Testing The Waters

Chapter Forty-Eight

Pulling my gaze from the wall art depicting an anatomical diagram of lungs with the phrase "Breathe In, Breathe Out" etched below it, I bring my attention back to the deep, brown eyes currently watching me with patient focus.

She's waiting for me to respond.

What was her question?

As if reading my mind, she repeats herself. "How did seeing Alex today make you feel, Babbie?"

Oh. Right.

I know what she's doing. The same thing she's always done.

Dr. Usilton's questions are almost always more than just questions. There's usually an underlining point that she wants me to see, and most—well, some— of the time, I actually do have the inclination to follow the point she's trying to lead me to.

Want to talk about Dad?

Fine.

Mom?

Grumble, grumble... fine.

This point, however?

Not so much.

Dr. Usilton shifts in her seat, tucking a piece of slate-gray hair behind her ear. "You haven't spoken to him in weeks. It's completely normal to have conflicting feelings about it."

If intense pain, as though someone opened me up and starting hacking away at my chest with a goddamn machete is considered conflicting feelings, then yeah, I might be conflicted about it.

I bite my lip, growing frustrated with myself. "I honestly feel stupid. That's how I feel," I grit out.

If that omission shocks her, you'd never know it.

"Why do you feel stupid?" she asks calmly.

I have the intense urge to groan right now. Instead, I clench the material of my pants, squeezing my fists as tightly as possible. "I feel stupid, because it was the briefest, most unimportant interaction, but it left me feeling like..."

Machete. Chest. Hacking.

"That must have been painful for you," Dr. Usilton offers.

Releasing a tense breath, I give her a reluctant nod, because that's honestly all I can manage right now without crying, and seriously... fuck crying.

I am so sick and completely over the act of crying that I will physically punch myself in my own face if I start crying right now.

It's been weeks since I officially ended things with Alex. At what point does it get easier? At what point do I stop wanting him so much, I can barely function after the briefest of interactions with him?

"You dropped this."

That was literally all he said to me when he stopped me in the hallway to hand me my yellow stupid highlighter. I never see him in the cafeteria anymore, and I've only seen him in passing a handful of times since our breakup, but he never speaks to me. Doesn't even look at me, if I'm being honest. Today was the first time he actually spoke to me.

And it completely wrecked me.

"Were you hoping he would have said more to you?"

I look back at the lung picture. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"I don't know," I finally concede.

What was I expecting?

"Here's your highlighter. By the way, I really fucking miss you?" I grimace.

"And because he didn't, that would mean..." Dr. Usilton pauses, silently prodding me to fill in the blanks.

I look down at my lap and swallow. "That he's moved on."

And there it is.

The point.

The underlying truth she wants me to acknowledge. I hold back my groan. It honestly irritates me at how good she is at this sometimes.

"What evidence do you have to support that statement?"

This time, I actually do groan. "None."

"Is it possible, that seeing you today was just as difficult for him as it was for you?"

"Maybe."

I see her look down at her notepad, flipping over a few pages, skimming through her notes from a prior session. "Let's discuss why Alex moving on would be a bad thing," she says casually as though her words didn't just punch the very air from my lungs.

She lowers her notebook to her lap, lifting her eyes to mine. "You decided to end things with him, Babbie. You've said many times that you wanted better for him. Wouldn't him moving on be exactly what you wanted?"

I close my eyes, trying to force the tears back. That is what I said. That's what I want, right?

For him to be happy.

Then, why does it feel like someone just drove an icepick through my heart?

"I know this is difficult," she says softly. "But I think it's important to process why the idea of Alex moving on is so upsetting for you."

I place my fists over my eyes, squeezing them against my sockets. "I don't know!" I growl out.

A few moments of silence pass before she speaks again. "Is there a part of you that fears him moving on would prove there's something wrong with you? That maybe you weren't good enough?"

My lungs deflate, as my whole upper body sinks inside itself. I drop my hands and stare at her. "That's exactly what it means."

She nods, closing her eyes for a brief moment almost to acknowledge what I just said. "Even though he told you that he loved you? That he wanted a future with you?" She pauses, tilting her head curiously, as though she doesn't already know the freaking answer. "Did you think he was lying about that?"

"No," I say, full on pouting at this point.

"Did you lie to him? Make him think you were someone you weren't?"

Huffing, I shake my head. "No."

"So, why wouldn't you be good enough?"

My voice dips to an almost whisper. "Because I'm not."

"How so?" she pushes me.

I glare at her. "Because my own mother didn't want me. Is that what you want to hear? The one person who is biologically engineered to love me, didn't." I grit my teeth. "She didn't even like me."

I rub a hand over my face, growing irritated. "Even before she left, she was always cold and distant, and I tried... I tried so fucking hard to get her to love me, but I couldn't. She left, because I wasn't good enough for her to stay."

Tears push past my eyes, and I swipe at them angrily. "I wasn't good enough for my own mother. How could I possibly be good enough for someone like Alex?" I heave out a breath, feeling like I just ran an entire marathon.

Closing her notebook, Dr. Usilton gives me a small smile.

I clench my jaw. Screw this and screw her stupid points.

"I'm really proud of you, Babbie. That took a lot of courage to say out loud."

My chest rumbles with an unintelligible grumble.

"Now, let's run down our list of questions to identify any cognitive distortions."

I groan into my hands.