Page 18

“Even just a few sessions may help,” she replies.

“In the meantime, I want you to do an exercise in considering what self-care looks like for you. Sometimes making a list can help—write down all the things you do for yourself, and then write down all the things you do for others. If the lists aren’t even, that is a good place to start.

Make time for yourself, Marcos. A time when you aren’t thinking of others, or living in a way that serves someone else.

Another thing to try would be simple exposure therapy: think about touching someone on the arm and then physically do it.

You don’t have to make it extreme—start with small, safe touches with people you trust. Condition your brain to stop connecting touch with a negative biological response. ”

“Okay,” I croak, voice embarrassingly emotional. I need to pull myself together.

“Do you have anyone you can talk to at home?” she asks, eyes kind. I nod, even though I’ve been afraid of truly talking to Max since everything happened. How incredibly selfish would I be to dump my problems on him when he was already struggling? It’s better I suffer in silence than hurt him more.

“Yeah. My roommate, Max. My friend. The one who…” I trail off. I can’t say it again.

“I know it can be difficult to have hard conversations with your peers, but it might make you feel better to confide in him. Max may benefit from it, as well.”

“Okay. I’ll—I’ll try,” I promise, hoping that she doesn’t give me any other homework. This already feels insurmountable.

“I’m going to send in that prescription, and also place an order for the therapy, okay? The office will call you to schedule, and I really do want to stress the importance of it. Please complete at least three sessions and then we will touch base, okay?”

I nod, suddenly exhausted by this appointment.

After Dr. Radford leaves and I put my clothes back on, I make my way to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.

When I hand over my insurance card, my stomach tightens with nerves at the thought of my parents seeing it on the EOB.

I’ll have to call and give them some explanation as to why I suddenly need anxiety medication and therapy.

Parking in front of Max’s and my apartment building, I look around for Luke’s shit-pot car. It’s gone, which probably means Max is as well. Disappointment wells, before I tamp it back down. I will not begrudge him his happiness. I will not be that guy.

I’m in the midst of a firm talking-to when I step inside and am surprised to find the television playing. Max, sitting on the couch, turns toward the door and smiles.

“Hey,” he calls, immediately muting the TV so we don’t have to shout. Walking in, I glance around for Luke, thinking maybe I just missed seeing his car.

“Hi. I didn’t see Luke’s car, so I figured you were out.”

Flopping down next to him with a groan, I tip my head back against the rear of the couch. I’ve got a low-level headache, as though talking about my issues all morning is manifesting as physical pain.

“He went to meet up with Bryce, actually. And then he has to work later. I thought about going and hanging out at the diner, but then I figured me and you could order food and chill.” His face brightens. “We could play Mario Kart.”

I smile. Max and I used to have Mario Kart tournaments at his house growing up—holed up in the basement until his mom came down to shoo us outside for some fresh air .

“That sounds great. What do you want to eat?”

“You choose,” he says immediately. “I always pick. It’s your turn.”

Deciding that maybe a heavy dose of carbs will do us good, I put in a delivery order for Italian. Max waits, scuffing his socked foot across the floor and fiddling with the remote. When I finish and look back up at him, he smiles at me.

“You okay?” he asks. I open my mouth to tell him that I’m fine—a knee-jerk reaction at this point—but change course at the last second when I think of what the doctor told me.

“I’m f—well, I’m okay. I had a doctor’s appointment today.”

Golden-brown eyes widening, Max straightens from his lazy sprawl on the couch. I hadn’t told him I even had the appointment, not sure I was ready to come clean about the exact nature of why I was going.

“Are you sick?” he asks tightly, looking me up and down.

“No. I just haven’t been…right, I guess. For a while.”

He narrows his eyes. “What does that mean? Who told you that you weren’t right?”

I chuckle at the sheer indignation on his face. Max has always been the easygoing one between the two of us—slow to anger, and quick to calm down. He doesn’t like confrontation, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go to bat for someone he loves. For me.

“Nobody. I just meant I haven’t been feeling right, that’s all. Actually, I, uh…I’ve been having a lot of trouble with people touching me. It stresses me out and makes me feel kind of shitty. It’s been getting worse and worse, so…yeah.”

