I wanted to hurt her, to make her feel pain just because. I was selfish. I was wrong. I still am, and it makes me splutter, my thoughts jumbling in my head so that I can’t get them out correctly.
“Get out, Callum. Haven’t you hurt me enough? Is it over yet? You got me to admit I’m still in love with you, you got me on my back. Is that all you wanted? Is the vindication tour over yet?”
A tear leaks out of her eye, and my heart smashes into a million pieces. I’m such a fucking asshole. All this time I’ve blamed her for every little thing that went wrong, when really it was fifty-fifty. And now, when I should be respecting the fact that she’s going to therapy and working through everything, I’m only throwing her for more of a loop.
Bevan is right, I’m hot and cold because I can’t make up my mind, and I’m jerking her around in the process.
Which is why I do as she asks and get out. Until I’m one hundred percent certain that I can face whatever is thrown our way and never waver, I don’t deserve to have her back.
22
BEVAN
“So you’ve never been unconditionally loved, we’ve established that.” Dr. Miranda references her notepad.
Therapy has been intense. I guess that’s how it goes when you’re months in and still trying to dig to the root of the problem, or maybe it just always pricks at the very most sensitive parts of you. I wonder if there will ever be a time I won’t feel emotionally heavy walking into or out of this office.
I interrupt. “Well, that’s probably not technically true.”
Because I have felt that kind of overpowering, get-through-anything love. With Callum.
“Who provided that?”
“My ex-boyfriend.” I feel my cheeks grow hot.
“You say ex, what happened?” she pushes.
“We were together for six years, from high school until sophomore year of college. He broke up with me because, well, I wouldn’t work out my issues. I refused to come to therapy. And I used to saddle him with all of my abandonment issues. We’d fight, and it would get really ugly. Broken lamps, screaming, saying things we could never take back.”
“But you say he loved you unconditionally, even when he broke up with you?” I know what’s she’s trying to do.
I’ve been seeing Dr. Miranda for long enough that I know what she’s trying to get me to do. I say something, and then she wants to go back and examine what it is I’m actually trying to get out. Studying the subtext, if you will.
I nod, picking at the fabric of her old beige couch. “Callum met me when I was going through the worst of my abandonment issues. I was a hormonal teenager without a father, being told that I was barely wanted by the two people who created me. He nursed me back to some sort of human being, in a way. We experienced every first together, and I fell hard. Whenever I was having a bad day and lashed out at him, he took it. Whenever I poured all of my emotional strife over his head, he was the one who would still hold my hand through it. If I ran away from home, he was the one I’d run to. Each time I had a victory, Callum was the person who would be cheering the loudest for me. He loved me so much that I pushed him way past his comfort zone when it came to emotional trauma. If I had asked him to stay, to not break up with me, he probably would have relented. But I saw how much I had hurt him, how much I had put him through. It was time to let him go be happy.”
“And yet you’re here, trying to get better now. Is it for him?” She scrutinizes me.
My face grows hot. “At first, it was. I thought if I just faked it, came here and put in the bare minimum so I could tell him I was getting help, then he’d finally want to take me back. I could play pretend while sitting on this couch and then scurry back to him and use all the words you’ve been explaining to me about how my mind works and what I’ve been through. He’d see that I took him seriously, and then he’d love me again.”
“But now?” Dr. Miranda asks when I fall silent.
I breathe out a sigh, and my eyes go to the ceiling. “Now I know that I needed this for me. And it’s helping, not because I’m doing it for Callum, but because I see he was right all along. And I have a feeling your subtext is an ‘I told you so.’”
“I would never say that to a patient.” But she can’t hide her smirk. “So, will you still go back to him, even though therapy is now for you and for your healing?”
“I kind of already have. But at the same time, haven’t. Being in therapy has also taught me that he wasn’t completely innocent either. I used to think all the problems we had were solely based on my issues, but last night we reached a breaking point in our reconciliation and I set a boundary. It was the first time that I acknowledged I wasn’t the only one at fault.”
“That’s a very big step. It probably felt both like sweet relief and the hardest thing to do?”
I nod emphatically. “Exactly. I love him more than I probably love anyone in this world. But if we’re truly going to do this again, it has to be stripped to the bones and built back up. I’ve learned that I can’t repeat my old patterns, but he needs to take a serious look at his.”
Dr. Miranda’s little timer goes off on the desk next to her, and she smiles. “I think you might be close to graduating from therapy. That was excellent today, great session.”
There are some days I walk out of her office and feel subdued or even miserable. Some days I feel like a weight was lifted from my chest. But today is the first day I walk out with a small smile on my face, feeling extremely proud of the growth I’ve made.
23
CALLUM
“Did you eat the last biscuit, asshole?”
My sister, Kiersten, punches me in the arm. It actually hurts, she always did know how to throw a punch, and transports me back to the days when my two older sisters would gang up on me to put lipstick on me as a nine-year-old. Then I had my growth spurt, and neither of them had the balls to try it after I turned thirteen.
Willow and her fiancé, Parker, are seated on the other side of the table, and Parker smirks. “I would have taken it too, but I’m still trying to impress your parents.”
“You’re a doctor who cures kids with cancer. Pretty sure they’re over the fucking moon.” Kiersten snorts.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!” Mom saunters into the dining room of our childhood home holding a steaming apple pie.
“Ma, you’ve said it fifteen times.” Kiersten rolls her eyes.
“But I just love having all my babies back together, so I’m going to keep saying how thankful I am.” My mom looks teary.
Mom and Dad have the perfect marriage. I grew up in a house full of love, sarcasm, family vacations, and Friday night movies in the den cuddled on the couch with snacks. The five of us have always been close, and I genuinely look forward to coming home from college for holidays. Plus, it means my mom waits on me hand and foot and always buys my favorite food. Then again, my sisters would argue that I’m her favorite since I’m the baby and the only boy. They’re probably right.