If I could ditch out on today, I would, but that’ll raise alarms and I’ll never hear the end of it.
It’s times like these I wish I did what Karen tells me more often. My therapist is always on me about not putting things off until I have to get them done.
Excuses and rationalising control most of my life, and then when I’m hit in the face with the here and now, where my lease is up and I have nowhere to live for instance, I look back and scold myself for not having the strength to pick up my phone and look at a real estate app.
As far as my family is aware, I’m dealing now. I’m doing great. I really need them to keep thinking that, because I am. I’m doing better. It’s just, for whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to move out of that damn apartment.
In the last five years, it’s the only place I’ve felt truly safe.
With confidence I’m totally faking, I grab one of the bands I wear around my wrist as a coping mechanism and tie my hair up into a bun on top of my head to try to look somewhat presentable. I’ll probably never hear the end of having a man bun either.
When I finally put my emotional walls in place and build the courage to do this, I practically jump out of my skin when I climb out of the car and see Brody leaning against the boot with his arms folded.
“You have to stop jumping out at me,” I say.
His laugh is annoyingly inviting.
Last week at the club, I could’ve stayed on that dance floor with him all night. With someone between us, my hand felt comfortable roaming and exploring Brody’s insane body, and if it had lasted longer, I would’ve explored more than just his back. I had the safety of the other guy against me but could feel every muscle through Brody’s shirt.
The music. The crowd. It was the safest I’d felt in Brody’s presence. I thought maybe that little breakthrough would mean I’d be comfortable around him now. Turns out, nope. He still makes me flinch.
Standing here with him, though, I do think something has changed. I don’t know what, but I’m not as edgy around him.
I want to know what would’ve happened had the other guy not ruined it by trying to come home with us. The idea of two on one made me short of breath, and the sickly feeling of wanting to get away kicked in. I had to leave before it turned into something worse like a panic attack.
One year. I had an entire year where I was in control of my episodes and had even stopped going to therapy. For whatever reason, they came back the night I was supposed to go on a blind date with Reed. When I panicked and Law took my place, I thought it was a one-off, but I guess they’re back to stay, and I feel like I’m starting over at square one.
Although, it’s not quite square one. Instead of being housebound, I can still go out and have fun. Only certain things trigger me. In the big scheme of things, I’m doing better than I was directly after the assault, so that’s something.
“Took you long enough,” Brody says. “Why were you sitting in there for so long? Steeling yourself to endure this party too? Get it? Steeling yourself?”
I ignore his poor attempt at a pun of my last name. “Why didn’t you want to be—” Oh. “Your thing with Reed.”
“I do not have a thing with Reed.” His protest is way too emphatic.
“Okay. Sure. I didn’t say you did, but now I’m totally thinking you do.”
“I don’t. I just …” Brody runs a hand through his brown hair. I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
And I don’t know how to feel about that. It’s not like I have a right to be jealous when I’m the one who keeps rebuffing Brody, but I’m sure he wants me in a different way than the way he looks at Reed.
I’m the guy he’d fuck. Reed’s the guy he’d marry.
“Ready to head in?” Knowing someone else isn’t going to be having fun in there makes me more at ease.
“About as ready as I’ll ever be.” His tone is solemn. “Seeing as we’re arriving together, can we fuck with them and say we’re on a date?”
“Sure. Would you like to meet our parents as my date too? That’s their car over there.” I point to the red mini-SUV in the driveway.
Brody stutters, and I bark out a laugh.
“On second thought …” he says.
I clap his shoulder and immediately scold myself for touching him. Rule number one of being friends with Brody—no touching. Touching leads to wanting more touching, which feeds my anxiety.