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Maybe Chelsea was right, and I did need therapy.
Though that was a different story. The first therapist I’d ever had made me feel heard in ways I didn’t think possible.
Until she decided I was a basket case and far too “closeted” for my own good. She said she didn’t mean this in a “bad” way, but that’s not what it felt like.
I was the girl with the big feelings and the jumbled mind. The girl who couldn’t read the number eleven without wondering why it wasn’t called “onety-one.”
Apparently, the world was painful for those who had to think as much as I did.
And then came an onslaught of other therapists, each of whom was so intent on comparing my relationships and life with their own that I just... gave up.
No, I did not want to know why they had a harder time than me and how they were still keeping afloat.
Did I think some badass therapist was still there, someone who could make me see the light at the end of the snake-like tunnel? Sure.
Was I interested in finding them? Oh,hellno. I couldn't go over my story again and again any more.
Not unless the moment called for me to share it.
Well, classes were over, so I called Chels.
“Hey, where are you?”
“I’m actually very near East Harbor. You ready to meet up?”
“Never been readier.”
"Rory, we gotta hit up Fifth Avenue!" Chelsea exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement the second I met her.
"We can shop until we drop and then get some giant slices of pizza!"
An hour later, we emerged from the underground. I couldn't help but feel awed by the towering buildings and the throngs of people hurrying about their day.
"Holy crap, Chelsea! Look at that building!" I exclaimed, pointing to a skyscraper that seemed to reach the clouds.
"I know, right? It's like the Empire State Building's bigger, more badass cousin," Chelsea replied, grinning from ear to ear.
We walked down the busy streets, dodging tourists and jaywalkers alike. The shops were all lit up and glitzy, with mannequins dressed to the nines in the latest trends.
"I need a new outfit for my date with a hot guy I met in the subway," Chelsea said, eyeing a chic boutique.
Trust my best friend to find dateseverywhere.Zombie apocalypse? She'd still have a date.
"How do you do it, Chels?" I teased.
Chelsea blushed. "Shut up, Rory. I just want to look nice."
We stepped into the store, and Chelsea immediately started rummaging through the racks. I trailed behind her, marveling at the designer clothes and eye-watering price tags.
"Hey, check this out!" Chelsea exclaimed, holding up a sparkly dress that looked like it belonged on a Las Vegas showgirl.
"I don't think that's really your style, Chels," I said, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
Chelsea pouted. "You're no fun. Fine, let's go somewhere else."
We wandered through the streets, stopping to sample street food and buy souvenirs.
As we walked, we noticed a group of people gathered on the sidewalk, staring up at a nearby building.
