Housemates

Final Impression

3 months later.

Aaron

"Is that all for today?" I asked slumped on the couch.

Dr Wells nodded at me closing his notepad. I sat up adjusting my seating. The past few weeks were draining but in a good way. Ever since Enzo got caught the second time, Chase showed up to my house and yelled at me. I've never seen him that mad. In summary, he said I was throwing my life away and a bunch of other bullshit. In the beginning I didn't want to hear it from him. I just wanted to be left alone. But then he did the one thing I needed the most,

He hugged me.

Chase hugged me.

"You think pushing everyone makes you stronger? Guess fucking what? It doesn't. It just makes you alone  and trust me I know all about it So I'm not going to let it happen."

That's when I realized I really fucked up. Big time. And I needed to fix it somehow. I first started blocking every contact I had related to Enzo while Chase threw away all the beer bottles in my room. He helped me get clean and thats when I finally got the courage to approach my father and ask him to sign me up for therapy. Surprisingly, he didn't reject the idea of it on the third try. I figured it was because he felt guilty with all the stuff that went down with my mom.

Oh yeah, they got divorced. It was a whole thing but I made sure to let them know I didn't want to hear the details about it. I am good with not knowing for once.

Yay.

So I've been going to weekly sessions twice a week. It's been good, my shoulders feel light. Turns out I like to paint. Who knew? Chase says I'm no Va Gogh,but at least I'm not drinking my weight in beer anymore.

She would call this progress, with that half-smile of hers, the one that used to make me believe I wasn't as broken as I thought I was.

After Dr.  Wells Dismissed me, I lingered for a moment. My fingers tapped against my knee as I thought about what Chase would say if I told him about today's session. Probably something like "I'm proud of you, man" with a shoulder clap that would nearly knock me over.

I walked out of the office, the crisp afternoon air hitting my face, and suddenly I realized something strange- I didn't hate myself today. I wasn't floating, but I wasn't drowning either. Maybe this is what progress feels like. I sure do remember how it felt the first time.

I checked my phone out of habit. There was nothing. No missed calls, no texts. I sighed, shoving it back in my pocket.

I made my way over to the cafe. I came here after each session to journal. It was quiet, the soft hum of the espresso machine the only thing keeping me company as I stared at my untouched coffee. I'd been coming here for weeks now, finding comfort in the quiet. Comfort in the routine.

I flipped open my journal, pen tapping against the page. Dr. Wells said I should write about anything, even if it didnt' make sense. So I wrote about the weather. About basketball. About my dad's weird new obsession with Korean food.

And, sometimes, I wrote about her.

Ari.

Her name was still a bruise, sore to the touch but impossible to ignore. I hadn't heard from her since she left but her voice still echoed in my head. Her laugh. Her smile. I shook my head, leaning back against the booth.

The bell above the door chimed, and I glanced up instinctively. I didn't see her- not yet. But I heard her.

A soft voice. A faint Italian lilt. Ordering coffee.