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As it turned out, he wasn’t waiting. He was getting his rocks off with another woman off-campus. The betrayal didn’t just sting, it crushed me. Why was he even bothering spending time with me if he had a girlfriend fulfilling his sexual needs? I realized it was because we studied a lot together, and I often gave him my homework so he could see what I’d done and could model it. He was using me.
His betrayal not only hurt deeply, but it also made me question my ability to read and understand people. How could I be a counselor if I couldn’t recognize deceit? The silver lining was that I re-committed to my education, graduating from college with honors and got another scholarship to attend graduate school. My goal was to work with children, but to earn my license, I needed two years of supervised clinical service, and the only job I found that would provide that type of supervision was through a clinic that worked with military veterans.
Last year, I decided to go into private practice, where my goal was to work with children, but I ended up having mostly adults. I’d hoped my moving my office to the Rookery would give more prestige to attract more of the clientele I wanted to work with. Never in a million years did I expect that would lead to me working with a Raven.
What was it about Hunter that affected me so strongly, unlike even Mike had? Had I been denying the sexual part of me for so long that it was now wanting to come out? Was there something about him specifically? Why wasn’t I responding to his brothers? They were handsome too. What was it about Hunter?
I shook my head as I rounded the corner, heading back to my apartment. I shouldn’t be going there. I needed to not think of Hunter as a sexual being. He was a client. I needed to think of him in terms of how I could help him.
How strange it was for him to call me this morning to arrange an appointment. He’d seemed so resistant the day before. Had something changed? Or was he just wanting to get his brothers off his back? Was it a good sign that he was willing to work? Because the man I saw in the office before had walls that were locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Even if he was going to meet with me, I knew he wouldn’t be an easy client. Not that many were, but he’d be particularly difficult, I thought. He not only had PTSD, but I could see that his family had its own set of issues that probably affected him. How much of his brothers’ intervention had to do with protecting the company over caring for Hunter? It would be sad if their motivation was protecting the company’s reputation over helping their brother.
And where was his father? Why wasn’t he there offering support to his son? And what was that deal mentioned?
Clearly, there was going to be a lot to unpack and many areas that could be explored. However, I’d let him decide what he wanted to focus on. He’d need to be on board and willing to work for him to see changes. I had to hope that if he made an attempt to change, his brothers wouldn’t sabotage his efforts. It wasn’t uncommon for families to want their identified problem member to change, and yet, not be able to adjust when they did.
I got back to my apartment, jotted some additional notes I wanted to remember when I saw Hunter on Monday, and then took a shower. I worked to push Hunter and his brothers out of my head, so I could enjoy my weekend and spend it doing something other than work. Another hard lesson I’d learned in my time so far as a counselor was how important it was to have time away from clients and to not carry the emotional weight of their challenges with me 24/7. That was easier said than done, but I was proactive in self-care and learning to let go of my clients’ challenges, at least, during the weekend.
7
Hunter
Monday
I checked my watch. Three-thirty. Thirty minutes until my appointment with the therapy lady. Ms. Reynolds, I reminded myself. I needed to remember that. I’d looked up her name, Grace, and thought it fit her. She might look strait-laced, but there was a poise and loveliness about her. It was so bizarre how she continued to stick in my brain. Weird and a little disconcerting. And yet, it kept me from going out Saturday and Sunday nights looking for a willing woman. Instead, I stayed in, attempting to watch TV, but mostly drinking. I’d drunk enough that taking a sleeping pill was probably dangerous. I was a man on the edge and not afraid to die, but I wasn’t going to die wallowing from the horrors that plagued my mind, that was for damn sure.
