The trust factor, p.32
The Trust Factor, page 32
“I’d like that,” Charlie said. “Tell me as much as you want. And Lyla?”
I raised my eyebrows as the throbbing behind my ears started to subside.
“I’ve never once felt like I had to deal with anything. I just want to make sure you know that.”
As Charlie listened to the first chapter of my saga, I could see the desire to gather the torches and pitchforks behind her bright blue eyes. I left nothing out. I admitted to thinking that everything that happened with Hunter was my fault; that I fed into the incident because I was too young to understand it. I told her how I confided in my best friend Anna, only for her to make me feel like I was making a big deal over nothing. I topped off the introduction to my first round of trust issues with the fact that they were still dating.
Once I started sharing, everything else came effortlessly. Hearing my thoughts put into words offered a feeling I wasn’t expecting to experience—relief.
Charlie knew about my parents and how my dad had no interest in my life until he found out he could control me with the one thing my mom never had—money. She tried not to look disappointed when I said my mom was forced to be the default parent, and I appreciated her objective response. Eventually, the natural energy flowed between us again, and when a pathetic chuckle escaped my chest, the two of us burst into hysterics.
“I needed to throw in a fake boyfriend so my dad could have someone else to approve of!” I wiped the tears from my eyes and took another bite of my breadstick. “Me on my own . . . it’s not enough for him to give me something I’m not even sure he planned to give me in the first place. But as soon as I showed up with Deacon, suddenly it’s okay? And now that we’re”—I squinted at the ceiling—“is this considered a break? Do people still do that?”
“Babe, you can call it whatever you want,” Charlie stated confidently. “I personally don’t do breaks, but to each their own. As long as Deacon is at least in the running, I don’t think he cares what you call it.”
The pressure behind my eyes returned. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
She scoffed. “For what?”
“For not trusting you with this part of me sooner. Maybe things would’ve been different for me if someone else had known about it.”
Charlie reached for my hand and squeezed. “You got screwed over by your best friend and had a dickhead high school boyfriend. You don’t owe me any apologies for having boundaries.”
Chapter sixty-five
Deacon
In my freshman year of college, if I wasn’t in class and I wasn’t sleeping, I was planning the next time I could get drunk. It was due to the sheer realization that a lifestyle outside my parent’s house existed. Even though I grew up in a church-oriented family, my immediate family couldn’t have been further from the religious normal. My parents had me four months after they got married. To this day, my grandfather never said out loud that he was disappointed in my dad, but I imagined being a reverend in a small town made it difficult to process the situation.
I wouldn’t say that my brothers and I had a sheltered childhood. We got into trouble just like any other kids would, but our parents kept a pretty vanilla household. We didn’t openly talk about sex or anything else that was deemed explicit. My parents never really drank in front of us unless it was a glass of wine after dinner or a beer when we went out to eat. I wasn’t one of those college freshmen that had a crazy ass household to blame my bad choices on. It was almost the opposite; like I hadn’t tried enough ridiculous shit in high school and had to get it all out in my early twenties.
Everything changed after Dominic passed. I returned to campus a completely different person. I no longer wanted to spend my time absent in a world that took people too quickly. I didn’t see the point of being numb, feeling dizzy, and floating above the ground while people around the world would do anything to have a person they knew walk beside them again.
When I drank, I made sure it was because I wanted to—not because I was hiding anger, sadness, or shame. Eventually, I didn’t want to deal with the party scene, and it didn’t take long for Cassie to notice.
I put my recap of the past on hold and slowed my jog, recognizing the house that made me think of Cassie back in August. About eight months ago, the front porch was covered in mums and pumpkins. Now, white and light pink flowers littered the stairs.
I couldn't listen to music the morning Cassie broke up with me. I was afraid all the lyrics and melodies would make me think of the girl who left me broken on a sidewalk. The truth was, I was scared that I had nothing else holding me together without Cassie. My relationship with her took over my entire headspace. It allowed me to plan for my future and push away the person I used to be. That person didn’t know how to live a life without Dominic in it, and while I’d never move on from losing my younger brother, I was slowly finding a way to move forward.
I knew in my heart that moving forward was what Dominic would want. He would want me to achieve and be happy, to love and be myself in a world lacking his light. He’d remind me that it still needed mine.
I returned to my running playlist and continued my jog. The first song that came up was “Hey Daddy” by Usher. Not only did the singer remind me of Lyla and her iconic dance moves on the pole at The Attic, but the title brought me back to the night she almost made me spit my drink out.
As I turned down North Enterprise, “Closer” by the Chainsmokers came on next. I pictured Lyla singing in the backseat of my car as we drove to my apartment the morning she helped move my stuff and discovered Dominic’s favorite drink. I remembered her alarm going off in Miami and sleeping together one last time before we hopped on a plane back to Cleveland.
“Closer” by Ne-Yo bumped through my headphones as I reached the stop sign. It was the night I kissed Lyla for the first time. The entire scene was for Cassie, but I remembered everything about that kiss.
