To Love a Wolf; Sequel to Coyotes and Wolves, A Milo Manheim Original Story

Therapy

POV: Milo

Trigger Warnings

"It's good to meet you, Milo. I'm Dr. Stevens. Why don't you start by telling me what brought you to therapy today?" The middle aged, sandy haired, female Therapist began.

Why do I suddenly feel like I'm under a microscope?
Shit. This is gonna be harder than I thought.

Okay...

So, just let me just tell you my entire life in the next 59 minutes...

"Well, I'm worried about my girlfriend." I expressed. "She has PTSD and is having night terrors and flashbacks. She has panic attacks too. She's had a lot of trauma. She was...raped."

"That has to be very debilitating for her. Is she in therapy?" The Dr. asked, as she began scribbling on a yellow legal pad, laying on her lap over her dark grey pencil skirt.

"Yeah...she is." I answered, with a sad nod.

"So, why don't you tell me more about you, specifically?" She pressed, redirecting.

"Uh, okay." I uttered reluctantly, wiping my swearing palms on my pants. "I'm gonna graduate this year, and I got into college with scholarships. I play sports. And I have some good friends." I explained, giving a very basic description of me.

Fine. I still have control issues, remember? It's not that easy to dive into the hard shit.

"Are your parents proud of your accomplishments?" She probed.

I let out the same dark, nervous chuckle, that comes out whenever anyone brings up my parents possibly doing something supportive.

"Yeah...no." I drawled, shaking my head. "I don't...uh...I don't talk to them anymore. I live with my girlfriend and her parents." I explained.

She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to go further into detail.

"Fine." I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "My dad's an alcoholic Narcissistic, and my mom won't let him go. She puts a lot of it on me. It got to where they were fighting so much that I couldn't sleep most nights, so my girlfriend and her mom asked me to move in with them."

"That had to be hard. Leaving home. And going through all of that." She continued.

"I mean...I dealt with it for 18 years. I know I'm not like, unscathed by it. But, I'm trying to move on." I replied dismissively, before pausing and chewing on my lip.
"There is something that I think I should mention though..." I trailed off, nervously.

She waited for me to find my voice, rolling up the long sleeves of her deep mauve blouse.

"Okay. How do I put this without sounding like a nut job?" I began reluctantly, while the Doc gave me an encouraging look. "Uh, so...I like...sometimes, will like, switch. I mean, I go from this version of me to other versions of me, does that make sense?"

"I'm with you so far." She replied, thoughtfully.

"Different things I think, trigger different versions. But there's this one that I hate. It's not stable. And I can't control it." I revealed.

"What does it feel like?" She asked.

"Well, I know how it comes off to other people. I act angry, and mean...um... insensitive, inappropriate, and self-centered." I replied.

"How does that feel though?" The Doctor pressed, adjusting her dark maroon, cat-eye framed glasses.

"If I tell you the truth, you'll think I'm a psycho." I voiced, warily.