On Purpose

Chapter 8: The Bet on the Table

———James———

Monday, September 30th, 2019

It was only a day after Marcus and Ben left, but Anthony was brooding up a storm. They left right after lunch on Sunday, and my head was already buzzing unpleasantly, so I wasn't much better off.

"What's your problem?" I demanded as Anthony angrily slammed a pan down on the counter.

"Nothing," he seethed through gritted teeth. I gave him a pointed look, and he dropped eye contact.

"Nothing, it's stupid," he added with much less venom.

"Miss Ben?" I suggested, not without sympathy. I had also been in a crabby mood since Marcus left. Although, that was about more than just missing Marcus with the mixed bag of how the weekend went. I had managed not to take out my fowl mood on the kitchen utensils, though.

"S'not just that," Anthony mumbled after a sigh.

"Care to elaborate?" I suggested. I expected Anthony to shut me down again, but instead, he leaned across the counter toward me, resting his weight on both elbows. He didn't say anything at first, but I didn't push.

"I feel... clingy. And I hate that," Anthony finally said.

"It's normal to miss your mate in a long distance situation, Ant," I said. He sighed again.

"It's not that missing him in and of itself bothers me," Anthony admitted. "It's that it makes me feel... dependent. And I don't like that. I don't like not being in control."

"Ah, I see," I said. I understood why Ant felt that way. His vulnerability issues were a big part of his and Ben's conflict this summer. What surprised me, though, was how openly he was talking about it.

"Dr. Turner suggested I talk to you about it," Anthony mumbled, seemingly reading my surprise. "Something about bottling shit is "bad for me" or whatever."

"Aww, cute," I said with a coo. "You trust me." Anthony flicked me off as he pushed off the counter and returned to his cooking, albeit with less banging around.

"How have things been going with Dr. Turner?" I asked lightly as I moved to one of the seats at the kitchen bar. I wasn't sure if it was too soon to ask about, but his recent openness was a good sign.

Anthony sighed without turning around. "Got diagnosed with PTSD."

"How do you feel about that?" I continued carefully.

"You don't have to be like that; you can just ask normally," Anthony replied irritably. I put my hands up in surrender. Anthony rolled his eyes as he turned around to place something in the sink.

"It's whatever. It's not like it was super unexpected," Anthony finally answered. "You even suggested it before."

"Yeah. After your first movie night with Loverboy, I did some research about your reaction, and that came up as one of the possibilities," I said. It wasn't an uncommon thing with people who had shifted early either, like Ant had. I'd be more surprised if he wasn't diagnosed, to be honest.

"You SuperWeb MD'd me?" Anthony asked in a waspish tone.

"I was trying to help, jackass," I protested. "Which, speaking of... have you and Dr. Turner talked about, you know... how to help with that?"

"With what? Being a jackass?" Anthony asked mockingly as he kept his gaze on the cutting board, dicing some vegetables. It was slow going, but he was already a lot less clumsy at it than he was a month ago.