Chapter 24: The Fake Zone: Chapter 24

“You seem distracted today,” Briggs says, leaning back in his chair, pen relaxed in his hand rather than poised to write.

I scrub a hand over my face. “I almost slept with Grey,” I blurt out.

Briggs crosses his legs, and though he tries to hide his surprise, I see it. We’ve worked together for too long for me to miss the way he blinks faster and his lips part without a word. He turns down to his notepad, flipping back a couple of pages. “Grey’s Hudson’s best friend…?”

I nod though he’s still distracted, searching through his notes. “We got caught in the moment and…”

Briggs stares at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

“It was a mistake.”

“Are you saying that because it a mistake or because you think it have been?”

“He’s leaving next year.”

Recognition has Briggs leaning back in his chair. “That’s why you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length all this time.” It’s not a question.

“I really didn’t think he liked me.”

“And now?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t want a girlfriend, and Grey’s not casual. I’ve told him a lot, and if I told him more…”

Briggs stares at me with eyes too kind and caring. Despite our relationship remaining professional, he sometimes looks at me with a level of affection parallel to my parents.

Tears flash in my eyes, unwanted and unbridled. I don’t want his sympathy right now or for him to think about the years and experiences I lived through that make letting people close to me so damn difficult.

“It was a mistake,” I say firmly.

“Next May is a long way off. You and Grey might date and realize you’re better off as friends or decide you want to try long-distance. Or maybe he won’t leave. Maybe he stays here.”

“He’s too good of a football player. He’ll be drafted for sure.”

Therapy is different than talking with a friend who immediately jumps in with assurances and hopeful promises. Briggs makes me sit with my words and realities.

“Are you afraid of him leaving or afraid he’ll get too close?”

My throat remains too tight. “You already know the answer.”

“And you know that’s not how this works.”

He wants me to tell him because we’re never supposed to make assumptions in therapy. “Both.”

Briggs is silent again. He’s waiting for me to look at him, but I can’t. Not yet. One hint of pity and these tears will fall, and I’m not in the mood to cry today.

“Mila,” he says, voice soft and calm. “Have you been on any more self-dates?”

I blink back my surprise at the question, and my throat loosens. I shake my head.

“I want you to go on a date this week with yourself. Remember, no tech, no books, just you being present with your thoughts. When you get home, I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself some positive affirmations.”

I hate mirror meditation and nearly remind him of this, but I don’t because it only reveals how insecure I’m feeling. When I first moved to Oleander Springs, my insecurities and fear of acceptance led me to codependency. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted, only that I desperately wanted to stay. It took me years to shed those habits and even longer to believe Jon and Alex wanted me, not because they were stuck with me but because they liked me as a person, as an individual—as a daughter. I stopped trying to be who I thought they wanted me to be: polished, classy, smart, and worldly, and began discovering who I was and what made me happy. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t always easy.

“Remember to recognize that when you feel like pulling back, your brain is trying to protect you because of old patterns and past traumas.” He shakes his head. “You’ve come a long way, Mila. You have the tools and knowledge to know when a relationship is safe and healthy, whether it’s friendship or more. Trust yourself, and trust that Grey—your parents, Evelyn, or Hadley—want to be there for you because you’re a good, kind, funny person, deserving of love and friendship.”

Tears burn in my eyes again as he silently stares at me, willing the words he’s said a hundred times to imprint on my brain finally.

“Mila…” he says again.

This time, I can’t stop a tear from sliding hot and fast down my cheek. Even without looking at him, I hear his pity.

“Your past and those who failed you don’t determine your self-worth because it’s inherent. They failed, not you. You didn’t fail them.”

More tears slip past my defenses. “Will you please stop?”

He does.

Doubt is intrinsically hard-wired in my thoughts and reactions. Even deeper is the self-loathing I’ve been trying to escape for the past thirteen years. It’s like trying to swim to the surface, and they’re my shipwreck, but every time I try to escape, they pull me back, paddling against the same damn tide. Time and time again.

Some days I feel more hopeful that I’ll be able to leave the wreckage behind. Other days, like now, I worry it will eventually drown me.

I mute my thoughts and fears and stare at a blank space on the wall. “I’ll go on a self-date,” I tell him, keeping my voice steady and calm.

“You’re numbing yourself.” It’s not an accusation but a reminder.

I turn my gaze to him, my tears finally controlled like my emotions.

Briggs looks defeated.

“I can’t do this today, Briggs. It’s too exhausting.”

“Hating yourself is the exhausting part,” he tells me.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the liking myself that’s so damn exhausting.”

Briggs pulls in a deep breath—his version of a sigh.

“My parents and I are heading to the beach after I leave here. I have lots of time to date myself at the beach.”

He gives a wry smile. Sometimes I think Briggs also fears my past will eventually drown me. “What are you going to do about Grey?”

“Pretend it never happened and move on.”

“You know that never works. Burying what happened between you won’t make it go away.”

“It’s already done.”

“Did it mean something to you?”

I know he’s asking if there was intimacy because we’ve talked about intimacy a lot over the years. I once believed intimacy meant sex, but Briggs taught me intimacy is much more than that. It’s sharing beliefs and ideas, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, holding hands, and cuddling. Intimacy makes me uncomfortable, another reminder of why I’ve always been attracted to men like Green-eyes who don’t care and those so emotionally damaged they don’t dare look in my closet because they’ve soldered theirs shut.

I swallow, recalling how Grey had looked at me with something more than lust, how his touches were a methodical and intentional mapping of my body. “I don’t know.” It’s as honest of an answer as I can give at this moment because I don’t want it to mean anything, know it can’t mean anything, but I also feel the hint of melancholy that threatens to sink into my bones when thinking it won’t be anything.

