Page 114 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Not today, baby.”

“Please, Rather. Or, Doctor Childers will suffice. I’m not your baby this evening, Mr. Childers. I’m your therapist.”

“Rather, not today.”

“Is there something we should discuss? Something bothering you? You seem vexed.”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“I find that hard to believe. You seem to have a chip on your shoulder. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

My head fell backward, leaning on the couch and sliding down slightly.

“Catherine,” I revealed.

“There. Now we can get started.”

She was aware of what was bothering me. It was the same topic almost every session. Though we discussed it fifty different ways, the topic remained the same.

“How was your trip to Berkeley last month? Is that what triggered this”–she paused–“episode?”

“Seeing the people who share my pain always triggers me.”

“Yet, you still choose to see them every chance you get. Whenever they call or make contact, you drop everything and run in their direction.”

“I’ll always do that, baby. My heart won’t let me disregard them.”

“I know and that’s the point I’m making. You have to give yourself credit. Even though it shatters you, it doesn’t stop you from showing up for them. Time and time again.”

“Yeah.”

“So, I find it hard to believe that is what’s actually bothering you. Be honest with me, honest with yourself.”

I bolted to my feet, only to pace the floor slowly, trying to articulate what I was feeling.

“I have time, so don’t rush it. I’m here to listen when you’re ready to talk. And if it’s silence you need, I can provide that as well.”

I shook my head. “That’s not it. Just finding it difficult to put this shit in words.”

Rather placed her notebook on the table and removed her glasses. She lifted one knee over the other and interlocked her fingers. Doctor Childers no longer existed. The professionalism remained but everything else had changed.

“Chem, it’s me you’re talking to. The words don’t require perfection.”

Halting, I nodded with a shrug. “Though my actions have contradicted this statement time and time again, I don’t hate women. I don’t hate the idea of partnership. Companionship isn’t on the list of things I despise. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. I’m very self-aware, baby. And I knew if there was ever a time I let my guard down and tapped into the side of me that thirsted for those things, I’d fall head first.”

“I never thought you hated women. You’re surrounded by them and you love us dearly. I, too, knew when the time came, it would be monumental.”

“I’ve fallen, baby. Fuck not trusting her, I don’t trust my-fucking-self. The things that go through my head. The things I think about. The things I obsess over. And dare I say, there’s never been any-fucking-thing I’ve ever been afraid of in my life, baby, but I am scared of that woman and what she represents for me. I am whole in every area of my life but that’s where I fall short. I don’t think I’m equipped to love her at the capacity she deserves and that shit drives me mad.”

“Che–”

“The way my mother ripped my heart out of my fucking chest that day, balled my shit up and tossed it in the trash, was brutal. She took something from me I can never get back. So, when it comes to love, it renders me speechless. I’m lost. Confused. Uncertain. Fucking fearful. Those aren’t words I ever want in the same sentence as Chemistry. Because Chemistry is fearless. Certain of every-fucking-thing. Careful. Bold. Knowledgeable. I don’t know shit about any of this, Rather. And I’m none of the things she makes me.”

“Who makes you?”

“Eden.”

“Her name is Eden,” Rather said with a smile.

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