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I leaned back against the beige couch and sighed, feeling the weight of my loneliness amplified as my friends all took the next steps expected in adulthood. “You know, it’s funny,” I began, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Sid just got married, and Knox is head over heels for Summer. It seems like everyone around me is finding love, settling down ... except for Bash and me.”
“Interesting,” Maggie said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered my words. “And how does that make you feel?”
I hesitated, unsure if I should admit the deep-seated envy that had been gnawing at me for months. But Maggie had a way of making even the most painful confessions feel safe, so I took a deep breath and let the truth spill out. “Happy, of course, but also ... envious, I guess. It’s like they’ve cracked the code to forming these deep connections with people, while I’m still floundering.”
She nodded thoughtfully, her pen tapping against her clipboard. “Well, Ghost, remember when we talked about working on your own connections? How have your ‘interviews’ been going? Have you been reaching out to women and talking to them for at least 15 minutes?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of Maggie’s seemingly ridiculous assignment. It seemed so simple — just talk to people, really get to know them — and yet it had proven to be a challenging task and a source of aggravation for me.
“Sure, I’ve been talking to women more,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “But it doesn’t make me feel any more connected to them. If anything, it makes me realize just how different I am from everyone else.”
Maggie studied me closely, her gaze never wavering as she searched for the hidden meaning behind my words. “Ghost, there’s nothing wrong with being different. But it’s important to remember that connection isn’t something that happens overnight. It takes time and effort on both sides.”
I knew she was right, but the thought of putting in all that work only to end up feeling nothing, was enough to make me want to quit trying. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until I could escape this unrelenting self-examination and retreat to the familiar comforts of solitude.
“Let’s try a different approach,” Maggie suggested gently. “Instead of focusing on romantic connections, think about the friendships you’ve formed within your band. How do you maintain those relationships?”
“Easy — we’re all stuck together on a tour bus for months at a time,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. But Maggie wasn’t deterred. She just smiled patiently and waited for me to continue.
“Seriously, though ... I guess we just have each other’s backs. We’ve been through so much together, and it’s hard not to form bonds when you’re living in such close quarters. But it’s different with other people, especially with women. There’s always this barrier between us, this unspoken expectation that I can’t seem to break through.”
“Maybe the key is to approach these new relationships in the same way you approach your friendships,” Maggie mused, her pen flying across the page as she jotted down notes. “Take the time to get to know someone without any expectations or pressure. You might be surprised by the connections you’re able to form when you let go of the idea that love is something that can be forced.”
I wasn’t sure I was actually seeking love, just a little belonging. My fingers drummed against the armrest on the couch. “You know what, Maggie? I think I’m just not meant to love anyone.” My words hung heavy in the air, a cloud of vulnerability settling around me.
Maggie’s pen paused above her notepad, her eyes meeting mine with genuine concern. “What makes you say that, Ghost?”
“Every woman I’ve been with ... they don’t give a damn about who I am. They only want me for the fame and money,” I admitted, my voice hard. The truth stung like a slap to the face, but there was no use pretending any different.
“Have you ever considered why you attract these kinds of relationships?” Maggie asked, her voice gentle yet probing.
I shrugged, feeling defensive but also curious. “Maybe it’s because I’m afraid to let anyone see the real me, the messed-up train wreck underneath this rock star facade.”
“Ghost, we’ve talked about this before — your past does not define you. But understanding how it affects your present relationships can help you move forward. Let’s explore where this fear of vulnerability might come from,” she suggested, leaning forward slightly.
I hesitated, knowing exactly where she was going with this. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get me to open up about the past. The memories of my father and the abuse I endured at his hands were locked away in a mental vault, one that I rarely dared to open. But maybe it was time to crack it open, just a little more.
“Fine,” I muttered, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It probably has something to do with my asshole of a father.”
Maggie’s voice was soothing, yet insistent, “I’d like you to try to go back to that time in your life when things were difficult with your father.” She clicked her pen, poised to jot down notes as I hesitated.
My chest tightened as I tried to breathe through the memories, and my eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt to block them out. But like a relentless tide, they came crashing through me, dragging me under. “He was never sober,” I choked out, my voice barely audible. “And when he drank ... he’d become this ... monster.”
“Take your time, Ghost,” Maggie said softly, her soothing tone a lifeline amidst the storm of emotions threatening to drown me.
“It’s like he was always lurking in the shadows, waiting for an excuse to lash out,” I continued, my voice trembling with the effort to maintain control. “Sometimes I’d lie awake at night, just listening for the sound of his footsteps down the hall. It felt like I was constantly on edge.”
Maggie knew that he had abused me, but I’d never given her any details. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let the memories flood back, trying to maintain my composure. “He was an angry man — always drunk, always looking for a reason to lash out. I never knew when he’d snap, so I learned to keep my distance.” My voice wavered, betraying how hard it was to relive the nightmare. “It seemed like every night, he would stumble through the door, reeking of alcohol, and just … unleash his anger on whoever happened to be nearby.”
“Did that include you?” Maggie asked gently, not wanting to push me too far, but needing the details to understand.
I looked down, picking at the frayed threads of the sweatshirt. “Most of the time,” I admitted, feeling the old wounds reopening. “But a lot of the time it was Adam, my stepbrother, who took the brunt of his fury.”
My jaw clenched as the weight of suppressed emotions threatened to crush me from within. But instead of recoiling, I allowed myself to feel — just for a brief moment — the pain that I had buried for so long.
“It’s not easy to revisit those memories,” Maggie said sincerely, “but understanding how your past impacts your present relationships can be incredibly valuable. Emotional intimacy was a luxury you couldn’t afford back then, and it’s shaped you. Realizing that is a big step to healing yourself.”
“He’s dead. Why couldn’t I bury all this shit with him?” I asked, more to myself than to Maggie.
