Together We Heal Read online

  “You wound me,” he said, putting his hand over his heart and pouting so adorably that I seriously considered kissing him. We hadn’t done that in a few days and I missed the taste of his lips.

  “I think you’ll live,” I said. This was good. Getting back to flirting. It was sweet and nice and easy. Guess that part of me wasn’t damaged. Still, it was going to take a lot more work to get the rest of me where I needed to be. That was probably what therapy would help me out with. I’d just have to wait and see.

  He gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I almost turned my head so he met my lips, but didn’t.

  MY KNEES JIGGLED up and down as I waited for the therapist to come out. I didn’t know if we were going to click, but I hoped we would. I didn’t want to have to go through this exact process again until I found the right person to deal with me. At least I didn’t have to pay for it. Health insurance was a wonderful thing.

  “Trish?” A youngish woman with slicked back black hair and pretty green eyes walked out on a set of beautiful high heels. She looked like she belonged on a runway and not in the campus counseling office. She also didn’t look that much older than I was.

  Her smile revealed teeth that were so perfect, I wondered if they were veneers. I bet she didn’t have a lick of cellulite and could eat whatever she wanted. Basically, she was a goddess.

  “Yeah?” I said, figuring that this had to be Beth Young, my new therapist.

  Awesome.

  “I’m Beth,” she said, sticking her immaculately manicured hand out for me to shake. I felt grubby and gross, but I returned her handshake while noticing the difference in the polish on our nails. Needless to say, mine was a bit chipped.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to give her a smile and only succeeding halfway. She didn’t seem to mind and motioned for me to follow her.

  “It’s nice to meet you too. Why don’t you come down here to my office and we can talk?” Well, I didn’t have much choice, did I? I probably could have run out the door, but then I’d have to explain to everyone why I hadn’t gone and that would be a pain in my ass. It was much easier to get this shit over with.

  Beth’s office was very Zen and there wasn’t a couch. Just a couple of chairs, a desk with a computer and some neatly stacked papers, a filing cabinet, a bamboo plant and a picture of a serene beach setting.

  Beth motioned to the chair and I sat down, still feeling nervous and jumpy.

  “So,” she said, “what brings you in to see me today?” She grabbed a clipboard with a few sheets of plain cream paper and a pen. Ugh, she was going to write shit down. Fun.

  I took a breath and seriously thought about bolting. Just going for the door and then leaving.

  But then I opened my mouth and said, “Where do you want me to start? It’s a pretty long list.”

  She smiled, nodded and started scribbling.

  “How about we start with getting to know you? Have you picked a major?” Balls. She couldn’t have started with something easier?

  “Uh, no. I can’t seem to figure out what I want. But I’m only a freshman, so I still have time.” I’d said this what felt like a billion times already.

  “Okay, is there anything you are interested in? A class you like? Maybe sports or art or something?” I chewed in my bottom lip and put my hand on my knee to stop it from moving. I was sure she was writing notes about how nervous I was. At least I couldn’t see what she was writing. She’d angled the clipboard in just the right way. They’d probably had an entire class on it at whatever fancy college she went to. It was obvious she hadn’t gone to DU.

  “I mean… nothing I’m good at, I guess. I dance sometimes, but that’s just for me. And I dye hair. And get too many tattoos. And I say what I’m thinking and that doesn’t always go over well. If there was a job doing all of that stuff, that would be perfect,” I said, looking up from my knee to her face. She still had a serene smile on her lips. They probably taught that too.

  “Well, if I hear of something, I’ll let you know. Let’s talk about people in your life. Family? Friends? Other relationships?” And now we were getting into the harder stuff.

  “I have a brother, Stryker. He’s older than me and he’s pretty much the only family I have. The rest… well, they’re not really worth talking about. I have a best friend, Lottie. We all hang out in a big group and then there’s Max. My boyfriend.” It felt weird calling him that out loud. Almost grown up.

  Beth nodded and scribbled some more. I could tell her handwriting was messy, which was interesting, given her put-together appearance.

  “How long have you and your boyfriend been together?” I had to think about it.

  “Almost four months.” Wow. That was no time at all, but so much had happened in that short period. Like I’d lived an entire life while being with him. It definitely kicked the shit out of my pre-Max life.

  “And is it serious?” Why were we talking about this? Why had I agreed to do this at all? This woman was going to probe all into my life and then make assumptions about it. Like she knew me.

  I looked around and found her diploma on the wall. Huh. DU. I guess I was wrong about that. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye.

  We talked some more about Max, and before I knew it, I was spilling my guts. I didn’t intend to, but it happened anyway.

  I told her about my parents and then my uncle and now how it was impossible to have sex with Max now. I also told her some other stuff that no one knew. Not even Stryker or Lottie and definitely not Max.

  “It must be hard to carry all those secrets around,” she said. It was hard. Secrets were heavy and mine were weighing me down. Sometimes I felt like I walked with a hunch as they sat on my shoulders and whispered in my ears.

  “It is,” I said, grabbing another tissue. Somewhere along the line I’d started crying and had been going through the tissues like crazy. Fortunately there were plenty of them to be had and there was a little wastebasket next to me to drop them in when I was done.

