Law screws up his face, but Reed appears even more intrigued.
“They have therapists who teach you how to have sex?”
“He’s not a hooker.” I laugh at the reminder of Brody’s first reaction.
“I didn’t think he was,” Reed says. “Who would think a sex therapist is a hook—oh. Yeah, I can see Brody saying that.”
That makes the sad creep back in.
The normalcy might’ve only lasted twenty seconds, but having been in this dark place before, I know any joking around or lightness is a good sign. Makes it seem like not all is completely lost, even if it’s only for a brief time.
I force a smile. “He was actually pretty good about the whole thing.”
Really good. Brody understood me and was patient. So fucking patient.
But the fear came back anyway. The dark part of my soul that I battle with daily won out. And now I’m too scared to see where we truly stand.
If his name is enough to bring me down, I don’t know what seeing his face will do.
“You’re keeping that appointment,” Law says again.
“Why?”
“Because …”
I know that look on my brother. He’s trying to come up with a lie.
“Even if it’s over between you and Brody, the therapy was helping. Maybe he can help you in your next relationship.”
The scoff flies out of me. “No. No more relationships. Ever.”
“And we’re back at square one. If you’re gonna sit in here and wallow, then fine, do it. But if you want to cancel that appointment, you’re doing it yourself. And just because I’m disappointed in you, that doesn’t mean you get out of going for a run with me in the morning. You haven’t left the house in days, and I can’t—won’t—sit by and watch you fade away this time.”
I mock salute him while silently appreciating the push.
Reed gets all starry-eyed at Law. “You’re so hot when you’re bossy.”
They stare at each other hungrily, and I’m quick to put a stop to whatever they’re thinking right now.
“Okay, time for you two to leave my room. Maybe I’ll talk to my sex therapist about that tomorrow—how my brother and his boyfriend like to rub their normal sex lives in my face.”
“Go see your therapist,” Law says. “Keep pushing your routine.”
He’s right even though I have no idea what to talk about with Ed Shearon, considering I’m not having sex.
Routine. Stick to what I know, what I need, and fight my way out of this haze.
I want to be strong for Brody. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.
But that’s where the problem lies: no matter what I want and how confident I am in wanting it, it doesn’t make the burden of being me easier to carry. It doesn’t take away years of internalized torment.
Law turns to leave but looks over his shoulder at me. “Oh, by the way, there’s a surprise for you in the living room. Brody insisted it’d help.”
I frown, but my legs are eager to get me into the living room.
When my eyes land on a pet carrier with my baby looking mega pissed off, I choke back a sob. She lets out a little kitty wail, and I rush over to her.
As soon as she’s out and in my arms, something good clicks into place for the first time in days.
And I will not cry about that.
I won’t.
Then Meatball purrs.
Dammit.
* * *
Every day for six days, Law drags me out to go running at the butt crack of dawn. I want to hate him for it, but apart from me being grumbly before coffee, it is helping.
Getting back into any routine has been helpful in keeping my head on right, but any thoughts or mentions of Brody makes the darkness seep in, even if it’s only around the edges.
I can’t let it take over again. I just can’t. Right now, I don’t want to even risk giving it more leeway than I can control.
So I ignore Karen’s and Ed’s words like avoidance and projecting and all the other bullshit where they try to tell me how I can get over this roadblock with Brody, because I honestly don’t believe I can.
I don’t know if I want to at this point.
Working through my shit with Brody has been more than I could’ve imagined. I never thought I’d get to where I was with him. I didn’t think it was possible for me to have any kind of real relationship again.
Then comes this massive force, as if the universe itself wants to rip us apart, and I realise I’m not that guy. I’m not the guy who gets a happily ever after. I’m the guy who has to struggle every day of my life just to get a glimpse of happiness.
When is it too much work to be worth it?
I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, and all I can focus on is making sure I land on the right side of things. I want to be firmly in the safe area, wrapped in comfort and out of danger, but to get back there, I have to step out of my comfort zone and hope I don’t fall into the abyss below me.