Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (20 page)

“I go see Dr. Stewart tomorrow.” I've yet to tell her about making an appointment with the therapist. I'm not sure why, other than I might back out or it'll be a complete waste of time, and I don't want to get her hopes up if I never go again. Part of me does want to tell her, though.

“Nervous? Want me to go with you? We could finally watch traffic afterwards.” She gives me a smile.

“No, that's okay, and yeah, a little bit actually.”

“Why?”

I push my empty plate away. “He's a dick.”

“And that makes you nervous?” She seems confused. I guess her see-into-my-soul shit isn't working today.

Shrugging, I reply, “I don't know. He's supposed to be helpful, but if he does the same as last time, I'm not going back. I don't want a breakdown every time I go. Would prefer it to be on my own time, not his.”

“He's probably learned his lesson. It'll be fine. Want to go play video games? Best four out of six and loser has to sleep over at the other's apartment.” Her smile is one I've only seen once, Monday morning when we woke up in my bed, still naked from the previous night.

“Let's go.”

We put the leftovers in the fridge first and then go to her place to play. Olivia plays dirtier and dirtier the more we do this. When she loses the first time, a string of curse words leave that beautiful mouth of hers. At the beginning of the third race, she moves to sit in my lap, blocking my view.

“Olivia,” I laugh, leaning to the right to look around her. She leans with me. “You're such a cheater and a sore loser.”

“Can't cheat if there are no rules,” she replies. Her car passes the finish line way before mine and she jumps up, screaming, “Yes!” She whirls around, gets inches from my face and says, “Suck on that, Corey.”

Laughter erupts from my chest as she sits back in my lap and starts the next race. Once I calm down, I decide I won't lose again. If she wants to play dirty, so can I. As the countdown begins, I pull her backwards so she's sitting in my lap fully. I place the controller next to me. The plan is to use my last two fingers for the gas and brake, when needed, and my thumb to steer with the knob. It'll be a pain, but it's possible.

My other hand, however, rests on Olivia's thigh as the race begins. She's focused so she doesn't lean when I do, allowing me to see the TV. Slowly, I run my hand up her thigh. When I dip my fingers between her legs, mid-thigh, she finally says something.

“What are you doing?”

“Racing. What are you doing?” I'm right behind her. When she glances down at my hand, I take the chance to both move my hand higher and bump into the back of her car. Her head lifts at the sound of her spinning out.

“Damn it, Corey!” She tries to use her elbow to move my hand away, but I keep going, grazing her center before slipping my hand underneath her shirt. “You dirty dog!” she shouts as she jumps up from my lap before I reach her breasts.

I laugh as I cross the finish line twenty seconds ahead of her. Olivia tosses the controller onto the couch and faces me with her hands propped on her hips. There's a faint smile on her face, though.

“I don't know if I want to yell for that sneaky move and causing me to lose, or have you finish what you started.”

Standing, I grab her waist, pulling her flush against me. “It's Valentine's Day. Probably not a good idea to yell.”

She nods. “Yeah, you're right.” Olivia takes my hand and leads me to her room.

She might as well have won because we stay at her place instead of mine.

“THANKS FOR COMING back. I'm sincerely sorry about last time,” Dr. Stewart starts.

“Good.” I shift in my seat, wishing it was more comfortable.

“How have things been?”

“Good for the most part.” I pause and then add, “I go see the therapist tomorrow.”

Dr. Stewart looks surprised, but he quickly recovers. “That's great. I know she will be very helpful.”

“I didn't tell Olivia.” That's been nagging me even though I haven't changed my mind about telling her.

“So you decided on your own to make the appointment? Why wouldn't you tell her?”

“Yeah, I did,” I snap. Is it really hard to believe I could do something on my own without Olivia pushing me? “And I don't know. Too soon, I think.” This was a bad idea to talk about, so I change the subject. “I've felt better. I guess that means things are improving. There's been bad days, of course, but I haven't missed a day of work yet.”

“That's great. We'll keep things the same with your medication then. It should get even better once you start seeing your therapist. However, I would like to see you in two weeks still. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah.”

He nods and jots some things down on his paper.

