Me: Perfect. See you soon.
And yet, I feel a tightening in my chest at the thought of Millie coming here. This is my baby. This is the best of me. I don’t want her to see the best of me. I promised her she’d see me as nothing but a jerk outside of the bedroom. Tonight was supposed to be the start of showing our friends how incompatible we are.
“Sebastian, you’re needed in room eleven,” Shelly pokes her head in.
“Can’t Jade handle it?”
“She went home for the day.”
I sigh. So much for wrapping up my day before Millie gets here.
“It’s okay, get out the anger if you need. Destroy the furniture. Rip apart your pillow. Do what you need to do, but don’t give up. Your life depends on it. Don’t you dare give up,” I say to Zach, one of our newest patients.
He’s nineteen—an adult by most people’s standards. But I was younger than him when I started drinking, when I got addicted. And I can tell you, there is nothing about being a nineteen-year-old addict that makes you an adult. He needs help, and that’s why we are here—to get him help. Without us, he’ll be thrown in jail or end up dead if he keeps using like he is.
He grabs his chair and throws it against his bedroom window. It doesn’t break, though. He isn’t the first who has tried to break a window while staying at the rehab center.
“You’re angry. I can understand that. Get your anger out; you’ll feel better.”
He glares at me, and I know he’s about to turn his anger on me. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t realize he has a problem, and we can’t hold him here. I just hope he’ll realize that he needs to be here.
He starts toward me, ready to bulldoze me over to escape. I stand firm, balancing on my good foot, and when he gets close, I wrap my arms around him and hold on for dear life.
At first, he fights, hitting me hard in the mouth, and I know he’s knocked a tooth hard enough that it’s bleeding.
“Shhh, it will be okay. It sucks, but it gets better. I just want to hug you, not restrain you.” I soften my hold, showing that he can go if he wants, I won’t physically stop him.
He hesitates. And then he collapses into my arms, a ball of emotions and tears and apologies and curses.
Zach grew up in a group home. He’s been on his own since he aged out last year and most likely hasn’t been hugged much in his life. That’s all he’s looking for—human connection.
We stand like that for a while. And after a bit longer, I get him to agree to go to a therapy session and to take our boxing class to get his anger out. Only when he’s finally settled down, do I leave him with one of our therapists.
I have no idea how long I was in that room, but I suspect that Millie has been waiting for me for a while.
I sigh, hobbling out of the room, knowing I look like a mess. I see her standing in the hallway staring at me with big eyes.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” I say.
Her eyes seem watery, and she bites her bottom lip as she comes up to me.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, lifting her chin to meet my gaze as she walks up to me.
“Mmmhmmm,” she says, dabbing at my bloodied lip with a Kleenex.
I search her eyes and see the want as she stares at me.
“You heard?” my shoulders drop.
She nods. “I didn’t mean to. Shelly sent me down the hallway to your office. I heard your voice. I didn’t realize it was a therapy session. I shouldn’t have overheard.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” It goes against patient confidentiality. And also because of the way she’s looking at me now, like I’m a good person. She’s seen behind the mask that I put up to keep people out. Now there is no way to put the mask back on.
“This doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole to me,” Millie smiles as she speaks.
“Good,” I say, even though I know she doesn’t mean it. She saw the best of me, the kindness and tenderness I have when I’m working with patients.
“Does that happen a lot?”