With my help, Carter’s life will turn around.
As I head down the hallway, I can’t help my roving gaze, wanting a glimpse of him, wondering where his locker is located. I don’t have a session with him again until tomorrow. Maybe I can meet up with Sue at lunch—I can’t imagine she leaves the academy—and tease more out of her.
Before I enter the reception area, I stop a few feet from the glass door to catch my breath. Take a moment to center myself. Then I roll my shoulders back and push through with a smile.
The first meeting of the day is with a sophomore girl who is struggling with her feelings for her boyfriend. She wants to focus on her studies and be accepted to Berkeley, just like all the women in her family, but she fears her love is a distraction.
As I listen to her, I nod along compassionately. I am empathetic.
All the while, there’s an incessant itch at the back of my mind. A niggling little irritation building. My thoughts keep jumping to the boy who walked into my office day and tested all my boundaries.
“He’s just…changed everything,” Mia says, exasperated.
He has changed everything.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asks.
I pick up a pencil and use it to distract myself. I press my thumbnail into the wood to ground my thoughts. “Does he feel the same about you?”
This question seems to perplex her. “I think so. Yes, I mean. He does. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t want to lose focus. I’m struggling with whether or not I should break it off.”
I look up from toying with the pencil. “Why would you break off the relationship, Mia? That seems especially cruel to me, seeing as Tyler appears to have done nothing more than love you.”
She blinks a few times. “That’s true, I guess. I really don’t want to hurt him.”
I inflect a calm tone to my voice. “What I see in front of me is a smart, strong young woman who is capable of managing school and relationships.” I smile, lace my fingers together. “That is what life is about, right? Learning to manage all aspects of our lives in a healthy way?”
Mia’s facial expression relaxes, her forehead losing the hard crease. “That’s what I’ve tried to explain to my mom, but she refuses to hear it.”
I nod, but a white-hot flame lashes at the memory of my mother. I shove the thought away. “Your mom just wants what she feels is best for you. But you’re the only one who can know what that is. Trust your instincts.”
As I wrap up the session, I feel Mia isn’t in need of a follow up appointment, but let her know my door is always open if she needs to talk. Afterword, I start on the rest of my employee paperwork I’ve been slow to hand in to the office.
I write my name on the top line. The scratching of the pen against the page is too loud in the stillness of the small room. I fill in another line with my social security number—the number I recently memorized. Then I look up and stare at the closed door. Agitation is a pulsing tension headache at the base of my skull.
I rub the back of my neck and flip the page. I can’t concentrate on the words when I’m trying so deliberately not to think about Carter. With a resigned sigh, I glance at my phone, and of course the time displays nine-eleven.
Unease pricks my spine.
The throbbing headache demands that one peek—just one—won’t hurt. Just look long enough to sate the relenting need so I can finish the paperwork without making a mistake.
I tap the app and go to his page. Immediate relief rushes my starved veins.
I know the warning signs. I know the danger.
Neurotic behavior.
Obsessive thoughts.
Delusional beliefs.
How quickly it can escalate…
Once diagnosed, I studied everything about Obsessive Love Disorder—the label slapped on me in high school. OLD is not recognized as a disorder in its own right. Rather, it’s associated with other mental disorders, like borderline personality. Which I am not borderline.
Simply put, I get too involved with love interests. Infatuated is the word my mentor used often during our private discussions. Though technically, there was only ever one person that brought on these intense feelings, and so recently, I started to believe I was misdiagnosed. That it was only a case of being an infatuated teenage girl.
Because after Jeremy, I never fell that hard again.