  Throughout it all, Beth wrote on her clipboard, using several pieces of paper. I pretty much stopped caring about what she was writing. I was never going to see it, so it didn’t really matter.

  When I finally squeezed all of my secrets out, she looked up from her clipboard and smiled at me.

  “You’ve lived quite a life, Trish,” she said.

  “Uh, yeah. I guess.” I tried not to think about it too much.

  “You’re so young, but you’ve been through more than some people go through in their whole lives. That can take a toll on a person.” I didn’t want her to pity me, or have sympathy. My life was what it was. I just needed to learn how to get over it and move on so I didn’t fuck up my relationships with Max and my friends.

  “Whatever,” I said, trying to brush it off. How much time was left? I was only supposed to be here for an hour. The clock was behind me, so I couldn’t really check it unless I looked over my shoulder and made it obvious that was what I was doing.

  “Don’t brush it off. The first step is recognizing that bad things have happened to you. Ignoring them won’t make them go away.” Well, damn. I almost made a snarky comment, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate it.

  “Okay, so what do I do about them? I mean, I can’t deal with everything at once.” That was way too much shit to deal with.

  “You don’t have to deal with everything at once. Just take one step at a time. One moment at a time. Think about how you felt when those bad things were happening to you. You can’t heal from the wounds if they’re still open.” Well, that shit was easier said than done. Why had I come here again?

  She told me to start writing in a journal (which made me almost laugh out loud) and to keep opening up to Max and also Lottie.

  “Your friends are clearly in it for the long haul. And you won’t know if they can deal with hearing about your secrets if you don’t even try.” Well, duh.

  Just before I thought I was home free, she said we’d meet again in a week an
d to go out front to make an appointment. Well, shit. I didn’t know if I wanted to do that. Instead, I found myself nodding, shaking her hand and telling her that I’d see her next week.

  I WAS THINKING about her all day. I knew what time her appointment was, and I considered skipping class and showing up to wait for her, but I thought that might have been just a little too much. She’d let me know how it went, I was sure.

  And just as I was thinking that it had been about an hour since her appointment, I got a text.

  Ugh.

  That was all she sent.

  Ugh, what? I sent back.

  Ugh, I wish I hadn’t done that.

  Uh oh.

  Was it that bad? I sent.

  We’ll talk about it later. Promise. That was a relief. I didn’t want her to clam up and shut down on me again.

  I KNOCKED ON my door that afternoon when I got back to my room. I’d never done that, so it wasn’t a surprise when Trish opened the door for me with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Oh, it’s you. Why did you knock?”

  I shrugged.

  “I guess I just thought you might… I don’t know.” Now I felt like a dork. She let me in and I dropped my bag.

  “So, how was your day, my dear?” I asked and she rolled her eyes before flopping down on the bed. There was a notebook and pen out and I saw some of her scrawly handwriting on the pages. Her eyes followed my gaze and she snapped the notebook closed.

  “Well, it pretty much sucked, but I’m going back next week. She told me I should be more open with you and trust you and Lottie and everyone else. I have to sit down and think about the bad stuff, think about how it made me feel and shit.” That sounded intense. I didn’t blame her for saying that it sucked.

  “That’s intense,” I said.

  “Tell me about it.” She told me a little bit more about her therapist, Beth. Apparently she was really pretty. I’d take Trish’s word for it. Besides, even if she was an underwear model, I still wouldn’t want her. There was only one woman for me and her name was Trishella Grant.

  “What were you writing?” I asked. She picked up the notebook and shoved it under the mattress.

  “Nothing,” she snapped, but then sighed. “Okay, but you can’t make fun of me.”

  “Trish, I would never make fun of you.” She gave me a look. “Okay, I would never make fun of you with malicious intent.” She nodded and pulled the notebook out again.

  “She suggested that I write out how I feel about everything. Kind of like a journal, but not so— ugh.” I got it and I definitely wasn’t going to make fun of her about that.

  “So that’s what I’ve been doing. Just writing crap down. It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels weirdly good to do it. Like the shit that swirls around in my head has somewhere to go. I like getting it out.” Good for her.

  “You know what?” I said.

  “What?”

  “I’m crazy proud of you.” She blushed a little and ducked her head. I reached out and put my hand under her chin, lifting her head so she’d look at me.

  “Really. Crazy proud.”

  She smiled softly.

  “Thanks.”

  IT WASN’T EASY, changing my habits to face things instead of shoving them away. I kept catching myself doing what I used to do, but at least I was aware I was doing it now.

  Over the next week, I nearly filled the notebook during spare moments. Sometimes I would get up in the middle of the night and pull it out, writing by the light of the flashlight app on my phone while Max slept. I’d worried about waking him, but he didn’t seem bothered by the light, so I kept doing it.

  I wrote about Ray and I wrote about the other foster homes and I wrote about school and Stryker and my other relationships and I wrote about Ric. The words just poured out of me. I couldn’t say them out loud, but writing them was somehow easier.

  I even wrote Max a letter. It took up dozens of pages. I wrote basically everything I felt about him. I told him I loved him and how long I’d loved him and what I loved about him and just everything I could never tell him out loud but wanted him to know.