Clearing my throat, I go on a limb and ask him, “How am I supposed to tell my family?”

Dr. Stewart stops writing. He sets his pen down and lifts his head. “Do you want to tell them?”

“Eventually, I have to. My siblings, the only family I have besides my grandparents, surprised me with a visit recently. They know something isn't right, but we're not a talking family, which is my fault. They learned from my bad habits growing up. They want to know, but they won't get it, and I can't manage to say it to them because I don't want to burden them with it. I was just wondering.”

He seems to think about it first. “How did you tell Olivia?”

“I didn't. She could tell because of past experiences.” Which I'm still in the dark about.

“Corey, it sounds like they love and care for you. They don't have to get it and you don't have to tell them all the details. As long as you have some sort of a support system, someone you can talk to who will get it, you don't have to talk to anyone else about it. If you want to tell your family, then get them together, sit down, and give them the basics, or as much as you're willing to say. Tell them that you're seeing people and working on it. That's all, unless you want to say more.”

I nod. He's right. They wouldn't have to know everything, but enough to inform them of what's going on is good too.

“Anything else?” he prods.

“No, that's it.” It's still going to be a while before I say anything to them. At least, now I know how I could do it.

VOMIT TEASES THE back of my throat, threatening to spew out all over the carpet in front of me. My legs are panicking with their jostling. Two doctor appointments in two days is fucking stressful. Maybe I should have told Olivia, so she could come hold my hand. I'm about to bolt and ditch the appointment when my name is called after I've filled out a shit-ton of paperwork complete with a questionnaire half full of stupid questions. The therapist, Ms. Cynthia, is older than I expected. She's probably in her early sixties with hair so white and thin, I can see her scalp.

She leads me into the back and into a small office. Fuck. She has the same stiff chairs as Dr. Stewart. I wish she was young and a man like him. Then if I lose my temper, I wouldn't feel bad about going off on her. I guess I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

“I've gone over some notes Dr. Stewart has sent me. I'm not sure if you're aware, but we'll be communicating with one another. This way we'll both have a fuller picture on what's going on so we can help you better.”

I nod as she peers at me from over the rim of her glasses, sitting low on her nose.

“He told me that jumping in might be the best way to start with you, instead of going slow and easing in. What do you think?”

“I don't know. Everyone pushes, so I guess it works.”

She places her folder on her desk and gives me her full attention. “Tell me about yourself and what's been going on.”

Seriously? “Isn't that in the notes from Dr. Stewart?”

“Yep, but you're going to tell me. Go as slow as you want, but we have to start somewhere.”

“I'm not a talker,” I warn. “And I get pissed off pretty quickly.” She looks frail, and I want to tell her, just in case.

“I wouldn't be in this profession if I couldn't handle that. We'll work on getting you to talk. Start simple.”

Simple? What the hell about this is simple? “Um, I have two younger brothers and a sister. My grandparents raised us.” She gives me an encouraging nod. “My parents have been dead since I was ten.” I take a deep breath. “This is stupid if you already know this. Why torture me by having me say it?”

“Would you prefer I question you about what I do know?”

I frown. That doesn't sound much better.

“Let's try it, and if you don't like it, we go back to you telling me. How did you handle your parents' deaths? It must have been hard on you and your siblings to lose them so young.” I guess that's better than asking me how they died.

“Like normal.” I shrug. “My dad wanted my brothers and me to be good big brothers, so I was strong for all of them. Lucy, my sister, was there when it happened, and she had trouble for a while after that. My grandparents wanted to get her back to normal as much as possible, but said we could come to them if we wanted. I think they might have, but I never did.”

“Why not?” she asks.

“Um.” My palms start to sweat, so I rub them over my legs. “I'm the oldest and I didn't want to be weak.”

Her eyes are freaking scary as fuck. Those are the kinds of eyes that analyze and see everything, I bet. Somewhere, though, there's a softer, caring side. Maybe. Or maybe not and she's just a hateful old woman who likes to torture depressed people. “Talking makes you weak?”

I scratch a nonexistent itch on my neck. “It doesn't change things. They would have worried if I had.”

