“I feel like I should want that. That I should be independent and self-sufficient and not need anyone.”
“Should.” She writes something down. “Interesting word. Who says you should want those things?”
“Everyone? Society? Every self-help book ever written?” I tell her.
“What do you actually want?”
I close my eyes. Think about Jax. About the farm he describes in texts. About how he made me feel seen.
“I want him,” I whisper. “But I’m scared that makes me weak. Like I’m jumping from one relationship to another without learning anything.”
“Or maybe you already learned.” Dr. Chen leans forward. “Maybe recognizing what you don’t want and what you do wantis the lesson. Maybe the timeline doesn’t matter as much as you think.”
“People don’t fall in love in a few weeks.”
“Some people do,” she says, raising a brow.
“That’s insane.”
“Is it?” She tilts her head. “Or is it just inconvenient for the narrative you’re telling yourself?”
Fuck.
I hate therapy.
The days crawl by. Job applications I don’t care about. Therapy sessions that hurt in the best way. And Chett, who won’t … Leave. Me. Alone. He texts from new numbers. Shows up at coffee shops where I’m working. Sends flowers to Riley’s apartment with notes that say, ‘I miss you,’ ‘We belong together,’ and ‘Please baby.’
I block the numbers. I leave when I see him. I throw out the flowers.
He doesn’t stop.
“This is harassment,” Riley says after the third bouquet. “You need a restraining order.”
“It’s just flowers.”
“It’s manipulation. He’s trying to wear you down.” She crosses her arms. “This isn’t romantic. It’s creepy.”
I know she’s right, but I also think he will eventually give up.
Dr. Chen says, “He’s not respecting your boundaries. You’ve told him you’re done. Multiple times. He’s not listening. That’s not love. That’s control.”
“I just want him to move on.”
“He will. Eventually. But you need to protect yourself. Block him everywhere. Document everything. Tell your family not to give him information,” she explains.
So, I do. I block him on every platform. I tell Riley and my sister Maggie to redirect any Chett questions from my parents. I save screenshots of the burner number texts. And slowly, I start to breathe again.
The texts with Jax are the bright spot in my days.
JAX: Chicken update. They’ve formed a gang. Pretty sure they’re planning a coup.
SLOANE: Against you?
JAX: Against the rooster. He’s outnumbered 6 to 1.
SLOANE: Poor rooster.
JAX: He deserves it. He’s an asshole.
