And To Love In Return... (BOOK 2)

Therapy

The first two weeks have been boring as all hell. No one has come to visit me yet, but I know Wooyoung well enough to know he gave Felix his own set of rules. A familiar face would definitely be nice. So far I've only talked to a few people briefly in this daily group counseling I need to attend. I wanted to throw up once someone said 'oh shit, aren't you Hwang Jiho's son?' - worst moment of this entire experience so far.

Now I was on my way to my very awkward one on one therapy session. This is the fourth meeting and I haven't said much. All this guy knows is that I was addicted to cocaine, I'm Hwang Jiho and Junghwa's son, and I'm gay. He's asked me questions regarding my past addiction, but that's as far as I've elaborated on. I know I need to talk about everything, but I realized I'm actually ashamed. It's embarrassing to talk about.

"So," Nichkhun started, prepared to take notes with a pen in his hand, "we need to step outside the box a little bit today."

Fantastic.

"How much?"

"What was college like? You said you have your bachelor's degree, right?"

"I don't really think I deserve it." I mumbled, unwilling to make eye contact.

"Because of your addiction?"

"Yup."

"So other than that, would you say you enjoyed New York overall?" Haunting memories flashed through my brain, making my heart pound. "Hyunjin...Hyunjin...Hyunjin, are you okay?"

"What?" I lifted my head, fully attentive.

"You zoned out for a second, is everything okay?"

"I don't like talking about New York." I spoke quietly, hating that I ultimately had no choice.

"Too many bad memories?" I nodded in reply. "Do you think you could tell me one thing that happened so we can branch out from there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then what would you like to talk about? You can't say nothing, there has to be something."

It was almost as if I could feel my entire body aching in the same exact places from that night. Everything hurt. I just wanted it to stop.

"Can you give me that?" I pointed to his notepad and pen.

"Are you going to write it?"

"Can I draw it?" He nodded and gave me what was sitting on his lap. I immediately started scribbling away on the blank page, clenching my jaw with full focus as I continued.

I drew the outside of the club in New York City with a spilled drink at the entrance. Wanting to avoid questions about it, I made little hazard signs floating around it. Inches away was an alleyway with a forceful body on top of another. I felt the need to put extra detail on his hands around my neck; veins protruding all the way up his arms to symbolize his strength. And although this isn't how the real story went, I added two belts to the side of us; I hope he understands what that means. This didn't feel like art, it felt like a punishment. I thought it would be better than verbalizing it, but seeing it take image made me sick. It was just a drawing yet it looked so real. This is what I get for having talent.

Once I felt tears welling in my eyes, I knew it was time to stop. I wasn't even sure how long I had been working on the drawing. It could've been seconds, it could've been close to an hour.

"All done?" He asked once I handed it back to him.

"Don't ask me any questions you know you shouldn't ask." I tried to be stern, but my wobbling chin and glossy eyes ruined my attempt.