee, I pray it wakes me up. Between my grueling class schedule and losing sleep due to the encounter with Aubrey replaying over and over again in my head, I’m desperate for it to bring me back to life.

Which is probably a lot to ask of a simple cup of coffee, since I’ve been dead inside for a long time.

“It is so good to see your face!” she gushes cheerfully, a stark difference to my current mood. But she’s always annoyingly joyful. I can’t help but wonder if it’s genuine or just for show, a way to put her patients at ease. But since we started together, I can’t think of one time she hasn’t been exactly like this.

After I was released from the emergency room, the doctors were insistent that I talk to someone. Apparently, it’s protocol for therapy sessions after people have…incidents like what I had.

“Let’s start with how things have been since we last met,” Jasmine announces.

I set down my coffee with a heavy sigh. I know I need to tell her what happened this week—running into Aubrey at Melbourne’s on Tuesday night. But I’ve been dreading having this conversation all week, so I’m not exactly eager to begin.

I look around my room, and I know Jasmine knows me well enough now to recognize that when I don’t make eye contact, it’s because I’m hiding something. But I find the courage and finally meet her soft smile. Knowing I need to start small, I offer part of the truth easily.

“I went out on Tuesday.” Though much more happened than that, I know it’s a start. During the thirty-minute session, it’s typically toward the end that I begin to loosen up.

I can see the surprise lining her face. “Okay. Tell me more about that.”

And damn, am I that predictable that she already knows there is more for me to tell? Or, maybe she’s just that good at her job.

I gulp, ignoring how hard it is for me to swallow all of a sudden.

“I went out with my roommates—Reid and Brennan.”

“Okay,” she makes a note on her paper. “And what made you decide to go?” She looks up over her glasses.

“Uh,” I sigh, rubbing my palms over my legs. Why are they so sweaty?

“The season—hockey season.” I can see from her face that she’s proud of me for speaking on the topic. “It starts next week, and I know with classes and clinical beginning, I won’t have the opportunity to see my friends other than at games and practice. So…” my neck pops from craning it. “So, when Reid asked me, I thought it would be good to go out with them…like old times.”

“Very well.” Seconds pass by, and I can’t believe she never thinks to ask if I had a drink, if I broke my sobriety. But I also know that Jasmine knows it wasn’t an issue, unlike my mother, who likes to believe it was. The incident didn’t happen because I had a substance problem.

I had a me problem.

“And did it go the way you expected?” Jasmine asks carefully.

Hot breath blows from my pursed lips as I let out a deep exhale. And so the fun begins.

“No…not exactly,” I snap. My leg twitches under my desk. My words catch her attention, and she sits up straighter.

“Okay, walk me through it.”

Deep breath, Liam. You can do this.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said—about facing my past.” She nods, and I keep going. “I’ve done well. I agreed to do clinical with the hockey team. My hockey team. And I still agreed to go out with my friends, knowing the temptations and past memories I’d face…”

Her hands find each other as she claps them in excitement.

“I’m very proud of you for those accomplishments, Liam.” Her head shakes, a gesture that she’s urging me to continue. “But tell me where it went wrong.”

My gaze falls to my record player—the vinyl we picked out together, now collecting dust. I picture Aubrey holding MGMT’s record, replaying “Indie Rokkers” over and over. She wore that song out during the summer between our freshman and sophomore years. A smile creeps across my face as I can almost see her leaning over, setting the record down, and dropping the needle. Her bangs would always fall into her eyes, hiding that warm brown I think about so often.