The leftovers of that cruelty now lived in Oliver’s question, in the content of it, but also in the way he asked it, careful, almost apologetic, like even just wondering aloud whether he’d disappointed me was itself a risk.
“You were perfect, Ollie, perfect because you were you, and that’s all I ever want you to be.”
Chapter 16
Oliver
Over a month had passed since I’d left Vincent. In some ways it seemed longer, as if I’d lived a hundred lives since the night I’d called Luke and he’d brought me to his place. In others it seemed like no time at all. Loud voices still made my body jolt. I still sometimes flinched when Luke entered a room. At odd moments I caught myself holding my breath for no reason. But the calendar didn’t lie... thirty-five days. And tonight marked my first group support session.
I hovered near the refreshments table, nursing a paper cup of water, avoiding the ring of chairs in the center of the room.
People had trickled in, some chatting, others quiet. My mouth had gone dry while my palms slicked with sweat. I drained the last swig of water from my cup, hoping to chase away the dryness.
“First time?” a voice asked.
I turned and found a petite woman about my age, maybe a little older, standing beside me.
“I like your jacket,” I blurted, before processing she’d asked me a question. The black denim carried an embroidered patch on the back that readFeral, but Make It Fashion. It suited her, with her dramatic eyes accentuated by black winged eyeliner and hair pinned back with bright red barrettes shaped like cherries.
“Thanks! I made it myself. I could never find clothes I wanted to wear, so I decided to start making my own. I also design costumes for cosplay. You’re looking at the finest costume designer Port Townsend theater club has ever had. Judging by your outfit, you know a thing or two about fashion yourself.”
“Oh, um, not really. I just like pretty clothes,” I said fiddling with the hem of my top.
“It’s schmexy on you, I like it.”
I dipped my head to hide my blush. “Thank you. Anyway, yes, this is my first session.”
“Yeah, you have the look I did the first time I came here. Which is to say, like you’d rather be swallowed whole by the floor.”
“That’s an accurate assessment.”
“Don’t worry, you’re already doing better than I did. There’s something uniquely horrifying about the moment before a support group starts. Like, is this going to be a healing communal experience, or am I going to burst into tears in front of a bunch of strangers.”
“Yeah, uh, I’d like to avoid that, at least save the bawling until session three at minimum.”
“I don’t blame you. But if it helps, I can promise no one will bat an eye if you panic-laugh, share your rage, or sob into a cup of chamomile tea. We see it all here, the full spectrum of emotion. All are valid.”
“Are you a facilitator?”
“Me? No way, but it’s sweet you think I could be. This group is run by a guy named Elijah. He’s chill, good vibes for a group of this nature. I’m Talia.”
“Oliver.”
“Cool. You want to sit by me?”
“I’d like that,” I said before I could overthink it.
She led me to the chair beside hers, talking the whole way. “I’ve been coming here for about three months. Everyone in this group is nice, and no one’s going to make you share tonight unless you want to. Which if you do, kudos. I was too busy trying not to vomit all over everyone during my first session so I didn’t say a single thing. Sorry, am I talking too much? I’m kind of verbal espresso. I can shut up if it’s too much.”
“No,” I rushed to assure her. “It’s actually comforting.”
“Did someone bring you here or did you come alone?”
“No, a friend brought me, and he’ll be picking me up after group.”
“Cool, that’s good. It helps, having someone who gives a damn.”
“Yeah, he helped me get out of my situation. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for him. How about you?”
