“It’s a…colleague.” The words are hesitant. It isn’t up to me to share where Demi lives so I leave out the specifics.
“Oh. Is that a problem for you?”
Technically, no. But emotionally, yes.
Because IwantDemi. I want her on a level I know isn’t widely accepted, and I don’t even know what to do about it.
“Can I be honest here?”
“I’d prefer it if you were,” she says with a light chuckle.
“I’m having a hard time, uh, emotionally, I guess?” I shake my head back and forth and lean forward—elbows to knees. “I don’t have a lot of people in my personal life that I share things with. I mean, I have my friends, but they really don’t knoweverything. The thoughts that swirl in my head sometimes, the hopelessness, and then just complete…sadness. It’s—I don’t even know what it is, but I feel like I can’t tell anybody. Which feels crazy, because normally I don’t shut up.” I sit in silence, thinking of how I want to formulate the next few sentences. I’ve been having this new feeling the last few weeks when it comes to Demi.
Reliance is the word that comes to mind.
I’ve known her a long time, but never deep enough to gauge how she might handle my past. The last few weeks have given me a glimpse, and it’s like something in my bones just knows that every ugly secret and skeleton would be safe with her. And it makes me want to open up to her. To tell her things I don’t tell anyone else.
I talk to Chase and Summer about a lot of things. Summer probably knows the most, but still not everything. I don’t really know how that happened—especially because when we first met, I was absolutely hitting on her. She turned me down quickly and it was clear her intentions were set on Chase from the get-go.
“There was an incident at one of the preseason games.” I clear my throat. “Well, an almost incident, I guess. Anyway, I wanted to just unload my emotions on this little piece of crap photographer who was on the sidelines. I reined it in and kept my cool as best I could, given the situation and where we were. I knew I was bothered by what was going on, but it’s like the second I feel any kind of frustration, I know part of the feeling is misdirected. I hold onto so much repressed bullshit from my dad that I think it comes out any time something upsets me.”
Dana takes her notebook from her lap and places it on the table. She leans a little farther in.
“You’re learning how to process emotions in a healthy way, Liam. You haven’t mastered it yet. You’re allowed to be angry, bothered, upset—all those things. Learning how to regulate your emotions is part of generational healing.”
I nod, feeling a lump the size of a basketball forming in my throat.
“You’ve mentioned in the past that you’ve typically dealt with your sadness or frustrations by completely shutting down, pushing the feeling away at the first sign of being upset.”
I nod again.
“You are allowed to be frustrated. You are allowed to be sad. Those are natural feelings. And you’re learning that it’s okay to show them in a healthy way. It’s progress.” Dana nods, lifting the corners of her mouth into a soft, sincere smile.
Her eye contact is steady and her voice is too.
The rest of the session creeps by. It feels like the longest hour of my life any time I have to talk about my feelings and emotions, and I’m completely drained when I leave, but I also feel like the biggest weight has been lifted.
“Toasty one out there,” I say in a huff to Rob.
I decided to take a walk this evening, thinking it might be a good way to get some fresh air, forgetting there’s no such thing as a nice evening walk during a Florida summer.
“Got that right.” He tilts back in his chair with the shake of his head. “If ya hurry, you’ll be able to catch a ride so you don’t have to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
He tips his chin, and I see the private access door swing shut.
“Demi?” My eyes light up and I’ve forgotten all about the exhaustion I was just feeling from the heat.
He gives me a knowing nod, and I make a beeline for the door. Even stepping it up to a little jog.
I haven’t seen Demi all week. I was in Philadelphia, but this week we’re home, and boy oh boy, am I excited to have her in the crowd. Even if she’s contractually obligated to be there.
I hear the elevator doors open as I’m briskly walking toward them and pick up my pace slightly again. There’s a scent of coffee trailing her, and I can’t help but smile, knowing she’s probably got a coffee in her hand at four in the afternoon again.
The doors begin to close, and I can see her frame tightly in the corner of the elevator looking down at her phone as I quickly place my hand between the two doors and they begin to backtrack.
Her head lifts up and her eyes connect with mine, confusion and surprise written all over her face.
