Page 47 of Not Catching Love

“You should get Botox. It’s not too late.”

“Thank you for that advice.”

Something in his tone makes me smile before I catch myself. “You’re not going to take it, are you?”

“It’s unlikely. Sometimes I get insecure about things because I’m human. That’s part of us. But I’m generally happy with who I am, and if I have a few wrinkles, that’s all part of life.”

“Philosophical of you. You’d get along great with Madden.”

“Another foster brother?”

“Roommate. But he’s basically my brother. He’s a nudist.”

“Brave of him.”

“S’pose.”

Dr. Sherwin crosses his legs at the ankles. “Are you comfortable standing there, or did you want to try the green chair?”

I cast my eyes over the ugly color. “Fine. But I won’t like it.”

“That’s up to you.”

At least this chair doesn’t feel like I’m sitting on nails.

“Have you been in therapy before?”

“Yep.” I lean back and cross my hands over my stomach. “They told me I was crazy.”

“They said those exact words?”

Does it matter if they didn’t actually use the word “crazy”? It was implied, and I’m not an idiot. I knew what they were all thinking. “More or less.”

“So you don’t want to talk to me because you think I’ll think you’re crazy?”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you because I know it won’t work. Nothing personal, just some people can’t be helped.”

“Well, I don’t believe that at all. And out of the two of us, I’d say my experience makes me slightly more qualified.”

More quack talk. He’s the same as all of the shrinks I’ve ever met before him. They all think they’re smarter than me and that they know more about me than I do. They’re not the ones who have to live in my head; they’re not the ones who have to exist in this flesh packet day in and day out. Sherwin is slightly nerdy but still good-looking. He suits his old-person hair. And his wrinkles.

He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be so completely unloved and unwanted that even the sight of you irritates people. Including yourself.

“What’s next? Are you going to throw me on meds? Tell me what I can and can’t do? Diagnose me with a list of letters and call it a day?”

Dr. Sherwin uncrosses his ankles and stands. “Actually, I want to talk. Out of the two of us, you’re the one who’s an expert on Xander, but sometimes it helps to talk things over with someone who can get your thoughts into order. To see them from another point of view. The only thing I want to achieve out of these sessions is to help you help yourself, in whatever way you deem necessary. You’re the one in control here.”

The words take a really fucking long time to sink in. If there’s one thing I’ve never had in my life, it’s control, and I’m too scared to believe I have it now. It’s a trick. It has to be.

“I don’t want to be here at all,” I say, testing him.

“Then it’s very possible you’re not ready. And that’s okay. Healing is something that can only be done on your own timeline, Xander, but your first step is accepting that you deserve it. Because you do.”

“I don’t deserve anything.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

I watch him, waiting for him to deny it or to go on. He doesn’t, and it’s like I accidentally skipped a step. Like the script in my mind wasn’t followed. Panic flares up in my mind, and I trip over what to say next.

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