Page 20 of True Sight (Nat. 20, #4)

CONRAD

“ H ow was game night last night?” Hanna asks once we’re both in our respective spots. I’m starting to think she enjoys that I always see her the day after game night because it gives me plenty to talk about.

“Well, all of my friends are happily engaged in healthy relationships, meanwhile the only relationship I have is with my dog. Clearly I’m doing a bang up job at all this healing stuff,” I self-deprecate.

She cocks her head to one side and her eyebrows narrow a fraction of an inch which tells me she’s about to ask a question I’ll hate.

What I lack in interpersonal skills I make up for in observational skills.

After my parents died, I was practically mute until I met my friends but that didn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention.

While everyone was talking and playing, I was watching.

How people interacted, their expressions, how they reacted to things.

Even as an almost thirty year old, I still choose to watch first and speak second.

I could read my friends like a fucking book—each one of them with their own signals of stress.

Kolbi rubbed his thumbs into the backs of his hands, Hank ran his hands through his hair, and Malcolm would avoid your gaze and smirk to himself, knowing he was caught.

And after six weeks of sitting across from Hanna for forty-five minutes, I’ve picked up on some of her own personal tells.

“You’re going to ask me something I’ll hate,” I announce with a straight face. This causes her to sit up straight and try to force a smile back down.

“And what makes you say that?”

“The way your eyebrows twitched together and you moved your chin to the side. You do that when you’re about to ask or say something you know might annoy me.” This earns me an impressed expression from her.

She fixes her glasses even though they don’t need fixing—another tell, this time that she appreciates what I said—and tucks her feet under herself. “You know that hyper awareness and heightened observation is a trauma response.”

“Everything is a trauma response according to you.”

If I earned a dollar for every time she told me something I did was a ‘trauma response’ I’d have enough money to pay someone to scoop out my brain and replace it with a fresh one that wasn’t so royally fucked up.

“Well, most things you do are a response to your past trauma. Hyper awareness, the need for control, feeling like you’re being left behind…” Her voice lingers on the last one.

“I’m not being left behind,” I try even though to a certain extent I feel like I am.

“Then why mention your friends’ relationships? You’ve mentioned them in”—she flips through her notes before looking back at me—“five of our last six sessions.”

“I have not. Your notes are wrong.”

“Four weeks ago you talked about how Hank and Bailey were going on a trip and you thought it was a waste of money. The week after you mentioned how Kolbi is, and I quote, ‘so totally pussywhipped he would do anything for Magnolia.’ Then last week you grumbled about how Malcolm and Ophelia were two ‘horn dogs’ for one another, again a quote, and then today you start by talking about how the only relationship you’re in is with your dog.

” When she finishes rattling off her notes like she is reading a grocery list, she looks at me over the edge of her glasses.

“So would you like to talk about your feelings around being left behind or would you like to avoid them for another week?”

I press my lips together and drop my eyes to the floor, too annoyed to look at her.

Not because she’s wrong, but because she’s right.

Just like she always is. There’s been more than one occasion where my friends mentioned doing something or going somewhere with their partners that made me wonder how much longer things would stay the way they were.

If, at one point, they would all be too busy and I’d be on my own again.

As I avoid her gaze, the image of a dimpled cheeked Brit pops into my head.

“How do you know if you’re into someone?” Hanna sits up straight in her chair and puts her pen down. I’ve surprised her.

“Into someone how?” she asks.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You got your license to practice right before your thirty-second birthday, you know what I mean,” I snap, annoyed by her veiled innocence.

“Aww, you remembered”—she smirks and places a hand on her heart—“I’m touched.”

“Would you please answer my question?” I sigh. I hate that I even asked the stupid question but it’s out there now and I can’t take it back. Plus, I want to know her answer.

“I don’t know, you just…know. There’s a feeling,” she tries to explain.

“But what’s that feeling feel like?”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me you’ve never had a crush on someone before?

” She asks with enough snark to cover four sessions.

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out and I’m left looking like a fish out of water, gasping for air.

When I can’t come up with an answer, I look towards my shoes and wrap my lips around my teeth.

“Oh my god, you’ve never had a crush on someone before?” she gasps.

“I mean, maybe I have but nothing like what my friends have. Growing up I would sit and listen to them talk about whatever girl they were in love with and go on and on about how pretty she is or how good she smells and I just never understood it.”

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” The way she asks the question is more friendly than professional and I can’t stop myself from groaning.

“ Yes, I’ve kissed a girl before but mostly because my friends bet me I wouldn’t. Or at the occasional drunken house party in college but even that was few and far between.”

“Have you ever…ya know…” She nods her head awkwardly.

“Oh come on,” I cry out. I can’t believe she’s even asking me this.

“Well, you ask me what it feels like to be into someone and then tell me you’ve only kissed a few people, the next logical question to ask is if you’ve ever had sex before.”

“This is so not what I thought we’d be talking about today.” I groan again, looking at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, I look back at my therapist who is anxiously awaiting my answer.

“ Yes , I’ve had sex before. There were a few girls in college and one after I graduated but that was years ago at this point,” I relent.

Thinking back on my past sexual endeavors I remember how they were really nothing special, over the top, or completely life changing as my friends made sex out to be.

Sure, they were fine and I had a good time but it was never something I felt like I needed to repeat.

Dating is something that has never really interested me because the thought of continuing to be with the same person over and over again feels like too much work.

I have my friends and that’s all I need.

“Okay, and why not recently?” Hanna’s words cut through my thoughts and pull me back to the present. She’s writing again on her notepad and I wish more than anything I can see what’s so important she has to write it down in my record.

“I don’t know, it just didn’t seem important?”

“But it seems important now?”

“I mean, I guess.”

“Because your friends are all in stable, healthy relationships?” she repeats.

“Please, Malcolm and Ophelia are hardly stable. The only thing holding those two together is their matching libido and extra strength condoms,” I mumble under my breath.

“Is something else sparking the interest in being ‘ into someone?’ ” The way she draws out the last two words makes me bristle.

Why does she have to be so annoying? Why do I pay to be annoyed by her week after week?

Her words sink into my skin as I worry my bottom lip. It’s not a something , it’s someone .

Auburn hair. A smile you can see across the room. Legs that looked great in the joggers he was wearing when I saw him last weekend. I shake my head for a moment to kick the ideas of him out. Why the hell does he keep invading my mind?

“Would you just answer my question please?” I almost beg. She studies me for a moment as if she wants to dig into this deeper but when her face relaxes, I know she’s going to give me what I want.

“Well it’s different for everyone, but typically people say they have feelings of excitement or anticipation of the person’s call.

They might catch themselves thinking about the person they have a crush on without meaning to or wondering what they’re doing throughout the day.

Sometimes it’s physical, like butterflies in your stomach or an increased heart rate when they’re around. You know, things like that.”

Anticipation of their call.

Catching yourself thinking about them without meaning to.

Stomach issues.

Fuck .

“But what if you can’t be into someone?” I ask desperately, my throat suddenly feeling dry and scratchy.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to be into someone?”

“I don’t know, because it’s…” I struggle to find the right words. “It’s not what you expected for yourself.”

“Conrad, when it comes to love and having feelings for someone else, it’s almost never what we expect for ourselves. Just ask my mother, she was hoping I’d be married by now with three kids and I’m not.” She gives me an annoyed smile.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try to logically explain away all the feelings and signs she just laid out for me that would point to me being into Henry.

I’m not into Henry, I can’t be. He’s…well he’s a guy and I’m not into guys.

I’m into women and women only. Just like my friends. I can’t be into guys.

Can I?