“Yes, you do,” Briggs urges me.

“He’s focused, Briggs. It would be unfair of me to ask for more when I know he doesn’t want to give it, especially when we both know I might not be capable of reciprocating it.”

Briggs sits up in his chair, eyes growing round. “You’re wrong.” The silence stretches, and as I stare at him, waiting for him to tell me what I’m wrong about, he stares back, eyes hard with determination. “You’re capable of giving and receiving whatever you want to give or receive. It’s your choice. That’s why we’re doing these self-dates. You’re depicting your worth, Mila. You get to decide how much you want, how you want to be treated, and what you’re willing to give in return, not just to others but to yourself.

“We talk about forgiveness a lot, and you’ve done a damn good job of forgiving others, but you must forgive that little girl inside of you and your future self that you blame. Forgive yourself, Mila.”

Tears crest over my eyes again, blurring the room. As much as I hate the emotions, I’m grateful they exist, reminding me I’m not entirely broken. I still have the balance that keeps me from falling apart—the push and pull—determination and creed.

When I get home, my thoughts are in a million places.

“Ready to go?” Alex asks, handing me a Starbucks. “We got road snacks.”

“Aren’t we supposed to stop and get these?” I ask.

“Oh, we will,” he says with a smirk that slips as I remove my sunglasses.

“I’m okay,” I assure him, feeling the puffiness of my eyes. Years ago, I would have concealed all signs of my emotions. I remind myself this is another sign of my growth.

Alex’s shoulders sink. “Rough day?”

“Rough therapy session.”

He presses his lips together, his eyes gentle, before he takes my coffee back and sets it down on the dining room table. He wraps me in a hug, one hand on the back of my head and another on the middle of my back. When I was younger, past the point when I tried to conceal everything from him and Jon, they both rushed to solve my problems until realizing they often weren’t tangible issues that could be resolved. Most of the problems I struggle with reside in the recesses of my memories and thoughts—in my judgments and perceptions of myself.

“We have to get going, or we’re not going to get there until—” Jon’s words and footsteps stop somewhere behind me.

Alex nods at whatever silent inquiry the two share, and then Jon’s footsteps echo softer and slower as he crosses to us.

“Is everything okay?” Jon runs a hand over my shoulder.

I think of telling them that it’s not. Telling them about my encounter with Julian Holloway, how much I’m struggling with their long absences, how I can’t fathom Hudson leaving next year, and how I may be growing attachments to Grey, who will also leave, has me feeling like I’m floating on an iceberg that continues breaking off into smaller pieces. They would stay. Jon would come home more frequently or propose that I move with them and transfer to California. They would try to fix it because they have always been willing to go to the ends of this earth for me.

“I’m okay. I’m just … tired.”

Alex squeezes me before loosening his grip. “Why don’t you ride with us? You can nap in the backseat. Nothing good comes from being exhausted or hungry.”

I nod, reaching for my coffee. “I probably will. Maybe not sleep, but just rest.”

Jon nods. His gaze is even more inquisitive.

“Everything’s packed?” Alex asks, reaching for his iPad on the counter and scanning a list or email that has him missing Jon’s assurance.

Jon gives me a rueful grin and slides his arm over my shoulder. “Do you have a jacket?”

I nod. “I packed two.”

He grabs the turquoise-colored throw from the back of the couch and a pillow that he tucks under his arm. “Set the alarm, and don’t forget your coffee, babe,” he calls to Alex. Outside, he turns his attention to the clear blue sky. “It feels like California today.” He sounds relieved. “Want to talk about what’s making you so tired?”

“Sometimes it feels impossible to be normal.”

Jon crosses his arms, looking at me under heavy brows as he leans against his silver SUV, waiting for me to elaborate.

“I’ve been going to therapy for thirteen years, and making new friends still makes me itch.”

“Grey?”

I shake my head. Grey is a different dot in the pointillism painting that makes up my life. “Do you remember me telling you about book club?”

He nods.

“Four girls joined in addition to Evelyn and me. Hadley, Hannah, Katie, and Brielle. Hadley dates Nolan, Hudson’s teammate, and Hannah’s her roommate. Hadley and Hannah are really nice. They’re sweet and kind and funny, and they want to be friends, but they have no idea how…”

Jon’s brow lowers, and his lips purse as he stares at my tear-filled eyes. “How what?”

“How…” I hate the word crazy. It’s offensive and hurtful, and for years, I labeled myself with the derogatory term. “Difficult it is for me to trust and let people in. How easily I can be triggered and how fast I can withdraw.”

“Have I told you about when I came out to my family as gay?”

I shake my head.

“As you know, they’re devout Christians, and I was so worried if they knew that I was different—that I was attracted to men—they’d see me as unworthy or broken, and we’d become estranged. My parents used derogatory terms for gay people my entire childhood, laughed at gay-bashing jokes, and heckled any marches or movements. But when I finally came out to them, they realized I was still me. Nothing about me had changed except that I could finally be unapologetically me. Everyone thinks everyone else is normal, but the secret is, normal. No one’s better. We’re all just trying our best.”

His eyes glitter as they cross over my face. “You don’t owe anyone your full story, but you should never feel like you have to conceal who you are.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Let them see how stubbornly loyal you are, how fiercely protective and committed you are to honesty, and how strong your determination for equality and fairness is. Let them see you’re Mila Fucking Atwool.”

A tear skates down my cheek as I smile. “I’m going to fire Briggs. You’re a way better shrink.”

Jon laughs, tugging me forward into his embrace. He knows I’m kidding. Briggs has taught me more about myself and life than maybe anyone. But something is different in the reverence and faith that comes from Jon—someone who didn’t have to love or care for me but chose to—that makes my heart soar as high as the stars.