A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Remember that you were given this life because you are strong enough to live it."

The drive to Dr. Weinstock was quiet. On Monday, before I went to school and was faced with seeing Brock, I told my mother the truth about us. She had seemed surprised. She told me that we had been great together, despite the issues we'd had. It saddened her to know we no longer spoke to each other.

Brock kept his distance. On more than one occasion, I would catch a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye. He sometimes appeared outside my classes, but was always gone before the bell rang. A void now lived where my heart once had.

Anger radiated off Zoe almost every time we talked. She was mad at me for cutting off Brock, for the empty spot at the table where he used to sit. Zoe became furious after three days, and told me to grow up before she stormed out of the cafeteria.

Before, I might have cared. Now, I did nothing but shrug it off.

I was happy that Zoe cared about Brock. A genuine friendship had started between them in the time him and I were together. He no longer needed me, not when Zoe and her crew would happily take him in.

Everyone had started to move on.

Well, everyone but me.

"You look troubled today. Has a lot happened since the last time we spoke?" Dr. Weinstock wore a pale pink shirt today, the contrast it had with her rich brown skin wonderful. I had never taken enough time to praise her in all her beauty. "Claire? What is it?"

"My boyfriend tried to kill himself, for starters." Laughter tumbled out of me at how ridiculous it sounded. "And then I told him I wished I'd never met him."

Raising an eyebrow, Dr. Weinstock sat up straight. "That is quite a lot to handle. What else?"

This time, I didn't hesitate. "My best friend is starting to hate me. She thinks I'm being selfish for choosing my own mental health over Brock. But how could she ever understand how it feels? Zoe has never worried a day in her life."

Dr. Weinstock remained quiet. I found myself going on, the past seven months rushing out in one long rant.

"I'm just tired of living life in constant fear that it's all for nothing. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape these thoughts that are always beating me down. They torture me every second. And now I've ruined the only real relationship I've ever had. Since September, the voices had gotten worse.

"There are days where I am horrified at the idea of school. I feel like everyone watches me there, that they all hate me when they don't even know me. I know how stupid that is. I know that it's all in my head, but I—I can't control it. It eats me alive and it's getting to the point where I—I—"

"You what, Claire?"

"I wonder if I deserve all that's happened to me." I met her eyes then, and was surprised that I hadn't broken down yet. No, there was anger coursing through my veins.

But it wasn't anger at a person.

"I hate that the man I love and want to be with has to fight himself every single day. He thinks that he's saving me by trying to make me stop loving him. Maybe he's right. Maybe we were never meant to start a relationship, but it doesn't make me want him any less."

A smile tugged at the corner of Dr. Weinstock's lips. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on top of her knees. "You've just told me more about yourself in ten minutes than you have in both of our previous sessions combined. Do you wish to tell me more?"

"Yes. I do."

I told her about when the anxiety started. About the first day of high school, when I took one look at Zoe and realized that she would always have the advantage in life.

Recounting all the nights spent in bed, quiet whimpers, damp pillows. Secrets that no one, not even Brock, knew. I told her all about them.

The day Brock came into my life, how I had spent so much time determined to never get close to him. I explained the moment I came to the realization that I liked him more than a friend. I told her about the first panic attack I had in front of him, and how he had helped to calm me down, and not once did he ever treat me like a different person because of the anxiety I had no control over.

Years of secrets came rushing out. Moments that were so insignificant, they probably did not matter, yet I had remembered them all. Dr. Weinstock learned about the scars on Brock's body. She sat and listened to me describe how destructive our relationship had been, while it had been my salvation at the exact same time.

Contradictory to the extreme, but the truth.

Between losing Brock and beginning to understand myself, I had found what I spent so many years wishing I had.

Courage.

Strength. The ability to open up to someone for once, and to finally let all the years I'd destroyed myself reverse.

The receptionist came to get me, but Dr. Weinstock waved her away. We had exceeded well over our scheduled time. She assured me her next appointment wasn't for another few hours.

Twice, the receptionist came, and both times she was asked to wait. At the third interruption, Dr. Weinstock sighed. "Fine. I guess this will have to do for now. I am so proud of you, Claire. I'm glad you trust me enough to tell me all this."

"You're the first person that actually listened."

"And how are you feeling after this session?"

It was the first time I'd smiled and meant it since my breakup with Brock.

"Honestly? I feel like a mountain's just been lifted from my back."