Rule #9: Never Cry
Tears make every situation worse.
- () -
My first day of therapy is during the second week after school starts again. Already tired with all the stress of last-minute college applications and meetings of prom committee (which has really kicked up now that prom is actually coming), the last thing I want to do is go a session and spew out my feelings to a stranger.
But I don't have a choice.
So here I am in my mom's car, sulking in my seat.
She barely spares me a glance as she parks in the front of the building the therapist is at. After grandmother left, we haven't talked much. Every conversation between us is awkward and forced. Sometimes, I think she wants to say something, but she never says it.
"Alright," Mom sighs, tucking a few strands back into her bun. "We're here.
"Yeah."
"Remember, it's Room 251."
"Okay."
"And I'll pick you up at five-thirty."
"Okay."
Mom presses her lips together, a sign that she's annoyed. "You should go now."
"Okay," I open the car door, step outside, then turn around at the last second. "Bye, mom."
"Bye Peyton."
She speeds off as I close the door. As slowly as possible, I walk towards the towering building. It's white and seven stories tall. The front doors slide open automatically when I enter.
The inside of the building is surprisingly nice. The air smells like peppermint, the carpet is colored pine green, and the giant windows offer great views of the parking lot. I linger out in the hallway, taking as much time as possible, until I find Room 251. The door is dark wood, with a small plague with the name of my therapist - Dr. Robinson - plastered on top.
Should I knock?
No, that'll look weak.
I check my watch, making sure the time is accurate - 4:30 - and swing open the door. The doctor, a plump woman with graying hair and a business suit, glances up.
"Hello," She pulls herself up and straightens her skirt. "You must Peyton Monroe. My name is Doctor Marie Robinson. Thank you for taking the time to come here and meet me."
I shake her hand, saying nothing.
"Of course. I understand that your mother has made appointments for sessions twice a week," She motions to the plushy seat across her desk. "So we have plenty of time. Please, come and sit down. Get comfortable."
I sit down, but don't do anything that would suggest I should get comfortable.
Before coming here, I set a couple ground rules so I wouldn't end up humiliating myself. There's a lot of them, but a couple include a) don't rant, b) don't raise your voice and c) don't cry. It should be easy enough. All I have to do is not get emotional.
"Alright," Dr. Robinson crosses her legs. "Where do you want to start?"
I shrug.
We're silent for two minutes.
"Let me try to rephrase that question," Dr. Robinson says. "Why do you think you're in therapy right now?"
"Because my mom signed me up." My tone is a little too harsh. I dial it down. "And because I"m minor, I have no choice but to listen to her."
Dr. Robinson gives me a small smile. "Yes, she mentioned something like that too. Why do you think your mom signed up for therapy then?"
Because I'm not the daughter she wants me to be. Because she's humiliated every time she brings me out. Because she thinks a few sessions with a therapist will erase all the nudes I sent in the past.
I shrug again. "Ask her."
"If she were in the room with us, I would," Dr. Robinson tilts her head. "It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I should mention, just in case, that everything you tell me will remain confidential. Nobody will hear about it, not even your mother."
I nod and cross my arms.
"Alright, we can change the subject. What do you want to talk about? It can be anything. Issues that are bothering you, even if it is the silliest thing."
Archer pops into my head.
She's a therapist, right? She would know some ways to get rid of crushes.
I hesitate. "There is the one thing - I - no, nevermind."
"That's alright," Dr. Robinson says and I'm surprised she doesn't push me on the issue. "We can talk about it later. Let's start with something simple. What's your favorite color?"
"Black."
She hums in response. "Your favorite food?"
"Salad." This little fact blurts out of me and I don't know why. Something about warm lightening makes me want to relax.
"Favorite animal?"
I open my mouth, close it again, then open it again. "I don't have a favorite animal. It causes discrimination."
"Oh -"
"But if I had to choose, I'd choose pigs. Not only are they super cute and friendly, but they're intelligent too. With squeals, they communicate with each other and when they sleep, they sleep nose-to-nose, so they're social animals too. After pigs, I would have to say elephants because they're intelligent and have been known to help many humans -"
I'm ranting.
With a sharp inhale, I force myself to stop talking. "So yeah. Pigs, probably."
Dr. Robinson rests her chin on her hand. For the first time, I notice a notebook in her lap, a pen in her other hand. "Do you like animals?"
"I guess."
"Tell me about the elephants."
I hesitate, then launch into a speech. "Elephants are the largest land animals in the world. Some of them reach up to thirteen feet -"
- () -
"How's therapy going?" Archer asks when we walk to his car after school. His steps are slower than usual, thanks to swim practice he had today. "Did you reveal your innermost secrets yet?"
"No. I don't have any secrets."
"Not even the nudes?"
"We don't talk about the nudes." I remind him solemnly. "Nobody talks about the nudes."
"So, then do you talk about -?" Archer cuts himself off, shaking his head. I glance over at him, but he's gets into his car. I swing the door open and slide into the seat next to him. Both Julia and Melody are busy with other clubs today, so it's just us two. "Nevermind."
