Page 130 of I Choose You

“I’ve got a privacy fence up,” I pointed out, although she couldn’t see it in the dark.

“I know, but… you know.” She shrugged.

“I don’t,” I told her as we stepped in. My skin tingled at the heated swirls of water, and we moved lower to sit together. “Tell me.”

“Last week, I talked with my mom about it too. She had a cousin who struggled with dysmorphia, and she said it sounded like what I struggle with.”

I nodded. “I thought the same when you first mentioned it.”

“It’s more common than I think anyone can imagine.”

“And there are options for help,” I said gently, taking her hand and massaging her palm.

“You help.” She peered at me. “I mean, in front of the mirror…”

I chuckled. “Have you considered therapy? Or talking with someone who specializes in it?”

“Yes and no. My health insurance was never the greatest for quality therapists. Rena suggested it before, and I tried.” She shook her head. “But it wasn’t for me. But now that I’ve thought about it, maybe I was too stubborn.”

“Or you haven’t found the right person to talk to.”

“Have you tried therapy?”

“Of course.” I nodded. “We tried our best after losing Mom, but Kody and I both went to grief counselors.”

She laid her head on my shoulder.

“When did it all start?” I asked.

“High school.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling like shit. I felt terrible to know she’d suffered back then. And my anger grew hotter than the water we soaked in as I knew Kody was the one who strung her along for shits and giggles.

* * *

Twelve years ago…

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Dad asked me after dinner.

I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood to go to prom. A dance sounded like a punishment. Loud music. Too many people in one place. At the last grief counselor appointment, the woman said I shouldn’t become anti-social.

Why the hell couldn’t I? If I wanted space, I should go for it. Boundaries were important, and prom sounded like a total breach of them.

“It’s your senior year.”

I stood from the table, cutting off Dad’s protest. “It’ll be the same as the prom last year. I’ll be fine skipping it.”

He didn’t push, but still, I didn’t want to hear about it anymore. I emptied my scraps and rinsed the plate before I set it in the dishwasher. Mom would be proud. She’d taught me and Kody to clean up since we were young. A kitchen, she used to always preach, was not just a woman’s domain.

I sighed, missing her something fierce as I headed to go upstairs. The sound of giggling stopped me in my tracks. Kody was ready to go in a tux and tickling a girl in a pink gown. She curled toward him, trying to stop his fingers on her side.

“Hey, have you seen Dad?” he asked when he spotted me. “I wanna get these pictures over with.”

“He’s in the kitchen,” I said, confused.

“I’m going to check my hair,” our classmate said before she left the room.

“What’s going on?” I asked.