“Hmmm.” Dr. Taylor hums and straightens her glasses.
“It feels worse during the panic attacks.”
“Touch aversion can be common in people who deal with panic attacks, or people dealing with anxiety. In fact, there are some people who are just born or develop that way, like asexual or aromantic people.”
“Oh,” I say. I’d never really thought of myself as ace or aro. I mean, sex isn’t really something I have a strong desire for, but it’s something I might be open to. And I’ve had sort-of-romantic feelings for people before. I suppose I’m also currently having those romantic feelings.
“Can you remember any other cases where someone touching you like that made you have a panic attack?”
“Not really. I’ve sort of been thinking something though. Like maybe it wasn’t the touching. He just had his arms around me and he wouldn’t let go. And there were so many people.”
“This was at a party, right?” She writes something down.
I nod.
“Did you have anything to drink?”
“No,” I lie, because I’m not exactly sure what she will and won’t report to the police, or if she’ll even do something like that.
“I’m not going to tattle on you, Ben,” she says like she’s read my mind, which would probably be a lot easier than all of this back-and-forth. “Lord knows I was eighteen once too.”
“I was given a shot, and a sip of beer. I didn’t really want them, but everyone was staring at me and I felt like I had to do them.”
“I’m guessing you read the warnings about mixing alcohol with your medication?”
I nod, not meeting Dr. Taylor’s gaze, as if that’d help me avoid the shame I’m feeling right now. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re young, Ben, and I understand the desire to fit in with those around you. But alcohol does tend to inhibit your thinking. You made a mistake, just try to be more careful in the future.”
“I will.” I’d already realized that drinking wasn’t for me anyway.
“Do you think your current dosage is doing enough?”
“If I’m being totally honest, no. It doesn’t feel like much has changed up here.” I point to my head.
“Well, the medication isn’t a permanent fix, Ben, as much as we’d like it to be. It’s there to help balance you out, but it doesn’t get rid of the anxiety.”
“I know, I’m just worried I’m taking it for nothing.”
Dr. Taylor writes something down. “We’ll try a temporary increase in the dosage, see how that works. Sound good?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“The panic attack, do you think it might have been a sensory overload sort of thing?”
“I’m not really sure,” I say. Isn’t she supposed be the one with all the answers? “Maybe.”
“And do you recall what brought you out of this situation?”
“My friend was there, Nathan.”
“They brought you through it?”
“Not exactly, but I got outside and he followed me. I guess just having him there helped?”
“So joint effort?” She smiles. “That’s something.”
“I guess.”
“Are you comfortable around Nathan?”
“Yeah, most of the time, at least.”
“Most of the time?”
“Sometimes I get really nervous around him.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“None that I can think of.” Except maybe it’s because I like him? And maybe I like the thought of holding his hand, of being close to him. And maybe I want to go further than that. And maybe I’m terrified of what will happen if we do.
“I’m happy to hear you’ve got someone you can trust,” she says, then her eyes move down to my hands. I doubt it’s the first time she’s noticed my nails, but she hasn’t said anything before now. “That’s a beautiful color.” She nods. “Did you do those yourself?”
“Oh.” I stare down at them, resisting the urge to hide them. I fought with myself a bit before deciding to go out in public with the paint still on. Not that a visit to Dr. Taylor’s office is really “public,” but it’s outside the house. “Hannah did them for me.”
“How are you two?” Dr. Taylor asks.
“Fine, I guess.” I rub my hands together, trying to feel less self-conscious about the paint.
“You’re doing okay? Better? Arguing?” She goes on after I don’t answer.
“We’re okay.” I stress the “okay.” “Why do you ask?”
“I was curious,” she states.
“About?”
“I was mostly curious if you resented Hannah at all?”
I hate that my answer comes out so easily. “A little, I think.”
“Do you think she knows that?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m eager to tell my own sister how bitter I am.” I rub my eyes, the stinging feeling coming back slowly. “I just … She got so much, you know?”
Dr. Taylor nods.
“She got to get out, go to school, get a job she loves, find someone who loves her.”
“And you were left with your parents?”
“Yeah.” I slouch back on the couch, not meeting Dr. Taylor’s eyes. “It just … It felt like when she left, she just forgot about me. You know?”
“I do.”
“I get that she couldn’t call, and that it was impossible for her to come back home.”
“Well, that doesn’t make your feelings any less valid, Ben. You were hurt by what she did, you can’t control that. And in that situation, neither could she.” Dr. Taylor leaves her notepad on the coffee table and leans forward. “Have you talked to her about this?”
“No.” I shake my head. “How could I even do that? After all she’s done for me?”
“Does it feel like she’s trying to make it up to you?”
“Maybe. I don’t really know.”
“Perhaps talking with her would be a good thing? Help you get everything out in the open.”
“You think so?” I ask.
“I do, and you never know until you try, right?”
I think Dr. Taylor thinks her words will make me feel better, but they don’t. There’s still this weird feeling in my gut. I don’t think Hannah would be mad at me for feeling this way. But I don’t know; it feels like if I told her all this …
Then things would never be the same.
“Ready to go back to school?” is the first thing Mariam says when I accept their FaceTime call.
“Not on your life,” I say.
“Come on, only two more months.”
“Two and a half,” I correct.
They laugh. “So, me and Shauna went out again.”
“Shauna?” I rack my brain, trying to remember who that is.
“The girl, the one I’m quite fond of kissing and holding hands with now? Purple hair, sort of looks like she’ll turn you into a frog if you wrong her.”
Jesus, how could I forget? “Right, sorry.”