"What were you going to say?" I question. "What other secrets do I have?"
Archer inserts the keys and shakes his head again.
"You're acting suspicious."
Archer shifts the gear in reverse, glancing at the mirror to make sure we don't run any teenagers over. "What do you talk about, then?"
I don't miss his attempt to change the subject, but I do allow it to happen. "Nothing important actually. Mostly, I talk about animals."
"Animals?"
"Yeah. Dr. Robinson says it's my time to talk about whatever I want so I choose to talk about all the different animal species in the world. It's nice because she has to listen to me since she's my therapist."
"I listen to you talk about animals."
"Yeah, but you don't really listen listen, right? I know most people don't listen to what I say. They just nod and tune out me out."
Archer's eyes dart to me, then go back to the road.
My mouth is suddenly dry. "Right?"
"The Salmon-Crested cockatoo suffer from a loss of habitat and illegal hunting," Archer recites tiredly. "American Paint Horses have spots. The Amur Leopard is almost extinct. Wojtek is the name of a bear who fought World War II. Do you need to me to go on?"
"No, that's -" I suck in a breath, processing this information. "You listen to me?"
"Every time."
Another sensation goes through me. It isn't the usual butterflies or cartwheels. This emotion is something bigger, something warmer, like when he first hugged me or when I realized I had a crush on me. It's like a warm ray of sunshine, expanding in my chest.
"Thank you," I say. He shrugs in response. "Are you okay? You seem a little down today?"
"Just tired."
Neither of us say anything for the next two minutes. Archer makes a couple of turns as I come up with different ways to cheer him up.
"Do you want to hear some more animal facts?" I suggest.
"Hmm?"
"Because," I zip open my backpack, which was previously resting by my legs, and take out a stack of note cards. "I made some flashcards for therapy."
Archer glances at me. His grip on the wheel loosens somewhat.
I continue. "I left room on the back for some pictures, but most of mine suck. Anyways, what animal do you want to know about? I've got tigers, lions, lots of birds, hippos, horses -"
"Bears?"
I glance at him. Hints of his usual smile form on his face.
"Fine," I shuffle through the cards. "Maybe once I tell you about how nice they are, you'll stop comparing me to them. Okay, I got one. Black bears can be found in multiple areas, including Canada and Mexico. Their diet focuses on mostly grasses, herbs and fruit -"
"Sounds like you," Archer interrupts.
"Do I look like I eat grass, Archer?"
"You would if you could."
"Hmph. Maybe."
Archer laughs. The sound makes me smile. I continue reading the cards until we reach home.
- () -
"...an adult hippo needs to resurface every three to five minutes," I flip my flashcard over. On the back, Archer has scribbled a picture of a hippo lounging on the water with sunglasses on. It's adorable.
My heart skips a beat.
"That's a cute hippo, Peyton," Dr. Robinson says when I stop talking. "Did you draw it yourself?"
"No, it was my friend, Archer."
Archer and I spent hours yesterday drawing animals for all of my flashcards. We stopped only because Archer's mom kicked me out, saying that he had college applications to work on. It was the most fun I've had in weeks.
"He seems like a good friend."
"Yeah, he is," The words I'm going to say have been at the back of my mind for an entire month now. "Can I ask you about something?"
"Of course."
"And this will remain confidential?"
"Absolutely."
I set my cards down on the desk, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. Setting both of my hands on the table, I lean forward conspiratorially, a little disappointed when Dr. Robinson doesn't do the same. She merely watches me.
"How do you get rid of a crush on someone?" I question in a low voice.
Whatever Dr. Robinson expected me to say, it wasn't this. She raises both of her eyebrows and says, "You have a crush?"
"Maybe."
"On your friend, Archer?"
My cheeks flame. "I guess."
"I see," Dr. Robinson ponders. "Why do you want to get rid of this crush?"
The question catches me off guard. "Because, um, it's not going work out. It's completely one-sided."
"Did he tell you that?"
I snort. "No way. He doesn't even know."
"Then, how do you know that it's one-sided?"
"I - It's just something I know," I shift awkwardly in my seat. "It's hard for me to explain. Archer wouldn't want to date somebody like me."
"Somebody like you?"
"Yeah," Panic flares in my chest. I change the subject. "Listen, that's not the problem. I just want to know how I make this crush go away."
Dr. Robinson watches me closely, twirling the pen in her left hand.
"Tell me about Archer. Maybe we can figure this out. What do you like about him? His looks? His personality?"
"Both, I guess," My hands are trembling. I shove them into my pockets. "He's friendly. He's smart. He's artistic."
Dr. Robinson says nothing in response, still watching me. To my horror, I feel something hot gather behind my eyes. As an attempt to distract myself, I continue.
"Archer's just so nice. His parents took away his art supplies, but he didn't rebel or do something stupid, like I would have done. There's this boy on the swim team, Derek, who's always a jerk, but Archer always treats him fairly. He's kind to everyone, even those who don't deserve it."