More songs continued to play, and more memories around them surfaced. I included Lyla in my day without realizing it because I wanted her there. I wanted the reminders, and I wanted to create more of them.
I slowed my pace and walked across the lawn of the apartment building. I was met with the stale smell of alcohol and bacon grease when I entered the front door.
Nathan scanned the inside of the fridge. “You didn’t happen to grab creamer, did you?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said, letting myself fall onto the couch.
Andre started cracking eggs into a bowl. “Why are you here? Did you skip class?”
“No,” I mumbled. “Professor is sick.”
“Why do you sound miserable about that?” Nathan winced. “Did the flowers not work?”
Andre looked over his shoulder. “You bought your professor flowers?”
“Why would I buy my professor flowers?”
“He bought Lyla flowers,” Nathan explained.
Andre turned to face me. “Charlie told me you guys were on a break.”
“We are not on a break,” I exclaimed, sitting up on the couch.
Andre scoffed. “Okay, Ross and Rachel.”
“Don’t Friends reference me,” I said, laughing. “Make me some of that, will you? I’m gonna hop in the shower really quick.”
A few hours later, Nathan and Andre were deep into a game of Madden. I was trying to study through the fake cheers of the crowd when my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Lyla
Can you come over on Thursday after my session?
An exasperated laugh escaped me before I realized I knocked my computer onto the floor.
“You good, man?” Andre said without breaking eye contact with the screen.
Nathan beat me to a response. “He’s good.” He threw a touchdown and looked at me. “Flowers work, I take it?”
Chapter sixty-six
Lyla
Dr. Riley Arden’s office was comfortable. There were two oversized couches to choose from, and she even had the fluffy pillows I always admired at TJ Maxx. She provided good lighting by pairing her giant window with sheer curtains, and a cute lamp sat next to the couches. It was a much better setup than I expected.
“Was there a specific topic you wanted to discuss today, Lyla?” Riley asked, leaning against the back of the couch.
I crossed my legs. All I had done so far was confirm that the information from my intake survey was accurate and provide her with some reasons why I wanted to see her in the first place.
She smiled reassuringly. “It can feel overwhelming sometimes trying to pick something to start with. Would it help if I asked a question?”
I nodded.
“You mentioned feeling overwhelmed last time you went out with friends. Can you describe this feeling?”
I played nervously with my hands and swallowed. Whenever I tried to put my feelings into words, I struggled. The only way they made sense was when I was in the middle of experiencing them.
“My chest gets tight,” I explained. “It’s almost like there’s all this energy that I don’t know what to do with, but all I want to do is find a place to make everything slow down and stand still. I shake, and sometimes I get dizzy. I feel like I’m going to throw up, but since I can’t, the feeling just sits in my stomach. I can’t get a deep breath; like no matter how much air gets into my body, my heart just doesn’t slow down. I feel cold and hot at the same time.” I realized I was rambling and looked up.
Riley met me with a soft expression. “Would you describe that as a panic attack?”
“Panic attack?” I echoed, thinking back to my conversation with Deacon. “I’m not sure.”
Riley leaned forward and laced her fingers. “They can be triggered by something happening around you or nothing at all. What you described sounds like a very real experience with a panic attack.”
“Lovely,” I groaned.
She offered me another award-winning grin. “Whenever that happens, do you feel like you have things that calm you down? Are there certain things that do or don’t work for you?”
I thought of how I bumped into Deacon’s chest that night at The Attic, and the admission rolled off my tongue. “My boyfriend Deacon was there. Being near him helps.”
“And how did Deacon make you feel?”
A lump formed in my throat. “Safe.”
Jesus, Mary, Joseph, what was Riley pumping into this room?
“Are there other people you feel comfortable going to when this happens?”
I nodded again. “My mom and my friend Charlie both know about the . . . panic attacks. Talking about them helps, and trying to explain why I feel them coming on in the first place. Deacon was the first person I talked to about them.”
“Let’s talk about when they first started happening.” Riley picked up her notebook without breaking eye contact. “You mentioned in your intake survey that something happened in high school with a boyfriend. Is it okay if we talk about that event?”
I rubbed my face with my hand and peered out the window. I wasn’t expecting therapy to be so exhausting. I just talked through a layer, and already, Riley was peeling up the next one.
We spent the next twenty minutes talking about Hunter. Riley didn’t interrupt with questions or ask me to go into more detail about the parts I skimmed through. It felt good to talk through it to someone outside my circle, and when I finished, she didn’t look at me like I was someone to feel sorry for.
“I’m sorry you went through that, Lyla.” She placed her notebook on the table and picked up her mug. “Much of what you just shared with me is common for people who have been in a similar situation to feel.”
My eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“Absolutely. When things happen to us or we experience something triggering, it’s easy to feel alone. These events we go through . . . they place us into clubs we don’t want to be a part of. No one wants to be included, but for some people, it’s comforting to know they aren’t alone. There are a few support groups I can get more information about for you if you’d like. You can request it from my office online anytime.”
