SOPHIE BROOKS:
Party, hook-up, hangover, repeat.
I don't do rules, responsibility, or monogamy.
So when the chance to sleep with the hottest Olympian swimmer in the country presents itself, you can be damn sure I take it.
And sneak out before he wa...
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"Take a seat, Sophie." Doctor Mallory indicates at the two chairs across from her desk, her gray eyes watching me closely as I choose the same as every other time, slowly sitting down, crossing one leg over the other, interlacing my fingers over my knee.
It's my fourth therapy session in as many weeks. A month of opening my heart to this complete stranger, allowing her to see absolutely everything, and then hoping she might be able to patch me back together.
The first time I'd barely spoken for twenty minutes, simply staring at the small objects she has lining her desk. But then I'd thought about how sad Jayden would be if I hadn't even given it a chance, and I'd opened my mouth, and all this shit came out.
By the end of our one-hour session, I was blubbering like a baby, taking her through the events surrounding my diagnosis.
Every time has been like that. For some reason, this woman makes me feel very comfortable. I know it can be tough to find a therapist you click with, so the fact that this happened so easily for me is a small miracle.
"How have you been?" Mallory asks, finding a pen and paper for her notes. I pick up one of the stress balls from her desk, playing with it absentmindedly.
"Okay. Good. Just, I don't know, things are a little difficult right now," I say, shrugging.
"Jayden?" she asks.
A small part of me had been worried telling some stranger about my famous swimmer boyfriend. I know Jayden doesn't want Ollie's story smeared all over the tabloids. But Doctor Mallory exudes trustworthiness.
Also, she's bound by law to keep my secrets, which certainly helps.
"Yeah. He's really busy with swimming since they have the Big Ten conference or something soon." I shrug, still not completely caught up on the world of water-related sports. "But also, Antonella is moving in a few weeks, and Jayden is taking it pretty hard."
She nods, scribbling something down. "And how about you? How are you handling it?"
I snake an arm across my torso, essentially hugging myself. "Me? This isn't really about me."
"Well, everything in these sessions is about you," she deadpans, and I can't help chuckle a bit.
Maybe that's why I like her. She's professional and asks those dumb therapy questions, like how I feel about things, but she also has a dry sense of humor and isn't afraid of calling me out on my shit.
I'd been hesitant about getting a younger therapist because I was uncomfortable with the idea of having someone who could be my sibling tell me what was wrong with me.
But also, the idea of sitting down opposite someone my mother's age or older made me want to gag. I don't want to be judged by a grandma, thank you very much.
