Getting a Clue | ✓

Epilogue

The second Friday of September rolled around, and with it came my monthly appointment with Dr. Booker. I'd decided I was going to tell him I'd talk to a therapist. Hell, I'd even go to the sessions alone, without my dad hovering like an overprotective helicopter parent. I was going to take this shit seriously. Which, let's face it, it just might.

I still wasn't fully convinced therapy wouldn't be a complete shitshow, but Jethro had somehow managed to prove that talking about feelings didn't always have suck. And, well, it was starting to feel pretty fucking unfair that I'd been using him as my personal emotional dumpster.

Of course, if I told Jethro he'd been my inspiration, he'd probably say some sappy shit about how I wasn't a burden. But that wasn't the point. It wasn't fair to dump all my issues on him and then flaunt my determination to do jack shit about any of it. Every time I brushed off his concerns, I saw that little flicker of sadness in his eyes. It was like kicking a puppy, if that puppy was an unfairly attractive boy who inexplicably put up with my bullshit.

So I told Dr. Booker I wanted to see a therapist. The words felt like sandpaper in my mouth, but I managed to spit them out. Then, despite my newfound commitment to talking about feelings, I sat there like a constipated lump while he tried to pry out my reasons. He eventually gave up and moved on to praising me, which was somehow even worse. I never knew what the fuck to do with praise. I settled for scowling at him. He already knew I was a disaster, so why bother hiding it?

After the appointment, I still went back to my dad's office. I'd half-expected my parents to start nagging me about taking the bus to school after my Peter Pan bus adventure, but they'd been surprisingly chill. Maybe they sensed that I was already dealing with more change than my rigid autistic brain could handle.

When Jethro bounced into the office at lunch time, I kept my mouth shut about the therapist thing. I would tell him after I actually started the sessions, once I was sure I could stick to it and actually make it work. I didn't want to give him hope only to end up fucking it all up later.

I did cling to him for an extra long time when I hugged him, though, letting out a deep sigh against his neck. He smelled sweet and fruity, as usual. Sometimes I'd be going about my day and I'd get a whiff of something sweet and it would make me think of him. It was nice.

He was wearing stockings under his uniform shorts, the sheer fabric clinging to his legs like a second skin. The school had agreed to it, then changed their mind after they actually saw his legs in that shit, then agreed to it again after his mum had gone to battle for him. Sure, he looked way too fucking hot in stockings, but why was it any different from a girl wearing them? Presumably they also looked hot in them, though I was too gay to have much of an opinion on that.

We headed to the break room and I sat down at the table while Jethro put his sausage roll in the microwave. Once the microwave started its merry dance of radiation, he came over and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin digging into my shoulder like he was trying to burrow into my collarbone. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine that I tried desperately to ignore. Fucking hormones.

My phone let out a sad little bing and I fished it out of my pocket to find a message from Brandon: were r u?? followed by two little emoji faces that looked like they were on the verge of a breakdown. From anyone else, I might've been worried, but Brandon was always a little dramatic.

About to watch my boyfriend choke down a sausage roll, I typed, and Jethro let out a snort of laughter against my neck. I erased the message and instead sent, Psych appointment today.

I'd told Brandon and Tayla the truth about my monthly disappearing act last time, and shockingly, it hadn't been weird or awkward at all. But, like, genuinely. I'd been trying to take a page out of Jethro's book and just be my full, honest self, and so far it actually seemed to be going fine. The more myself I was, the more Brandon and Tayla had started to feel like they were my actual friends.