“That’s good to know,” I murmured.
“It sounds like you’ve built a good support system,” Riley offered. “You also mentioned in your survey that your boyfriend gave you the idea to look into therapy?”
“Yeah.” I nodded again. I was starting to feel like a goddamn bobblehead. “He still goes sometimes. He actually helped me make the appointment.”
An overwhelming sense of emotion washed over me as I looked around the room. Did Deacon sit on a couch like this one when he went to his first session? Had the therapist probed him with questions about Dominic? Did they ask him why he was there in the first place when the survey provided all the information? Did he even fill out a survey?
The questions flooded my headspace, and before I knew it, I was blinking back tears.
“Tissues are behind the plant,” Riley said, pointing to the end table beside me.
We fell into a moment of silence as I formulated my next sentence. The layers I had waiting for Riley could wait. The only thing I had on my mind sat right on the surface, a surface I didn’t know how to clean since I spent so much time staining it with reasons why things couldn’t work. “I have a topic I’d like to talk about if we have more time?”
“We have twenty minutes,” she said. “Let’s go for it.”
I relaxed into my seat, and a weight shifted in my chest. In about an hour, I was going to see Deacon. I knew what I wanted, and I needed help figuring out what I was going to say.
Chapter sixty-seven
Deacon
When I started pacing around the living room, I decided to walk to Falcon’s Pointe. I couldn’t sit still, and every time I tried, I’d check the time on my phone and start over again. I needed something to do with all of my energy, and the anticipation of seeing Lyla again was driving me insane.
I wanted to see her. I wanted to ask how her appointment went. I wanted to order food and suggest we watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, only to hear her argue that we should watch a movie instead. She’d scroll through a list of movies for ten minutes, and before I could snag another piece of pizza, she’d settle on the next episode of the show. I wanted her to fall asleep in my arms on the couch after she insisted she wasn’t tired for the fifth time. I wanted my best friend every day—from the tiniest moments to the biggest milestones, I wanted Lyla Brooks.
When my phone read six, I knocked on the door of Lyla’s apartment. The door swung open almost immediately, and I smiled.
Lyla’s light brown curls were in a bun on her head, and she wore one of my Champion shirts with a pair of leggings. I was a sucker for the beautiful girl standing in the doorway, but I was a goner when she wore my clothes.
“Hey,” she said shyly, her green eyes peering at me through dark lashes.
I stopped myself from reaching out and touching her. “Hey, Brooks.”
She stepped aside so I could come in, and I was relieved to see we were alone in the living room. Her bedroom didn’t provide much space, and I could tell by the way she kept playing with her hands that she was nervous. I’d let her give me signs that she wanted me close to her.
I placed my book bag on the couch. “How was your first sess—”
“Wait.” Lyla crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I want to tell you something.”
“Okay,” I said softly, lowering myself onto the couch. I studied the lines that ran through her soft features. Her brow crinkled when she was deep in thought, and the corners of her mouth turned into a slight frown when she was uncertain about what she wanted to say.
She drew in a staggered breath and sat next to me. “Did you know everyone has anxiety?”
Her opening sentence threw me off, but I kept my voice as casual as possible. “Uhm, yeah, yeah, I did.”
“It keeps us safe and helps make us scared of things we should be scared of in our everyday lives. Until about an hour ago, I didn’t know that. I knew everyone got nervous, but I didn’t know everyone had anxiety.” She relaxed her shoulders and brought her legs to her chest. “Because of some things I’ve experienced, mine can be harder to manage. But I also learned that it makes me creative and a good problem solver. And sometimes, my mind moves so fast that while I’m actually pretty good with words, it doesn’t always seem that way. I know what I want to say, but because I’m balancing ten open tabs at one time, I either say the wrong thing or nothing at all.”
I nodded to let her know I was listening.
“My challenge today was to tell you all my fears without a filter. I’m supposed to go with everything I’m thinking and just . . . speak.” She pursed her lips, waiting for my reaction to the look of disgust that covered her face.
I smiled. “Lay it on me, Brooks. It’s been almost five days since I’ve heard your voice, and I wanna know everything.”
“When I asked you for a break—” Her voice trembled, and she looked away. “I don’t think it was you I needed a break from. It was me. You’re the first person I’ve shown everything to . . . I mean, literally, I guess.” She rolled her eyes, and I chuckled softly.
A warm sensation flooded my chest, and I grabbed her hand before I could stop myself. She let me, nervously stroking her thumb over my fingers.
“Meeting you.” She smiled down at our hands. “Being with you has made me realize that I do need help. I’ve always told you it’s okay to ask for that, but I never took the steps I needed to help myself. Keeping people at a distance was easier. Making sure I was always in control was safer. Whenever those things shift, I don’t know how to handle it. I have a lot of shit to work through,” she said, blinking away a few tears. “No matter what I seem to show you, for whatever reason, you’re still here, and I’m waiting for the time I become too much. I’m afraid you’ll resent me when I don’t meet the expectations you have for your life.”