“So you went to the doctor?”

“Mm.”

“I didn’t know you were feeling crappy. Why didn’t you tell me? Can I help? I know you don’t like it when people are in your personal space. I’m sorry if I made you feel?—”

“No,” I cut in sharply. “It’s not you. Not at all.

It’s more”—I wave a hand through the air—“everyone else. But it’s to the point now where I feel like I can’t do anything without worrying about people, like, brushing up against me.

Seriously, all I do is worry about it—I can’t think of anything else.

And God-fucking-forbid I try to have se?—”

I cut off, but judging by the faint blush on his face, Max heard sex loud and clear. Which brings me to the other thing I need to talk to him about, I suppose.

“Also, I hooked up with Nate. Your teammate,” I tell him, deciding that the easiest way to have this conversation is by getting it over with as quickly as possible. “Twice. Well, three times if you count phone sex. I don’t think he’s out, though, so this has to stay between us.”

“Ha!” Max exclaims, leaning forward and poking the end of the remote hard into my thigh. I scowl at him and swat it away. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

“What?”

“Nate! At the baseball game! He watched you the whole time. Never looked away once.” He widens his eyes and stares at me dramatically, apparently trying to give me a visual representation of Nate watching me play baseball. “He’s obsessed with you.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not obsessed with me. I think he’s just…figuring himself out.”

“Well, he definitely wants to buy what you’re selling,” Max says, grinning. I roll my eyes, and kick my foot against his ankle.

“You’re spending way too much time with Luke. ”

“There is no such thing as too much time with Luke. Seriously, though, Nate is cool. Are you guys dating?”

“No. We’re not even a ‘we.’ We text and we got together a couple times. And I told him he couldn’t touch me when we did, so that’s pretty mortifying.” I snort, rubbing a hand down my face and feeling my mood sour as I remember.

“I threw up on Luke the first time we hooked up,” Max reminds me. “It doesn’t get more humiliating than that.”

“God, we’re fucked up,” I joke, making him snort out a laugh.

“I like Nate,” he declares. “He’s a little bit like Luke, actually.”

I scrunch up my nose in distaste. “He’s nothing like Luke.”

“Mm, sure. You keep telling yourself that.” He injects what I feel is a wholly unnecessary amount of sarcasm into the words, and makes a face at me. I smile, still not used to seeing this side of Max again after so many months of despondency.

“We’re not together,” I remind him. “Me and Nate. It was just a…a fling.”

“But you want it to be more and that’s why you went to the doctor,” he fills in. He knows me so well, it’s not even a question. “And that’s who you’ve been texting all the time, right? I was wondering, since it obviously wasn’t me.”

“He sends me selfies all the fucking time. Pretty much daily.”

“You poor thing.”

Laughing, I relax further into the couch, closing my eyes and breathing out a deep sigh. “I’m supposed to try anxiety medication and therapy. And self-care, whatever the hell that means. ”

“I’m sorry, Marcos.” I tip my head back up to look at him. “I know things have been harder because of me, and?—”

“Don’t,” I warn him, frowning. “Don’t apologize for what they did to you.”

“To us,” he corrects softly. A sharp pain prickles through my chest at the words.

Carefully, I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist, squeezing gently, before letting go and returning my hand to my lap.

Exposure therapy, the doctor called it—well, I hope Max is ready for me to practice on him all summer.

Maybe if I grab him enough, I’ll be able to get laid without any complications in the future.

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell my parents,” I admit. “They’re going to see the charges on the insurance claim. I doubt therapy is going to be fully covered, either.”

“I just told my mom that school is stressing me out, and she didn’t ask any more questions after that,” Max says, shrugging.

I nod, because that sounds exactly like his mom.

He’s never been particularly close with his parents, and I’ve never really gotten the impression that they care all that much about his life.

“Maybe I’ll do the same. Dad is pretty old school though. I doubt he’ll buy into the therapy thing. He’ll just tell me everyone in the world is stressed and I need to suck it up.”

“Well, if your insurance doesn’t cover it, and they won’t pay the difference, I’ve got some money in my savings. My dad puts in?—”

“Jesus, Max, no. You don’t have to give me money.”

He shrugs. “If it would help you, though…”