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“Good. No complaints from him, really. Plus, we get to see each other more, so it’s working out.” She pauses. “When are you coming back down to see us?”
“I don’t know, Luce. Things are busy. I’ll definitely come right before spring break, though.”
She’s silent for a moment too long. “That’s over a month away, Corey.” The disappointment is evident and I wish I could promise her sooner, but I can’t. She’ll be more hurt if I promise to come and then don’t. I know because I saw how pissed she was when I said I would call and didn’t. “As long as you don’t forget to call me every week, I guess I’ll survive until then. Don’t get too busy for us.”
“I won’t.” I’ve been hoping that with her relationship with Grant, which is apparently really serious, she would branch away from us a little. Not that I don’t love her and want to see her and hear how things are, but I wonder if by us being so overprotective of her, we made her too dependent on us. Like this past Christmas, she didn’t like that Jon went to meet his girlfriend’s parents instead of going to our grandparents’ house like usual. She complained more than once while we were there.
“Good. My next class is about to start. I have to go. Love you,” she says, dragging me away from my thoughts.
“Love you too, Luce.”
Hanging up is a relief. With my brothers, I don’t have to lie as much as I do with Lucy. It’s exhausting. But I’d rather pretty things up for her than tell her the truth. All I have to do is fake that everything is still normal until I reach a point where everything is more balanced.
The hours until four o’clock speed by way too quickly for my liking. The receptionist gives me an evil glare like I’m a pain in her ass already. My time in the waiting room doesn’t last long either, and before I can breathe, the doctor is looking at me, asking what’s going on.
To get myself through it, I think semi-reassuring thoughts.
This guy doesn’t know me, isn’t related to me, and isn’t supposed to judge me.
I can do this and never have to come back again.
“I’ve been having some trouble lately.” He nods for me to continue. “For a long time, really. I, uh,” I pause, wondering how much he really needs to hear. “I have a hard time getting out of bed and fulfilling my commitments. I get really low points where I hate everything and can’t manage to do anything, and what I do manage to do makes me tired. I’m tired all the time and I need help.” There, that has to be good enough, right?
Nope.
“Explain to me some of your symptoms. When did your depression start?”
I never said that, but I answer his question anyway. “I’ve always felt like this, but it’s been really bad for a little over a year.”
“And what happened a year ago?” he prods, jotting something down on a piece of paper.
“None of your damn business.” I don’t want to say it, think it, or talk about it. I don’t want to deal with it. I just want to forget it ever happened, like it was never a part of my life at all, and move on to something different. Is that too much to ask for? Taking a deep breath, I calm myself down a bit. “All I need is a referral to a psychiatrist, okay?”
The old man looks up at me. “Son,” I want to cringe from the word, “talking is part of the healing process. You—”
“Yeah, I know. I need to talk.” I’m two seconds away from exploding. Just because it’s something I need to do and something I know I need to do, doesn’t make it any easier. There’s no need to keep trying to force me to do it. I’m not ready. I take another long, deep breath, but end up saying it harsher than I need to. “Can I start with a psychiatrist first? What happened to taking baby steps? Give me the referral so I can leave.” He’s not amused. Well, neither am I! I take a deep breath for the millionth time, feeling defeated, and mumble, “Please, just refer me to someone.” He is old, so I shouldn’t yell, but if he doesn’t do this right now, then I’m not responsible for my actions.
Thankfully, he hands me a piece of paper. “This is the doctor I’m referring you to. He’s a good guy who will be able to handle a piece of work like yourself.” He smiles and chuckles to himself. “He’ll be able to help you as long as you cooperate. Someone from his office will contact you today or tomorrow to set up an appointment.”
“Thanks.”
And then I get the hell out of there. I’m over today. Today can go to hell for all I care. It’s one thing after another. It always is and I’m sick of it. But that’s the point of what I just did. It sucked, but I can’t deny that it brought me one baby step forward. Progress is supposed to be a good thing, right?
Once I hit the top of the stairs, I decide to see if Olivia is home. I’ll give her an update and then go crash at my place. I knock twice and a few seconds later, a guy wearing a hoodie with the logo of the university’s football team answers the door. He’s a bulky guy; I recognize him. He’s a football player for our school, I think his name is Ben, and he’s standing in Olivia’s apartment.
“I was looking for Olivia,” I manage, my throat closing up. This ass can do what I can’t. He can play. I bet he doesn’t even know how much of a privilege it is. He’s everything I’m not. And I have no clue why he’s in her apartment.
“Oh, she just went to the restroom. You could come in, I guess.” He seems unsure on his offer.
“No, it’s okay.”
“Do you want me to tell her you stopped by?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.” This way I can buy myself some time while I fall apart. This is why I ignore my teammates when they text. This is why I don’t want anything whatsoever to do with the game. I can’t handle it. All I see is what I lost every single time something pops up to remind me that football still exists for everyone else.
Before I can turn away and he can close the door, Olivia appears. “Hey, Corey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes narrow. “I gotta go.”
