Page 44

LOGAN

I sat across from Riona, buried deep in my sweater and already on the defensive. The flowers I brought her sat on her desk behind her and just like Dean had predicted it had softened her a little. We were doing okay until the back half of the appointment when she had asked me about my mother and whether she knew it or not, she had hit a sore spot.

“I don’t know, it’s my mom, she’s always there. Like it or not,” I shrugged and Riona stared at me like I had six heads. “Aren’t you supposed to be like… impartial or something?”

“Who told you that?” She crossed her legs and the fabric of her brown dress pants stretched up enough to show a tattoo on her ankle of a moth.

“Why a moth?” I asked her and her blue eyes dragged down to her ankle with a scowl. “Why not a butterfly—something pretty?”

“Life isn’t pretty, Josh. Moth’s can symbolize a lot of things,” she said, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “Cycle of life, rebirth. I got mine because I wanted to remember to chase the light, my life was dark for a long time, my head in the sand avoiding the hard truths of my failing marriage and my relationship with my daughter. I chase the light, like a moth.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. I hadn’t wanted to admit that sometimes I lacked the ability to believe that happy people have hard lives. My brain couldn’t wrap around the idea that someone could overcome hardship and just move on. I constantly felt like I was ankle-deep in setting concrete, jealous of the people walking past while I silently screamed for help.

“Your relationship with your mother is difficult?” She asked again.

“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling at ease to explain more. “She’s an addict,” I said.

“You’re Cael’s sponsor, what was your vice?” She asked me and I narrowed my eyes on her. “You didn’t think he kept that secret from everyone did you?” She smiled. “He’s my nephew, therapy or not, I’m the one that knows all the things he can’t tell his dad.”

“It’s still weird that you’re Cael’s therapist,” I said.

“I’m not, he comes up here to spend time with me, not for therapy, not anymore,” she said, her blonde hair brushed over her shoulders and she leaned back in her seat. “Who do you talk to? Outside of this room?”

I diverted my eyes to the massive windows that lined her office, the view of the diamond beautiful from this high. “Those must get broken a lot,” I noted and she turned to see what I was looking at.

“Nope,” she said simply. "They’re out of reach from anyone, they’ve never even been touched by a ball. You’re avoiding the question again,” she said, so easily she swung the bat back to the harder conversations.

“Tucker.” I swallowed. It felt weird saying his name out loud, like someone was going to pop out and point their finger at me with laughter. Like I was some joke or the team clown, there simply for entertainment purposes. “Why do you look surprised?”

“I just wasn’t expecting it, Dean is…” she paused, looking for the words, but I had them, listed in permanent marker on the walls of my broken heart.

A sunshower, a golden retriever puppy, mango and sugar, he was electricity in the simplest form. He was mine.

“Too happy for me?” I finished her sentence.

“You are a little rough, Josh.” Her eyebrow rose and she gave me a sympathetic smile. “What do you and Dean talk about?”

Everything.

“Nothing.” I dismissed her. "School, baseball…”

“What about your mother, do you talk about her?” Riona asked.

“Sometimes.” I chewed the inside of my cheek raw.

“Is it hard to be around her when she’s using?” She stayed in her relaxed state and let me come to her with each question.

“Yeah.” I nodded, just trying to keep some bolting from the office out of fear that Riona might see past everything and into the real issues.

“Do you remember when she started?” She asked, I knew what she was doing. She was all but writing it out on a white board for me to follow. She was digging into my mother's past to find out why my childhood was such a hang up. She wanted to know why I avoided the topic, I wasn’t sure I was ready to explain the ins and outs but Riona didn’t nudge when she asked, she shoved with all her strength until the levee broke.

“Nothing I say in here leaves right?” I asked her.

“It’s a conversation between us, always. Unless I believe you’re going to harm yourself, then I have a duty to you and the school to help whether or not you agree with it. Do you understand?” She asked me.

“Yeah.” I swallowed the cotton ball in my throat and tried speaking again. “She started using after I was born, my... My biological father is a piece of work and she never believed that he abandoned us because of her. She blamed me for everything and what I think started as heartbreak turned into resentment. It festered and she got mean.”

“Mean how?” Riona asked.

I rolled my shoulders back and she noticed the discomfort.

“I can’t help if you don’t talk about it, Josh. I can’t force you to let go of the memories you have to do that on your own,” she explained.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me how to feel or something?” I snapped, harsher than I meant to be.

“Therapy isn’t a one way street, you don’t get to have all the solutions without doing the work,” her tone hardened, I was about to be mothered again. “You aren’t here so I can tell you how to feel Josh, you’re here to figure out how you want to feel.”

“Sounds fucking stupid,” I groaned, my feet bounced against the floor as I grew antsy.

“Doors right there.” She pointed to it.

“You’re kicking me out?” I scoffed.

“No, I’m telling you that if you want to leave you can, if you think this is a waste of your time, of mine. You don’t have to be here,” she said.

I took a deep breath and remembered what Dean said.

“She would bring guys over—boyfriends, strangers from bars—and she would…” I laughed, tears bubbling up over the anger out of nowhere. I looked up to meet Riona’s gaze. "She would take money from them to spend an hour with me. It started when I was younger, it only stopped because I started fighting back and they didn’t like when I struggled,” I swallowed the bile that rose. “I was the reason she turned to drugs and the reason she had the money to keep doing them. I spent hours in that room, there were…” I picked at my nails and until the skin broke and I sucked it into my mouth as the blood welled.

“Josh,” Riona said, making me look at her again, “there were, what?”

“Locks on the outside, sometimes days would pass before she’d let me out, or let them in,” I confessed. “I can feel them on me, in me, their hands passing over my skin like sandpaper even though they stopped coming to my room.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology was genuine and softer than she normally spoke to me.

“You didn’t rape me,” I said with a bitter laugh, cursing under my breath when I heard how harsh it sounded. “I—” I ran my hands through my hair. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said leaning forward in her chair finally. “That’s the appropriate term and I’ve heard worse.”

“You told me I could leave if I wanted to,” I said, clearing my throat. “I don’t want to,” I felt like I was going to shred into nothing in front of her. The worst part is she didn’t look at me any differently, her expression remained unchanged. “I can’t touch him without…freaking out and I want to.”

“Dean?” She asked. "You want to be able to touch him without a panic attack?” I nodded and she smiled at me. “Don’t they warn you against attaching your recovery to another person?”

“Yeah,” I huffed, she was right and it pissed me off. “But.” I licked my bottom lip, my mouth felt so dry. “The last time I wanted something this badly I stopped drinking, cold turkey,” I laughed. "I was enrolled at Lorette a month later,” I said.

“Okay,” Riona said, sounding a little confused.

“I can’t quit this cold turkey,” I confessed. "I’ve been trying to work through it but I can’t do it myself, I don’t know how…” I said. “You’re sure you won’t tell anyone about this?” I asked again and she nodded like I was being a lunatic. “I want this badly enough to try. And maybe that means I’m tying my recovery to him, but…”

“It’s worth it,” Riona smiled. "Let’s try then,” she pushed from her chair and set her folders down on her desk, digging around for something. “I have a few books on cognitive behavioral therapy that focus on touch and intimacy. I guess you won’t be the only one studying this weekend.”

“Are you sure any of that will work?” I stood from the couch.

“I’m not going to lie kid, you’re pretty messed up,” she laughed gently and looked up at me. "But speaking from experience, everyone can come back from the ledge if they find the path they need to take.”

“Like a moth to a flame?”

“Exactly.” She winked.