After the End: Book 3

69. Tell the Whole Truth

Harry's POV

I didn't feel fine.

By the time we got to the therapists office I was sure I was about to die. My entire brain was spinning. I was still thinking about that cigarette I'd just thrown on the ground, and also of the one I'd smoked inside the stairwell of my building, and I was starting to feel rather horrifically guilty and hateful of myself over both instances. My head ache had returned full force and my shoulders were trembling and I still felt very much too close to the issue, as I had when I skipped the last appointment.

I didn't get out of the car when we arrived. I just sat there with my knee bouncing and my hands tight and shaky. I found myself repeating the nasty habit of digging the nails of my right hand into my left wrist as hard as I could to focus on something that wasn't in my head.

"You're making it harder for yourself than it needs to be," Becca stated softly after several minutes of silence. To her credit, Becca was being as supportive as she could be without completely enabling me. She was unwilling to break or bend, but she could at least acknowledge that I was having a shitty day. The acknowledgment was something I needed.

"I want to go home," I repeated.

"As soon as this is over, you're done for the day," Becca promise me sincerely. She reached over and very gently grabbed my clenched hand, removing it from its place on my wrist. It hadn't drawn blood that time, but it left 4 deep red indented crevices from my nails, a centimeter apart from each other. They'd leave a mark. "Harry, you are so much more capable than you think. Every little victory is still a victory."

Becca thought she was being helpful and in part, she was. I did feel that way. I felt proud of myself for not drinking the other night. I felt proud of myself for getting through a rehearsal sober. I felt proud of myself for not killing myself every time I thought about it. I had little victories everywhere.

But if little victories were still victories, then little failures were still failures and I had plenty of those. I had those all over the place.

And the first part of her statement; the part about my capabilities.... That set my brain off. Lux used to say that to me frequently, especially when she'd try to convince me to do things like the Kindness Gala or something album related. She'd tell me she wanted me to see in myself what others saw. At the moment, I wasn't pleased with what others saw, but I was sure it was worse than Lux ever imagined.

That thought made me want to cry and because I viewed crying infront of Becca as out of the question, I unbuckled my seat belt on fumbling hands and forced my way out of the car. The fresh air of the outside hit me and I had to resist the urge to take ridiculous gasping breaths to calm down. Instead, I breathed slowly and deeply and rubbed my eyes as dry as I could as I walked up the way to the door.

I wasn't sure what volatility she'd seen in me, but Becca climbed out of the car and followed close behind me as I walked in the door. She checked me in, and I paced the empty lobby until I was told I could go back. The way Becca smiled at me as I walked way down the hall made me want to punch walls.

I made my way into her office, ignored the smile from the familiar dark haired woman behind the desk, and sat myself in the chair quietly. I fixed my gaze on the duck picture on the wall and tried to think about geese.

"Harry, it's so good to see you," she stated immediately.

I didn't look away from the ducks.

"I was terribly sorry to see you couldn't make it on Tuesday," she added.

"Scheduling difficulties," I lied. "I'm horrifically busy."

She nodded in a way that made it clear she knew that wasn't true. I didn't care.