A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Twenty-Eight

~ "It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop."

"So, Claire, how have things been since the last time we spoke?" Dr. Weinstock sat across from me once more, legs crossed, the stark white of her shirt blinding.

I shrugged, my hands in my lap. "Not much. Three weeks doesn't make much difference to me. I got tickets for prom next month, but that's it."

"And is prom an exciting thought for you? Or does it make your anxiety worse?"

The idea of a crowd of hundreds of people scared me. Six weeks were all that separated me from graduation. School would be over before I knew it, and it still felt like only yesterday that I'd met Brock.

"A little bit of both," I said. I hated small talk, but it felt better to give some answers for general questions instead of the personal ones.

In the two weeks following the events with Brock in my bedroom, he seemed to be getting worse. I could sense the emptiness again, almost exactly as it had been when we met. He tried to convince me it was all fine. Cutting off my questions with kisses, tracing his name on the small of my back with his fingers. Anything that would get me to stop asking questions, to become so overcome with emotions I could no longer form a proper sentence.

We had both agreed to wait until at least the start of university before taking that next step in our relationship, but it never stopped that small part of me from wanting more. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anyone else, both in body and soul. I wanted him to trust me. To know that I did not care when things got bad, that I would be there for him.

I think he had discovered new ways to distract me from his depression. Finding excuses to let his hands wander to the ticklish spot on my outer thighs, to let things get so heated I was left gasping, guilty with the knowledge that he used it all as an attempt to make me forget about him.

I knew it was all a diversion, and I let him continue to toe on the steadily fraying line. It would only be a matter of time before it snapped.

"How about this friends of yours with depression? Have they been getting better? Are you fine with being around them?" Dr. Weinstock studied me, a knowing look in her eyes, as if she could read my mind.

The blush spread before I could compose myself.

"Tell me. Is this friend someone more to you? These sessions are confidential, you have nothing to fear. I won't tell anyone."

"Maybe." I looked away from her, the intensity of the heat in my face growing. "Yes."

Dr. Weinstock gave me a reassuring smile. "You can tell me more. What is said in this room will stay between you and me, unless you decide to tell someone else."

"I guess he has a way of making me both better and worse," I said, glancing at the shelves behind her head. "There are happy times, but there are also times when it gets so bad I have no idea what to do."

It surprised me that I'd revealed that much to her. Had it been anyone else, it would take months before I would admit that to them. There was just a certain trait of Dr. Weinstock that made me believe I could trust her.

She nodded, and sat back. "Every relationship has its ups and downs. Ask yourself this—are you willing to deal with the consequences of being with someone who struggles too?"

"Yes." It almost sounded like a question when spoken out loud.

"You seem to be doing a bit better, Claire. Not as nervous as you were the first time we met. That's good."