Page 41 of Not Catching Love

“I’mnot the one who locked you out of his room last night.”

He groans. “Dude, we were having sex. Come on.”

If he’d told me that beforehand, I wouldn’t have spent the night in my studio, convinced that everyone wants me out of their life. I’m … exhausted. So tired of being tired. So over being alone. I almost convinced myself to go today. To therapy. Fucking therapy. I was one foot out the door.

Then I remembered the cold eyes, the pointed questions, the call for me to be admitted.

Therapists can’t do a single goddamn thing for anyone. None of them care. None of them are actually invested in people getting better; they’re only in it for the paycheck until it gets too hard.

But what if … no. The scared little boy inside me hoped for too much for too long. He doesn’t get to trick me with that anymore. I talked to more than enough psychologists when I was younger to know that it’s all bullshit. Just a way to check a box on their mental health programs to make it look like they care. So I stopped talking. They assumed I was fine.

Then they tried to take Seven away from me, and I lost all fucking control. Apsychologistdid that. The pain hasn’t ever gone away. How I’d finally found someone I could trust. Who kept me safe. Who had the same mess living in his soul to what I had in mine. The year we were together, I never let him out of my sight. He welcomed my neediness; he didn’t try to take advantage of it. He was just … there. The first person in my entire life whowantedto be there.

Seven’s mine. And when he turned eighteen and movedinto his own place, I wasn’t allowed to see him. Words like “unhealthy” and “suspicious” got thrown around. People I didn’t know asked if he’d taken advantage of me. If we’d had sex. If he’d forced things. The sickness those words infected me with couldn’t be controlled.

I don’t remember when I stopped functioning, but my memories get really hazy after that. I know I ended up on some kind of medication to make me eat and sleep since I refused to do it myself, but even the medication couldn’t get rid of that deep fucking dread. The one that sits in my gut and refuses to shift. That convinces me everything is about to end.

That same dread that’s trying to take over now.

Seven moves closer to kneel beside me and pull me into his arms. “Push me away. I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what you think. One day, you and Molly will want to move out. Or have kids. Or travel. Or do generally anything without me.”

“Nope.”

His denial is frustrating. “Might as well come to terms with it now.”

“Come to terms with what?”

I stiffen at Molly’s voice.

Seven rests his head against mine. “This pork chop thinks we’re going to get sick of him.”

“Not possible,” Molly says. “You’re not Seven without Xander.”

“Exactly,” Seven agrees.

And while I know they’re trying to make me feel better, it doesn’t work. “You should see someone about that,” I say flippantly. “Sounds unhealthy.”

Molly leans against the table in front of me, cutting me off from the puzzle. “How was therapy?” The suspicion in his tone makes it obvious he suspects I pulled the same trick on Seven that I did with him.

“It was great,” I lie. “All fixed. Five gold stars.”

“For fuck’s sake, Xander.” Molly points at Seven, whose arms are still around me. “Let him go. He doesn’t deserve hugs right now.”

Seven releases me. “But he was sad.”

“I’msad, dammit. You promised.”

Ooohh, I don’t like cranky Molly. Cranky Molly isn’t like cranky Seven.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Seven.”

I shoot Seven adon’t make melook, and he smirks back, waiting. “Fine. Sorry.”

“I’m even going to pretend to believe you mean that,” Molly says. “Why are you doing this, Z?”

---