Love You Better (Better Love 1)

I don’t wave goodbye as I continue my run.

The drive back to campus is tense at first. When I mention I ran into Preston, Ivy just nods and asks how he’s been. I want so badly to tell her about what he said, to ask her how the fuck he knows where she was freshman year of college and why I don’t.

But I clamp my mouth shut.

I respect her privacy, because if she wanted me to know, she’d have told me the first time I asked. She’d have brought it up sometime in the last two years. We would have already talked about the time between high school graduation and sophomore year of college when it was complete radio silence between us.

If she wanted to share that story, I would already know where she disappeared to and why.

And truthfully, what it comes down to the most is that I’m okay with the secrets. They’re safe. I don’t push it because I don’t want to hear that I was the reason she dipped on all our plans. And I definitely don’t want to talk about what went down with me during that time, so I can’t expect her to play show and tell when I have no interest in joining. Am I willing to risk everything just to satisfy some juvenile interest that was sparked by petty jealousy?

No. I’m not.

This might be an instance where curiosity really would kill the cat, or at least our friendship. Sometimes, secrets are better kept secret. Fucking Preston.

So instead, we talk about Jacob. We sing along to the radio. We plan our next Netflix and Fill. By the time we pull back into campus town, the encounter with Preston is just an annoyance that I brush off.

My relationship with my best friend is solid. I’m stupid for even questioning it.

When I walk into my condo after dropping Ivy off, I find Jesse on the couch wearing the Cookie Monster pajama pants Ivy and Bailey got him for his birthday with a cup of tea sitting on the coffee table next to his basket of yarn. His foot is bouncing, his right hand is twirling a knitting needle, and his left is scrolling on his phone.

“Ay-oh,” he calls out when he sees me. “Come here, man. How do you feel about little poofy balls on your slippers? Yay or nay?”

I laugh and kick off my shoes. This is definitely the kind of company I prefer to keep.

9

Monday afternoon, I have a video call with Dr. Joyner. An assistant in her office responded to my early morning email on Friday within two hours and insisted we set up a check-in meeting. This was the earliest Dr. Joyner could see me.

Dr. Joyner’s image comes over the screen when the call connects. She looks exactly how she always does. She’s sitting at her desk, a bookcase brimming with books and her framed degrees and certifications can be seen behind her. Her short black hair is styled perfectly, not a flyaway to be seen, her red-framed glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and on her ageless face is the same warm yet serious expression I’m used to.

The familiar sight of her on the screen helps me to relax before I even noticed my own tension.

“Good afternoon, Ivy,” she greets. “I am recording this session. If you are not comfortable with that, I will turn off the recording and take handwritten notes.”

She starts every session this way.

“I’m okay with it.”

She nods. “How are you feeling today?”

Dr. Joyner is decidedly no-nonsense. She doesn’t beat around the bush and she doesn’t coddle. I think that’s why I was able to open up to her so quickly. I appreciate a direct woman. I was determined to get my head straight, and she was determined to help me.

“I’m feeling better. Much better, actually,” I say honestly. “I’ve been messaging with some women in the forum, and it’s helped to know that what happened isn’t unusual and doesn’t mean I’m backsliding.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you joined that group.” I can only see her body from the chest up, but I know she’s behind her desk with her legs crossed and her hands folded in front of her. “Have you been doing preemptive grounding exercises?”

“Yes. I start and end each day with a breathing exercise and reciting my mantra.”

“Good, good. I’d like for you to tell me what happened on Thursday night. What triggered your attack. Would you like to do that?”

I nod. I need this.

“I would. Jesse and I went to a fraternity party. While we were there, a guy got into my personal space. I handled it well, despite a bit of fear at first. I was prepared to use a self-defense move if I needed to. But then his cologne just, kind of, derailed me.”

Dr. Joyner nods again, her face stern and focused, but listening intently.

“Was the fraternity party meant as a CBT exercise?”