AllFreeNovel
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“I think I… I know I did it on purpose. I wanted to be found. Maybe…maybe even by her.” My voice cracks. Phoebe. My little sister found me.
“That makes sense,” Dr. Simmons says. “Some part of you knew it would be the kick in the ass you needed to get help.”
“Yeah.” Doesn’t mean I’m forgiving myself anytime soon…
Diagonally from me, the newcomer lifts his head, meeting my gaze for the first time. His brow furrows.
Looking down at my lap I blow out a breath and say, “As for my sweet…I talked to my best friend last night for the first time since my OD.”
“Your girlfriend’s brother, or?—”
“The other one,” I quickly say, trying not to dwell on how he worded that, and why it feels so…wrong. Icky.
Girlfriend’s brother.
Jeremy’s more than that. He’s his own person.
Not only that, but reducing it to that makes it sound like…like that’s the only reason why we’re so close. Like Izzy’s the only thing we share in common.
But it’s not. It’s not.
Is that what everyone thinks?
Is that what Jeremy thinks?
I frown at the thought.
“And it went okay?” Dr. Simmons prompts when I don’t elaborate.
Nodding, I clear my throat again, and say, “Yeah. He’s not mad. But…but I think I scared him. He’s been through a lot too. And Izzy was his person—practically a surrogate sister.” I wince. “I’ve been really selfish.”
“Grief, trauma…they have a way of chiseling us down to the ugliest versions of ourselves.”
I nod. It’s not the first time I’ve been told that, more or less.
Doesn’t erase how crappy I feel though.
“I can’t help but resent him,” I murmur before I can help it. “All of them.”
“They’re at different stages of their healing journey. Everyone grieves differently.”
Clenching my teeth, I say nothing to that. My jaw ticks.
“But you’re making progress, right? That’s what that phone call was?”
Meeting his gaze, I nod. “Yeah, I guess so. I felt good when I got off the phone. I felt…better. Even if it didn’t last long.” I laugh weakly, remembering the emotional crash that came after the call, the one that kept me up into the early hours of morning.
“But it’s a win. Small that it may be. It’ll get easier, and I think you know that, otherwise that moment wouldn’t have stood out to you.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing he’s right. It’s pretty much what Cleo said to me in our one-on-one therapy session yesterday.
“Thanks for sharing,” he says, and the others murmur and nod their thanks as well, and like always, just like with Tom before me, it never fails to wallop me with emotion. Who knew I’d find connection and solace in a bunch of strangers coming together from all walks of life?
I feel closer to these people than I’ve felt with anyone back home in months. They just…they get it. If they haven’t been through worse, they’ve witnessed or experienced enough to empathize with any struggle that comes and not judge.
It’s freeing.
Especially seeing as they don’t know me, they don’t know Izzy—not beyond what was on the news. And unlike the assholes hiding behind computer screens, they don’t violate and exploit what happened to her. They just…they feel bad. Their condolences feel genuine.
