Hold My Hand - Lashton

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

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"Who were you talking to, Luke?" his mother asked as her son entered the kitchen for his lunch.

Luke paused and panic settled over his face. He didn't know if she had heard any of the words he had uttered over the phone. He had tried to be quiet, but his therapist then couldn't hear him. And Luke knew any suspicion would be drawn to his room if he were to talk because his parents knew he never talked to anyone.

So Luke could lie. He could say it was a friend. But Luke didn't like to lie. And he knew deep down his mother knew. Taking a deep breath, Luke confessed. "My therapist."

Liz was shocked. It was only two words. But it felt like it was the most she had ever heard her son speak. It was so much more than the simple yes or no, or the I'm fine. He was finally saying something meaningful to her. He was putting his trust in her and she finally felt like she could be a true mother to him. Nineteen years later than she would have liked.

"A therapist?" she asked, uncertain that she was hearing right. Liz took a seat at the table to settle herself, her cold cup of coffee placed in front of her. Whilst she was delighted to hear such pure words, they also held connotations of pain and suffering. They revealed her worst nightmare, that her youngest son wasn't okay and maybe that was a failure of her nurturing.

"My therapist," Luke confirmed, taking another deep breath and sitting down in front of her. He didn't meet her eyes just yet. He hadn't met her eyes since he'd been home for the break, and it had been a week. He was afraid she wouldn't recognise him anymore. He felt changed, stronger and more open. He was also in love, and love could change a person appearance drastically.

"Okay," Liz spoke softly. "How long have you been seeing a therapist for?" she asked, wanting to carefully piece together the part of her son's life she had been locked out of for so long. She thought she was entitled to it as his mother. Liz believed that she deserved to know her son's mental state. But as Luke got over she realised she was never going to know what was going in his head. He could tell her, but even that was not going to be entirely accurate.

"Just over a month," Luke revealed. "After I-" He paused. He didn't know if he wanted to tell her everything, but he knew she'd only pry and hover around him until she drove it out of him. He could tell her now or suffering the overwhelming anxiety that waiting for the uncertain provoked.

"After what Luke?" she asked, growing more and more worried. She knew therapy was often a harmless thing. It was good to talk about your feelings even if you weren't in any particular trouble. But she knew her son was in trouble. She could always sense that at least.

"After I ended up in the hospital."

She stared at him confused. And Luke finally looked up. Meeting her eyes, those so familiar to his, and revealing all the pain and suffering he had endured; not only whilst he was in at university, but over the nineteen years he had been awake.

Liz didn't ask why he ended up in the hospital. She knew why. And she knew she could have stopped it. But she had learnt from her previous two sons that often it was worst to interfere, it was better to leave your child to make their own decisions. You could only leave prompts to point them in the right direction. Slip hints here and there into conversations.

Vaguely Luke implied. "I wasn't taking care of myself. But I'm learning to now."

Liz looked at her son. He certainly looked better, a little more nourished. But if he were still young, she would feed him differently. She would make sure he went to bed earlier and woke up later. And she would make sure he would go out and get some fresh air at least once a day. But he wasn't hers anymore. He was his own.