A smile breaks out across my face and for the first time in a long time, I finally feel like I’m home.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
HAYDEN
Dr. Tina’s office looks like… an office. I don’t know what I was expecting. Like, maybe an examination table with a bunch of weird instruments laid out on a stainless-steel tray. Like she’s going to strap me down and start cutting me open to figure out what’s wrong with my head.
But it’s nothing like that. There’s a desk in one corner with a computer and a few file folders on it. Then a sitting area by the window. One couch and two armchairs. A low coffee table in between. The walls are a warm cream, decorated with pictures of colorful landscapes, and a bunch of plants are scattered around the room.
“Grab a seat.” Dr. Tina gestures toward the sitting area. “Whichever one you want.”
Where should I sit? Which spot is the right one? Will she judge me if I pick the wrong seat? Is this some kind of test?
I sneak a glance at her, but she’s just standing off to the side, patiently waiting for me to choose. She gives me an encouraging smile, but doesn’t rush me.
Crap. I just have to pick one, don’t I? I inch toward the couch, sneaking another glance at Dr. Tina, but she gives nothing away. When I slowly sit down, she takes the armchair opposite me.
I perch on the edge of the couch, not sure if I’m allowed to sit back. Will she think I’m unprofessional if I lounge on the couch? That I’m not taking this seriously enough? That I don’t actually want to be here?
I mean, I’m not sure I do want to be here. At least, that’s what the voice keeps shouting in my mind. That this is a waste of everyone’s time. That the therapist won’t help me because I can’t be helped. That I’m hopeless. Useless. Worthless.
“So, Harry. What brings you here?” Dr. Tina has her legs crossed comfortably in the armchair, hands clasped casually in her lap. She doesn’t have a notebook with her, nothing to write down the shit I say or do. She looks like she’s just having a chat with any random person.
“I go by Hayden.” I don’t know why those are the first words to come out of my mouth. I didn’t even consciously think to say them. They just slipped out.
But Dr. Tina doesn’t even bat an eye. “Okay. Hayden.”
Where do I start? How do I explain what’s been happening to me over the past year? This person is a complete stranger and I’m supposed to open up and tell her my deepest, darkest secrets?
I want so much for this to work. I want her to cure me of this awful thing that’s taken up residence inside me—whether it’s depression or something else. Ineedto get better so I can be the man Santino deserves. But none of that will happen if I can’t find the words to tell her what’s wrong.
The panic that started in the waiting room grows, making my heart race and my throat close up. What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t explain my problem and so she can’t give me a solution?It’ll be my own fault. I’ll have wasted everyone’s time. Santino will be so disappointed.
“I… um… I don’t really know how to start?” I say, begging her to throw me a lifeline.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Dr. Tina responds, which isn’t super helpful, but it’s something I can work with.
“I’m, uh, a performer?” I pause, watching for her reaction, letting out a breath when she nods in understanding. “I like my job. I work with my best friends. We’re like a family. I have a good life.”
So why the fuck are you here, dumbass.
“But sometimes… it doesn’t feel that way.” I wring my hands in my lap, hating how pathetic I sound. “Sometimes, it feels like…”
Across from me, Dr. Tina doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t try to finish my sentence for me. She doesn’t smile encouragingly or frown in confusion. Her face is impossibly neutral and I have no idea what she’s thinking.
“Like everything sucks.” Guilt winds through me at the admission. My life isgood. I have nothing to complain about. There isn’t a single thing I would change. So why am I throwing myself a giant pity party all the time? Why do I let these feelings get the better of me? Why do I indulge them?
I curl in on myself, wrapping my arms around my middle as the weight of the darkness falls heavily on my shoulders. The horrible ache spreads across my chest.
This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have come here. There are so many people who have it worse off than I do. Dr. Tina should be helping them, not wasting her time sitting here with me.
“I’m sorry.” A sob tries to bubble up my throat, but I swallow it down and press my hand across my mouth. I focus on breathing through my nose so I don’t break down in tears.
A beat passes in silence before Dr. Tina speaks. “What are you sorry for?”
Everything. All of it. For being such a burden. For being so difficult.