“They probably worried because you didn't and still don't. Do you wish you had? Looking back?”

“Maybe. Only because my siblings don't talk either.”

“What do you mean?”

God, how long do I have to be here? “I mean, we don't talk about my parents but once or twice a year. They used to, but stopped when I wouldn't participate. We keep things from my baby sister so she doesn't worry. We avoid telling her until we have to. We're supposed to protect her. That's what my dad always told us. They want that to change. She's tired of being in the dark and they don't like me lying to them. She wants to be able to talk about those things with us. I'm holding them back from doing that.

“And then Olivia, I couldn't even tell her I was coming today, and I would tell her before anyone else. I don't want to disappoint her if I end up hating it and stop coming. Plus, she wants a relationship from me and I don't want to give it to her. I mean, look at me. I'm fucked up. I can't even be a good brother, how am I supposed to be a good boyfriend?

“Shit like that doesn't come easy for me. There's too much going on in my head. I mean, things have been okay since I started seeing Dr. Stewart, but I'm sure you read about our appointment before last. There's some things I just can't handle. I can't do it. This, the good that's been happening lately, it's all about to fall apart. The good never stays long enough and I haven't been able to keep it since I was injured. Football was my oxygen to breathe and I lost it. I lost my air.”

Suddenly, I stop, realizing I rambled and said entirely too much. My throat closes, only opening enough for me to say, “I can't do this.”

I stand, but Ms. Cynthia does too, moving to block my exit. “We still have thirty minutes. Sit down.” Her tone is lethal. I knew she was just a hateful old lady.

I can't push her out of my way. That would be a bit harsh. My muscles tense as I slowly lower myself back into the seat. I'm coiled tightly, close to exploding, my body rigid.

“You don't have to talk anymore yet. Just listen.” A small burst of relief shoots through me. “First, you've contradicted yourself a little. How can your protect your sister if she's left in the dark? Isn't it better that she knows what's going on, even if it makes her worry about you a little? What if it was something she could prepare herself for? Would you want her to have to face something unprepared?”

My head shakes. I don't want Lucy to have to worry about anything for a second in her life. I don't want any of my siblings worrying, but especially her.

“Then think on that. Now, Olivia, I believe she's your,” she pauses and glances at my folder, “girlfriend, correct?”

“Uh, sort of? She lives across the hall from me.”

“I see.” What the hell does that mean? “Why can you talk to Olivia and no one else? Tell me how you two came together.”

This woman is a pain in the ass. With a deep breath, I begin. “She moved in, shit happened, and she took care of me before she ever really knew me. We've been hanging out ever since pretty much. I didn't want to talk to her either, but she kept pushing and pushing until she pissed me off and I would blurt it out. It got a little easier each time. I liked that she wasn't family. I mean, I'll do anything for them, but I can't do this. With Olivia, I didn't have to...I don't know how to say it,” I finish in frustration before adding, “Like I could tell Olivia and it wouldn't hang over my head. Or I don't fucking know. But she gets it, so that helps too.”

Ms. Cynthia eyeballs me. “I understand you,” she finally says.

“What?” She does? I don't even understand me.

“Yes, I do. That's why you don't want to tell your siblings, because they
are
family. It makes it more difficult for you. And because you'll do anything for them, you're trying to spare them what you believe would be a burden. Would they do anything for you?”

“In a heartbeat,” I answer.

“For some people, it would be a burden. I won't lie about that. However, if your siblings are just like you, then I don't believe it would have that effect on them, even if they don't totally understand. And you could always bring them in for a family session.”

My head shakes vehemently. No fucking way am I doing that. “I don't want that label on me.”

“What label?”

“Depression. I don't want it stamped onto my forehead for them to see it every time they look at me. They don't get it. I tell them, and they think it's all rainbows and sunshine if I'm having a good day, like it's gone and over and we don't have to worry about it anymore.”

“How do you know they would think that?” she interrupts. “If you haven't talked to them, then how do you know that would be their reaction? That's why I suggest a family session whenever you're ready. It may help to have someone else on your side to explain things. But, we can worry about that later. Is there anything else you would like to talk about?”