Page 36 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“I like to think so,” I agree. “Although some days, I wonder.”

“You have,” she repeats firmly. “But encountering Tyler isn’t something you were prepared for, and now he’s not only in your class but also doing a group project with you. How does it feel to see him again?”

“Not good.” The words fall automatically from my lips, and then I pause and think the rest of my answer through more carefully. “It’s like I reached this point where everything was stable. I know I still have issues with anxiety and panic attacks sometimes, but it’s manageable. I was in a routine. It was comfortable.”

Her expression is understanding without being sympathetic. I like that. I hate being pitied.

I take my pen from my pocket and begin doodling on the notepad. By trial and error, we discovered that doodling helps distract part of my mind so that it’s easier for me to talk about things I otherwise have a difficult time opening up about.

“Now, everything is on edge. I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s making me more prone to overreacting.”

“That’s understandable, given your history.” She smiles and adjusts her silky black hair.

Dr. Rodriguez likely isn’t long out of college, but she’s already become a role model for me. She seems so put together, but not in a way that makes her unapproachable. She’s kind and warm-hearted. I hope that one day I’ll be able to help others as well as she helps me.

“What are you doing to manage the increased anxiety?” she asks.

My hand continues moving, and I give myself permission not to notice whatever it’s drawing.

“I’ve been meditating in the morning, and I’ve ramped up the intensity of my evening runs,” I tell her.

I’m not a particularly athletic person, but once Dr. Rodriguez explained to me how physical activity can help complete the stress cycle—based on a theory about how positive stress developed evolutionarily to help humans escape danger—I tested it out and was surprised to find it actually helped me sleep better at night.

“That’s very good, Echo. Do you foresee Tyler becoming part of your life again?”

I increase the pressure of the pen on the paper, glancing down at the rendering of two men facing off on a muddy lawn that’s gradually coming to life.

I can’t give a yes or no answer.

“I don’t want him to,” I say. “Or at least, I don’t want to want him to, if you know what I mean. I’m angry at him because he keeps pushing my boundaries, but every time I see him, part of me comes alive. I wish I could just hate him and be done with it. I don’t want to see him, but when I do…ugh.”

Dr. Rodriguez hesitates, and it’s enough to make me look up from the paper again. I’ve learned to read her body language, and her brief hesitations usually precede a statement of question that she knows might make me uncomfortable, or that I might find triggering.

“Are you sure the reason you’re so resistant to spending time with him isn’t simply because he reminds you of a difficult period of your life that you’d prefer not to revisit rather than anything he specifically did?” she asks gently.

I swallow my immediate reaction because she has a valid point, and she knows it. Yes, Tyler hurt me. He broke my heart. But most people manage to see their exes without needing to book emergency appointments with their therapist.

“Maybe,” I allow. “Although he did do some shitty things. But whatever my reasons, I should have a choice about who I let into my life, and he’s trying to take that away from me.”

She nods. “It’s good to assert your boundaries, and to defend them when necessary.”

It’s taken me a long time for that message to sink in. For a while after The Incident, my mom spent every minute of every day with me—even sleeping in my bed—and while it was comforting, it was also overwhelming. I didn’t feel like I could ask her to stop though, because I’d feel guilty for causing her any additional distress.

“Are you interested in hearing what Tyler has to say?” she asks when I don’t respond.

“No.” It’s a lie. I’m curious, but protecting myself is more important than a little curiosity.

She tilts her head, her dark eyes seeing more than I want her to. “It might be helpful to get closure.”

“Or it could set me back,” I counter.

She clearly doesn’t agree, but she doesn’t push me on the matter. She fills her water glass from a jug on the coffee table beside her chair.

“Water?” she asks.

“No, thank you.”

She takes a sip, places the glass down, and clasps her hands on her lap. “I need to ask you something that might be upsetting. Is that okay?”

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