the anatomy of love [BxB] COMPLETED

23

He's back again. Jackson didn't really believe he'd follow through on the therapist sessions, but his body started walking to that side of campus and before he's truly aware of what he's doing the woman at the front desk of the Health Center is asking if he has an appointment. He says he does.

The same turquoise rock hangs from Delilah's neck. And the same turquoise mug sits on her desk. She sips it and looks calmly at him over the rim. The familiarity settles over him like a warm blanket. She offers him tea and he accepts, with honey.

Delilah doesn't feel like a mother to him, Jackson decides; her eyes search his with the clarity and mystic of a fortune teller and her voice smooth like a hypnotist.
"What has been on your mind?"

Jackson briefly thinks of a car in a garage, pressed up against the back seat, but then he forces it back on the turquoise necklace and the four walls of the office. Focus.

"I can't think of anything specific," Jackson says, hoping he's not blushing. Delilah raises an eyebrow and Jackson wonders if she can read minds.

"Pick any thread in your mind. It will lead us to something specific one way or another." Delilah sips her tea. Jackson sips his. He tries not to smile because it would only show her how nervous he feels talking about himself. Jackson desperately wants to regain an edge of confidence.

"If you think we should talk about my parents divorcing, let's just get it out of the way," Jackson says. Delilah pauses, touches her necklace.

"Do you want to talk about their divorce?"

"Well, it's probably fucked me up somehow. I mean, isn't that what therapy is about? Working through past traumas until it doesn't affect you anymore?"

"Jackson, therapy does not offer cures. Cures only work when you have a type of disease. The human consciousness does not need to be cured. Think of a person like a seed. The seed will grow into the plant it's meant to, regardless of circumstance, but depending on the environment surrounding it, each seed will grow differently. With good soil, sun, and rain, the seed will flourish fast and strong. But a harsher winter might shrivel up its leaves. An animal that passes by and eats its flower might cause it to wilt. A long storm might even uproot it. But if a plant starts to die because there is no water, do you blame the plant? Or do you blame the lack of water?"

"So how does therapy help me then?"

"By watering the plant, just a little. You can't erase the damage already done, but you can start the healing process and learn to accept who you are in this moment, not only the boy before the trauma."

"I don't want to talk about the divorce. Ever. But I feel like I should. I feel like it might...help." Jackson's cheeks burn in repulsion. He doesn't like admitting that some things in his past have affected him so much, especially something as common as a divorce. And yet... "My parents fought a lot. I thought that was normal, until the day they told us they were getting divorced."

"Us?"

"My sister. Younger sister. She doesn't act like the divorce really affected her, but maybe she was too young."

Delilah's eyes flared. "You are never too young to be changed. And things of the past have cunning ways of revealing themselves." Her face relaxes into a smile, the heat in her eyes fading like a dying flame. "What's your sister's name?"

"Avery. She's still in that teenager phase where she's obsessed with her phone, but she's getting better. I couldn't ask for a better sibling."

"She sounds very sweet. Do you two talk about the divorce?"

Jackson blinks, frowns. "I've never really noticed that we don't talk about it."

"Not once?"

"I mean, we acknowledged it. But we've never sat down and really talked about it, you know. It just wasn't something we ever felt like doing." Jackson freezes. Remembers some half formed room in his memory, a dark room, the lights turned off, and the voice of a young girl and her eyes wide and shining with tears. "There was this one time, though. I don't know if it counts. Before the divorce. My sister and I shared a room at the time. She asked me...about our parents. They must have been fighting. We could hear their shouts almost word for word through the walls, and the walls weren't that thin. I think that was the only time we spoke about it."

"What did she ask you?"

☆★☆

"Jackson?"

"Go to sleep."

"I can't. I hear them."

"Close your eyes and try to sleep. They are just fighting."

"I can't."

A sigh. The lights turned on. Jackson walked over to Avery's bed and sat on the edge. She was young, too young to understand what was going on upstairs, but so was he. They wanted the fighting to stop, but that felt impossible.

"Jackson?"

Avery reached out a hand and Jackson took it.

"Yes?"

"Do mama and papa love each other?"

He did not know how to respond. He did not even know what love was, and wouldn't for a long time. Perhaps he would never know.

"Yes. They love each other. People who love each other always fight."

"My best friend Sarah says her parents don't fight all the time. She said they never get loud at night."

"Well she's probably lying. All parents fight. That's what they do."

"Mama says she's going to leave papa all the time."

"She's just saying that to make him mad."

"Do you think she will ever leave us?"

"No." On this Jackson was sure. "No, mama would never leave us. She loves us too much."

The door to their room opened. Jackson realized the fighting had stopped, and a silence blanketed the house, an alien peace. Their mom walked in and when she saw Jackson holding Avery's hand, tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. When Avery saw this, she started crying too, and Jackson squirmed. His eyes felt hot but he refused to cry.

"Why are you guys up? You both should be sleeping," she said, joining them on the bed. She cradled Avery in her arms. She pressed a kiss on Avery's forehead, and Jackson watched a tear fall from his mother's cheek on to Avery's hair until it disappeared in the thick, dark strands.

"I don't like when you and papa fight," Avery complained. "I can't sleep when you fight."

"Don't worry, mija," their mother said, "the fighting will stop soon. I promise."

Jackson didn't believe her. This wasn't the first time she had said this.

"Are you going to leave us?" Avery asked. Their mother started to cry again, and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She breathed in and out slowly.

"No. I'm not ever going to leave you. Shh. Please, Avery, go to sleep. Mama is here. Everything will be okay." She stroked Avery's hair. Jackson got up and went back to his bed, ignoring his mother's eyes that followed him, forehead creased with lines of sorrow.

Jackson pulled the sheets up over his chin and turned the other way so his mother and sister could not see his face.

"Goodnight, mijo. I love you."

Only then did he let the tears fall down his face.