  My ultimate goal was to give it to him, but I definitely wasn’t ready yet. Not even close.

  Like a total dork, I’d found a used copy of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders that mental health professionals used to diagnose people with various disorders at the bookstore and I’d flipped through it. At first I thought it was going to be like going to WebMD when you had a stomach bug and then convincing yourself that you had cancer, but it was actually really interesting. I ruled out a bunch of conditions that I definitely did not have, but then I was reading about Post Traumatic Stress and bam. Lightbulbs blew up in my brain. Like, a million of them. I was going to ask Beth about it today.

  I’d never thought about working on myself like this. I guess I just figured people were basically okay when they were born and then life happened to them and some people got busted in the process. I assumed I was one of those people. Destined to have an abnormal life. To never get to have what other people did.

  Maybe I wasn’t completely shattered, just a little dinged up? Like a used car with a few miles on it.

  “Writing again?” Max said the morning of my second therapy session. I’d done more internal reflecting in the past week than I had in my previous eighteen years. It pretty much freaked me out. I hoped this didn’t mean I was going to take up yoga and meditation and become an insufferable vegan who said “namaste” all the time.

  “Yeah,” I said, closing my notebook. The notebook only had a few pages left. I was going to need a new one ASAP.

  “I'm dying to know what you’ve written in there, but I don’t dare peek,” he said. I knew he wouldn’t peek because I’d threatened a very important part of his anatomy if he did. Besides, I would know if he read anything because he probably wouldn’t be able to hide that he had when he saw me. Max wasn’t a great liar.

  “Looks like you’re going to need a new one soon,” he said as I closed the journal and put it back under my pillow.

  “Yeah, I’ll have to go to the bookstore today and get one,” I said, capping my pen and putting it in my pillowcase.

  The sun wasn’t up yet, but the room was filled with a dim bluish light. I wasn’t a morning person, but I did kind of love this time before the sun came up where the night was still holding on, but slowly relinquishing control. It was an in-between. Not night and not yet day. An eerie somewhat magical time.

  “What are you thinking about?” Max said, turning on his side and propping his head up on his hand.

  “Nothing special. Just how I’m hardly ever up at this time, but I really like it.” A few of his fingers brushed down my cheek.

  “You look beautiful in this light. You look beautiful in any light, but especially like this.” We both smiled at each other and I found myself leaning forward to meet his lips. He was surprised, so he didn’t immediately respond, but then he did and I was kicking myself mentally for not kissing him for so long. Max’s kisses were magical. Fire and sparks and heat and good. So, so good.

  It started out slow and sweet and then it started getting more intense. Not like our previous frenzied kisses that were all about right here, right now, OMG, I must have you. This was a more comfortable kiss. A sure kiss. Like we had all the time in the world. We explored every inch of each other’s mouth. I’d completely forgotten about the toothbrush rule. He didn’t taste bad at all and judging by the way he was using his tongue, I didn’t either.

  His hands were gentle on my face and then moved down my neck to gather me closer to him. I touched the back of his neck and then his back and before I knew it, I was on top of him and well, that was happening.

  Clothes hadn’t been removed, but I was pushing myself against him and he was doing the same. Slow and easy.

  Things were building for me and for him. I could feel how hard he was, but he didn’t beg me to move faster, or do anything other than what I was al
ready doing.

  I unsealed our lips so I could look in his eyes. The look I found there nearly undid me.

  “I love you so much,” he said. Those words and the way he said them set off the gentlest rolling orgasm I’d ever had. It started in my spine and bloomed out, like the petals of a flower. I moaned and then he joined me a few moments later.

  We were both lazy and slow in the aftermath and he kept stroking my face and my hair and telling me how much he loved me.

  I wasn’t ready to say it yet, but I was getting closer than I had ever been. Guess there was something to that whole therapy thing.

  “That was nice,” Max said. “Really nice. Even though now I have to get another pair of boxers.” He looked down at himself and I shrugged.

  “I don’t have to deal with that problem. I kind of forget that you do sometimes.” He rolled his eyes and then I rolled off him so he could get up and clean off.

  I allowed myself to ogle his ass as he put on a fresh pair. Hot damn. It really was perfectly shaped. I just wanted to get my hands on it and squeeze both cheeks.

  He turned around and totally caught me.

  “Were you checking out my ass?” I almost buried my head in my pillow.

  “Maybe,” I said, smirking at him. He just turned around and yanked his boxers down.

  “Get a good look, sweets,” he said, wiggling his ass. Well now. I was torn between being turned on and laughing like hell. I did a little bit of both.

  “Are you laughing at me?” he said, shimmying backwards until his ass was right within spanking distance. I gave him a good smack and he jumped, dropping his hold on his boxers.

  “Oooohhhhh, do it again,” he said, grinning at me over his shoulder. I wound up and smacked him again.

  “Yes, mistress, yes,” he said, pretending to be in the throes of ecstasy. Sure, we were being silly, but it was kind of hot at the same time.

  I gave him one more smack and then pulled him back into bed with me.

  “You’ve been a bad boy,” I said.