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“Yep, but you’re going to tell me. Go as slow as you want, but we have to start somewhere.”
“I’m not a talker,” I warn. “And I get pissed off pretty quickly.” She looks frail, and I want to tell her, just in case.
“I wouldn’t be in this profession if I couldn’t handle that. We’ll work on getting you to talk. Start simple.”
Simple? What the hell about this is simple? “Um, I have two younger brothers and a sister. My grandparents raised us.” She gives me an encouraging nod. “My parents have been dead since I was ten.” I take a deep breath. “This is stupid if you already know this. Why torture me by having me say it?”
“Would you prefer I question you about what I do know?”
I frown. That doesn’t sound much better.
“Let’s try it, and if you don’t like it, we go back to you telling me. How did you handle your parents’ deaths? It must have been hard on you and your siblings to lose them so young.” I guess that’s better than asking me how they died.
“Like normal.” I shrug. “My dad wanted my brothers and me to be good big brothers, so I was strong for all of them. Lucy, my sister, was there when it happened, and she had trouble for a while after that. My grandparents wanted to get her back to normal as much as possible, but said we could come to them if we wanted. I think they might have, but I never did.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“Um.” My palms start to sweat, so I rub them over my legs. “I’m the oldest and I didn’t want to be weak.”
Her eyes are freaking scary as fuck. Those are the kinds of eyes that analyze and see everything, I bet. Somewhere, though, there’s a softer, caring side. Maybe. Or maybe not and she’s just a hateful old woman who likes to torture depressed people. “Talking makes you weak?”
I scratch a nonexistent itch on my neck. “It doesn’t change things. They would have worried if I had.”
“They probably worried because you didn’t and still don’t. Do you wish you had? Looking back?”
“Maybe. Only because my siblings don’t talk either.”
“What do you mean?”
God, how long do I have to be here? “I mean, we don’t talk about my parents but once or twice a year. They used to, but stopped when I wouldn’t participate. We keep things from my baby sister so she doesn’t worry. We avoid telling her until we have to. We’re supposed to protect her. That’s what my dad always told us. They want that to change. She’s tired of being in the dark and they don’t like me lying to them. She wants to be able to talk about those things with us. I’m holding them back from doing that.
“And then Olivia, I couldn’t even tell her I was coming today, and I would tell her before anyone else. I don’t want to disappoint her if I end up hating it and stop coming. Plus, she wants a relationship from me and I don’t want to give it to her. I mean, look at me. I’m fucked up. I can’t even be a good brother, how am I supposed to be a good boyfriend?
“Shit like that doesn’t come easy for me. There’s too much going on in my head. I mean, things have been okay since I started seeing Dr. Stewart, but I’m sure you read about our appointment before last. There’s some things I just can’t handle. I can’t do it. This, the good that’s been happening lately, it’s all about to fall apart. The good never stays long enough and I haven’t been able to keep it since I was injured. Football was my oxygen to breathe and I lost it. I lost my air.”
Suddenly, I stop, realizing I rambled and said entirely too much. My throat closes, only opening enough for me to say, “I can’t do this.”
I stand, but Ms. Cynthia does too, moving to block my exit. “We still have thirty minutes. Sit down.” Her tone is lethal. I knew she was just a hateful old lady.
I can’t push her out of my way. That would be a bit harsh. My muscles tense as I slowly lower myself back into the seat. I’m coiled tightly, close to exploding, my body rigid.
“You don’t have to talk anymore yet. Just listen.” A small burst of relief shoots through me. “First, you’ve contradicted yourself a little. How can your protect your sister if she’s left in the dark? Isn’t it better that she knows what’s going on, even if it makes her worry about you a little? What if it was something she could prepare herself for? Would you want her to have to face something unprepared?”
My head shakes. I don’t want Lucy to have to worry about anything for a second in her life. I don’t want any of my siblings worrying, but especially her.
“Then think on that. Now, Olivia, I believe she’s your,” she pauses and glances at my folder, “girlfriend, correct?”
“Uh, sort of? She lives across the hall from me.”
“I see.” What the hell does that mean? “Why can you talk to Olivia and no one else? Tell me how you two came together.”
This woman is a pain in the ass. With a deep breath, I begin. “She moved in, shit happened, and she took care of me before she ever really knew me. We’ve been hanging out ever since pretty much. I didn’t want to talk to her either, but she kept pushing and pushing until she pissed me off and I would blurt it out. It got a little easier each time. I liked that she wasn’t family. I mean, I’ll do anything for them, but I can’t do this. With Olivia, I didn’t have to…I don’t know how to say it,” I finish in frustration before adding, “Like I could tell Olivia and it wouldn’t hang over my head. Or I don’t fucking know. But she gets it, so that helps too.”
Ms. Cynthia eyeballs me. “I understand you,” she finally says.
“What?” She does? I don’t even understand me.
“Yes, I do. That’s why you don’t want to tell your siblings, because they are family. It makes it more difficult for you. And because you’ll do anything for them, you’re trying to spare them what you believe would be a burden. Would they do anything for you?”
