“What would you think about reaching out to a professional to discuss how you feel?”
“A professional? Like, a therapist?”
“Mhm.”
“Dad, I don’t—”
“Let me finish.” His voice crackles through the phoneline. “I don’t want this to keep impacting your life, Hudson. As a father, I—” He swallows thickly. “There’s nothing wrong with reaching out to a professional for help. It doesn’t matter who you are, if you need help or a little bit of extra support, then you ask for it. You were so young when your mother took ill and… it’s okay to admit that it stole a portion of your childhood, no matter how hard I tried to keep it as normal as possible. It doesn’t mean I’ve failed; it just means I’m human too and sometimes I make mistakes and I didn’t always pick up on emotional cues to tell me you were struggling. But don’t you think I got to that conclusion on my own, I was seeing two different specialists while your mother was in the hospital, to help me cope and I owe them a huge deal. I’m not pressurising you to go seek help if you’re not comfortable, Son, but I’m just asking you to think about it.”
Pressing my lips together tightly, I mull over what my dad is saying.
I’m not going to lie, I feel uncomfortable, my skin hot and tight, my knee bouncing beneath the pine wood table.
It would be so much easier to run.
But how far has running gotten me?
“Just think on what I’ve said, Hudson.”
Swallowing down the uncomfortable lump in my throat, I promise my dad I will.
Attempting to concentrate for the rest of the day is pointless. It’s not going to happen. I have too much going on inside my head, the weight of my dad’s words sitting heavy on my conscious.
Giselle dominates most of thoughts; the story of her shitty ex, Adam, and her choice to become celibate after the way he’d made her feel, used and only worthy because of her body – the way he made her feel as if her body didn’t even belong to her – taking centre stage.
Anger surges through me at the sheer thought of someone having enough persuasive power over Gee to make her feel that way. To make her not feel good enough, to make her only feel loved and worthy because of her body.
Guilt layers on top of my anger at the thought I made her feel the same way.
I already felt like enough of a dickhead for ignoring her while I sorted through my own shit, my own fears.
But knowing what I know now?
It only serves to make me feel more guilty; even if I know that wasn’t Giselle’s intention.
If that wasn’t enough, my dad’s words float around the edges of my subconscious too. Reaching out to a professional for help sound terrifying, but then so does carrying on the way I am – emotionally unavailable, and afraid to fall in love.
Blowing out a breath, I crouch down beside my client, Mitch, urging him to grit through the ache I’m sure is radiating through his calves. “Give me two more reps and then we can be done for the day.”
With a grunt, Mitch completes his last two dead lifts, blinking back the sweat dripping into his eyes.
“Good work today,” I praise. “Same time next week?”
Mitch agrees with a satisfied, but tired, smile, lumbering off to hit the showers as per my advice.
I grab the weights we’d been using, placing them back onto the rack, before spraying a bunch of sanitiser onto the barbell and giving it a quick wipe down.
With my last client of the day gone, I would usually be snatching my earphone from my locker, hitting play on my music, and starting my own workout.
But I haven’t felt up to it recently, and tonight is no different.
I take a step forward, thinking of just grabbing my gym back and catching the tube to my apartment where I can sit and wallow in peace, when a large hand cups my shoulder.
“No workout tonight?” Rex, asks, over the sound of pop music blaring through the gym speakers
“Nah.” I shake my head.
Rex furrows his brow, bending to look a little further into my eyes. “You okay, Hudson mate? You look a bit stressed.”
