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“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“You’re worried that Mr. X is going to break your heart,” Doctor Sheridan corrects, pausing to jot something down on her clipboard. “Why do you feel like that’s inevitable?”
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t want it to be inevitable, but I feel like it is.”
Doctor Sheridan leans back into her chair and motions for me to continue.
“Doc, he’s hot. He’s cold. He’s up and down. He’s into me then he doesn't even recognize me,” I say, the words tumbling out of me in a rush. “I don’t know how to explain any of it.”
Doctor Sheridan frowns. “It sounds to me like he has serious commitment issues.”
“If he does, he’s not telling me about them. In fact, I don’t think he’s telling me a lot of things.”
Doctor Sheridan nods. “And why do you think that?”
I place my hands in my lap and straighten my back. “Honestly? I’m afraid that he’s hiding something from me.”
Doctor Sheridan’s brows furrow together. “Like a girlfriend or a wife?”
I shake my head. “No, like a mental illness.”
Doctor Sheridan raises an eyebrow. “That’s a very big leap, Danielle. What makes you think that?”
I make a vague hand gesture. “Think about it. One minute he’s all over me, and the next he can’t get away from me fast enough. When we’re alone, he’s sweet and caring. But sometimes when we’re in public, it’s like I'm invisible to him.”
The warning signs are all there.
But saying them out loud changes things.
A part of me is reluctant to connect the dots, especially when I can see where they’re taking me.
But the other part of me knows that denying it isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Adrian.
As far as I can tell, he doesn’t need my judgment or my pity. What he needs is help, but I’m not sure I can be the one to provide him with it.
I’m not a therapist.
Hell, I’m not even qualified to diagnose him. Yet, here I am, sitting across from an actual therapist. It feels like I'm telling her a story.
Despite the fact that I know how outlandish it sounds, I can’t stop the words from leaving my mouth.
Admitting my suspicions to Doctor Sheridan doesn’t make me feel any better. On the contrary, it makes me feel worse.
I half-expect her to shake her head at me and smile, letting me know that I’ve been jumping to the worst-case scenario conclusions.
Instead, she nods along while I tell her about all of my evidence, being careful not to give too much information. She only stops to jot a few things down on her clipboard.
I’m tempted to snatch that clipboard out of her hand and see what on it.
What good is that going to do you? It’s just going to make you feel worse, Danielle. You know that as well as I do. You don’t actually want to know what the doc thinks about you.
“….and then I came here to the session,” I finish, noting the strained sound of my voice. “I know it sounds crazy, and I know it’s a big leap to make, but what else could it be?”
Doctor Sheridan presses her lips together, her expression turning thoughtful. “It’s not crazy, Danielle. I don’t like to use terms like that here.”
I blow out a breath. “What else should I call it then? At least if he does have a mental illness and doesn’t know it, maybe I can figure out a way to help him.”
Doctor Sheridan presses her lips together.