My voice cracks at the end. I stop talking. Unable to look at Dr. Robinson any longer, I shift my gaze to the painting of daffodils behind her desk.
"So," I choke out. "How do I get rid of my crush?"
"I know this may not to be what you what to hear," Dr. Robinson says, her voice far away. "But I think the reason you are unable to get rid of your crush on him is because you might not want to."
"You're wrong. I do want to get rid of my crush on him."
"Okay."
"I do."
The heat gathers to the corner of my eye, blossoming into a tear. I want to wipe it away but that would just call attention to it. So I allow it to trail down my cheek, down my jaw, until it reaches the edge of my chin and sinks to my skin.
"It's alright, Peyton." Dr. Robinson says, her voice soft and composed.
No, it is not alright.
I broke all the things I told myself I wouldn't do.
Like always.
A few more tears drop. I swipe them away with my fingers and take a deep shuddering breath that makes it hard to hide the fact that I'm now crying.
Dr. Robinson slides a box of tissues towards me.
I ignore them.
Neither of us say anything for the rest of the session. Dr. Robinson doesn't push me to talk. She sits there quietly, with her legs crossed. Humiliation burns in my cheeks. I slouch in my chair, trying to muffle my sniffling behind the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
Finally, the rest of the hour passes.
"Alright, I'm going to give you some homework this week. Nothing too hard, I promise. All I want you to do is take this quote, read it out loud to yourself every night, and think about what it means to you, alright?" Dr. Robinson hands me the piece of paper.
I nod, not looking her in the eyes, and leave, shutting the door behind me quietly.
Then, I rush out of the building as I fast as I can without running.
Stupid, stupid, Peyton. Why did I have to ask that question. Wiping the last of my tears on my sleeve, I pull my hood down as I enter the parking lot. My eyes scan the area for my mom's car, but pause once I spot a red Audi rolling up to the driveway. The car stops in front of my feet.
I stand still for a moment, horrified, then swing the door open. "What are you doing here?"
"Your mom's at the first neighborhood watch meeting," Archer says, turning the volume on the radio down so he can talk. I climb into the seat. "So she asked me to pick - are you crying?"
"Not anymore," I turn my face as I buckle my seat belt so he can't see it and wait for him to move the car.
He doesn't.
"I thought you said therapy sessions were going well."
"They are. You just caught me on a bad day," I say, looking at the window. My faded reflection watches me with red eyes. "Lucky you."
"Oh Peyton."
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
Archer reaches a hand out, probably to stroke me on the cheek comfortingly, but I smack it away. He reaches again. I smack it away again. It becomes a game: Archer, trying to touch my face, me, slapping his hands a little harder every time. Eventually, I breathe out a little laugh and Archer settles back into his seat, satisfied.
He glances over my shoulder. "Somebody's waving at us."
I turn around. Dr. Robinson hurries towards our car, her business coat flapping in the January wind, holding up my deck of flashcards.
"I hoped you hadn't left yet," She pants, handing me my deck. "Thought you'd like these back."
"Thanks, Dr. Robinson. I'll see you next time," I mumble, scooping the cards up. I turn back to the face the road, hoping we can drive away as fast as possible and she doesn't have to meet Archer.
But Archer, of course, can't pass another person without introducing himself first. He leans over and stretches his arm out. "Hi, you must Peyton's therapist. I'm Archer Raine, her neighbor."
"Oh, I see. It's nice to meet you," Dr. Robinson shakes his hand.
I stare at the roof of the car, hating everything.
"I drew some of those drawings," Archer continues, pointing at the flashcards. The one with grizzly bears is on top, colored in dark brown and with a pink bow on its head.
"Oh yes, Peyton mentioned that."
"You mentioned me, bear cub?"
"When the topic of fat hippos comes up, I give out some examples, yes." I say, glaring at him from the corner of my eyes.
He grins back.
"Alright, it was nice meeting you, Archer," Dr. Robinson straightens up. "I'll see you next week, Peyton."
"Can't wait," I roll up the windows as she turns around. "Archer, you better not mention the fact that I cried to any other living creature on the planet."
"Not even my dog?"
"Not even your dog."
"Noted," Still grinning, he shifts gears, then drives back onto the main road. I shove the flashcards into my pocket and my fingers brush against the note Dr. Robinson gave me. I take it out and open it, barely able to make out the words through the quick flashes of light from the lampposts.
It says: We accept the love we think we deserve.
I glance at Archer, who's humming along to a song in the radio, and shove the note back into my pocket.
- () -
So now you're getting hints on why it's taking Peyton so long to confess.
Next chapter: Plan E
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Dedications go to Lils04, hadassah162, bleachgeek, VahrJayniiRosaliie, GirlDeath, trinitsei, Taleslove, MockingThem, JillIsWeird and CatiePosey.
Thanks for reading!
QotC: What do you think of Doctor Robinson? If you a therapy session with her, what would you want to talk about?