I always wear a hoodie, a hat, and sunglasses, even in the summer. I probably make others uncomfortable, but I don’t care. Simply being in that room makes me uncomfortable; they should be too. Walking into the room tenses my muscles and urges me to walk right back out. But I take a steadying breath and walk up to the receptionist.
Instead of saying my name, I hand her my driver’s license, just in case she doesn’t realize it’s me in my getup. No way am I risking my identity being discovered by saying my own name.
“It’ll be a few minutes,” she says.
“Thanks.”
I take a seat far away from everyone else. The wait is excruciating. My head stays lowered, but my legs are constantly bouncing with anxiety and a sense of impatience.
The nurse finally opens the door, makes eye contact with me, and says, “Mr. Grey?”
I stand, thankful they always remember my request to use my middle name. Collin might be a common name, Kessy isn’t as common, but I’m not risking them calling me by either in this building. She takes my vitals before leading me to Dr. Gressley’s office. He stands and grins as he shakes my hand.
“How are you today, Mr. Grey?” He chuckles to himself. He thinks it’s hilarious because of some book or movie or something like that.
“Shut the fuck up,” I mumble as I sit down and take off my sunglasses and hat. “Why am I here?”
“I told you I wanted to see you and see how you’re doing.”
I hold my hands out. “So? How am I doing?”
“Are you still having nightmares and punching your girl in your sleep?” He seems to be analyzing me more than usual, and I don’t like it.
“No.”
“How is your sleep?”
“Fine.”
“Anything you want to tell me that you haven’t been telling me?” he asks with a raised brow.
“I don’t lie to you,” I snap.
Dr. Gressley shakes his head. “That’s not what I said.” When I don’t say anything, he says, “You’ve been playing shit hockey ever since you scored on Liam Irving.” I clench my jaw, but don’t give in to his bait. “How’s your relationship with your brother?” Without meaning to, I breathe heavily through my nose. “Not so hot, huh?” Dr. Gressley steeples his hands under his chin.
“I wanted to see you because I think you’re spiraling. I’ve told you from day one that medication doesn’t solve all your problems. It’s not the fix. You’ve never seen a therapist, Collin, and I think it’s time. I know—”
The chair screeches as I stand, slapping my hat back on my head and my sunglasses on as well. I turn and walk out.
“Wait! We’re not done here!” Dr. Gressley comes after me, but I have a small head start and my legs are longer than his.
I rush to the door leading to the waiting room, burst through, and out the front door, running to my car once I’m outside.
Nope, nope, nope. I’ve gone this long without a fucking therapist and I can go longer without one. There might be something wrong with me, but I can manage it with a pill that works. That’s all I need. I don’t need to talk to some shrink, yet one more person who will know about my problems. I’m not fucking doing it.
I’m not even a half a mile away before my gasps for air turns into hyperventilating and I have to pull into a parking lot. I can’t do it. Oh, god. What if he talks to the team and they force me? What if they keep benching me until I go? This is a damn disaster. But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to talk to someone I don’t know about my problems. It’s bad enough that I have to see Dr. Gressley so I can get my medication.
Pain blossoms in my chest as I try to figure out what to do. No matter what, I don’t want to see a therapist.
I nearly skip around the apartment waiting for Collin to get home. My exciting news is dying to be told to someone and Collin is that person! But when he storms through the door, he rushes straight to his bedroom and slams the door behind him. What the hell? Do I go after him? Or would he rather be alone for a bit?
Marmalade stalks back and forth in front of his door, meowing and begging to be let in. Instinct tells me to wait. Collin knows I’m here. If he wanted my presence, he wouldn’t have barricaded himself in his bedroom. I sit on the c
ouch to wait him out.
An hour passes before he calmly opens his bedroom door. He picks up Marmalade and walks over to sit next to me. He pets his cat and leans over to rest his head on my shoulder. We don’t talk, though I am dying to ask him what happened. My instinct is still telling me to wait for him to come to me. Marmalade escapes after a little while and that’s when Collin speaks.
“Sorry for all of this,” he says with a sigh. “My psychiatrist wants me to see a therapist and I walked out on him.”