Page 31 of It's Not All Fake

“So, how do we do that?” I ask, trying to remember that this is part of the deal that I begged her to accept.

“Well, we already have one clue. Your college girlfriend lied and cheated. You want to avoid that hurt again.”

“Jesus.” I rub my hand over my face. Her analysis strikes a nerve, and I want this to stop.

Chloe studies me and I feel even more tense, my body fighting against any vulnerability. I sit in silence, wondering how I can possibly make it through this conversation.

“What are you thinking?” she asks quietly. She wants to know if her hypothesis is correct.

“I’m thinking that I feel like a lab specimen, Chloe. This isn’t supposed to be life coaching anymore,” I say, exasperated. I don’t want to feel judged and analyzed from a therapist’s armchair. “Can you just come sit next to me and have a real conversation? You’re my girlfriend, not my shrink.”

“Well, I’m neither, actually.” Chloe stiffens, frustrated.

“Please, can we just make this more like a normal conversation?” I search her green eyes, pleading.

Chloe thinks, chewing her lower lip. Finally, she sighs and stands up. She approaches and carefully sits down on the couch, not too far away but not too close to me either. It’s the healthy distance you’d expect between two professionals.

She settles in, sitting on one bent leg so she is turned to face me, her long skirt covering up her leg and ballet flat completely. I reposition as well, angling towards her.

“How does this feel?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Much better, thank you.” I grin widely. She catches my smile, despite herself.

“You have to be in control, don’t you?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You can’t control other people.” She shrugs. “They lie, cheat, leave.”

She just jumps right back into the deep. Fuck.

I shake my head but decide to follow her lead. “So, I avoid real relationships to prevent all that hurt. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s just about your ex-girlfriend,” she says softly. “There’s more hurt there,” she guesses.

I clench my jaw and look down at the couch cushions. She’s knocking at dark doors that I’d prefer to leave shut. When I finally look up, her gaze is warm and patient. She’s already let me in on some of the darkest parts of her history. I can trust her, I think.

“I didn’t see a good model of a relationship,” I disclose, clearing my throat. “My mom… well, I don’t know how much she’s told you about the abuse.” I search her eyes for a flicker of familiarity on the topic, but there is only confusion.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Chloe seems taken aback. “What happened?”

I’m surprised that my mother didn’t share her past with Chloe, her beloved coach. Now I wonder if I should share, if that’s a door my mother kept shut with her. Part of me realizes this would be an easy out, to tell Chloe that I can’t share something about my mother that she didn’t volunteer herself, for whatever reason.

But it’s my history too. I have just as much right to it. And I need to do this. I owe this to Chloe. She has opened old wounds of her own. It’s my turn.

Chloe waits quietly for my response, looking just as vulnerable as I feel, perhaps hurt that my mother didn’t confide in her.

“My dad abused my mom,” I tell her. “I saw it until I was seven, when he finally… left our lives.” I choose my words carefully. I don’t know how much to say. “I never saw him again,” I explain simply.

Chloe winces, clearly pained by my revelation. “What did you see?”

I breathe out slowly. “He would slap her, grab her and leave bruises, throw her down. He broke her jaw the night he finally left.” My insides twist painfully at the memories.

Chloe’s hand flutters to her mouth. “Oh my God.” Her eyes become watery. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”

I grit my teeth as old feelings of anger bubble to the surface. I take a breath, trying to release some of the tension.

Chloe’s eyes explore my face. “Did he ever hit you?”

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