Page 29 of Lock Me Out

LENI

“You know,we’ve spent the better part of the past hour together, and all you’ve done so far is talk about your boyfriend and his brother.” Dr. Miller removes her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing softly. She doesn’t usually reveal her feelings about what I’m saying—I guess that’s the way it’s supposed to be. She’s meant to be a blank page, a surface for me to imprint my thoughts on so she can help me figure them out. This is only our third session, but I’m already getting the sense of how things are supposed to go.

Obviously, if she’s already calling me out, it’s a problem.

“I care so much about them.” The words feel empty, but there’s no way I could possibly express the depth of my feelings. Or the depth of my confusion—how conflicted I feel whenever I think about Nix, how he treated me, how frightening he is now. It’s been four days since he tied me up, and I’m no closer to understanding how I feel about it than I was when I heard the front door slam shut while I trembled in bed, aching and quivering and hating myself.

I don’t know what to think about how I reacted. How easy it was to come with him inside me. I fought against it—or at least I tried my hardest—but it was like my body took over. I might as well have told myself to stop breathing.

He brought up all the old thoughts, questions, fears. Maybe there’s something broken in me. The sort of broken that can’t be fixed by spending a couple of hours a week with a therapist.

“I’m sure you do, and it’s commendable—how much you love and how worried you are for them.” She shifts in her chair, frowning while looking down at her notes.

When I was competing, I always hated the feeling that I’d disappointed my coach, something I always worked hard to avoid when I was practicing and competing. There were times I worked as hard as I did not for me, but for them, for Mom, for anybody who was counting on me. And I’m getting that feeling now.

“Is there anything you’re trying to avoid addressing? Because, you know, it’s very convenient for us to focus our attention on the people around us instead of working on ourselves.” She lifts her gaze, staring hard, challenging me. “That’s what you’re supposed to be doing now, during these sessions.”

“I know.” I can’t help but look down at my lap, where my hands are folded, my fingers twisting together while I fight the discomfort of being called out like that. She’s gentle about it, always professional, but her insight stings.

“What does all of this represent to you? You tell me your boyfriend and his brother were very close, and something has gotten between them. Why is it that this is taking up so much space in your mind and your heart?”

That’s the tough part about this whole therapy thing. There’s so much I can’t tell her. What’s the point if I can’t be completely honest? Then again, what do I do? Tell her I’m pretty sure Nix set the fire that ended up killing my mom?

I know there’s such a thing as confidentiality, but how far does that extend if I’m talking about a crime?

I don’t know how I feel about Nix right now—it’s all too confusing. I’m conflicted, a battle waging between resenting him for using me and wishing he and Colt would come together again as brothers so they can figure things out. Because I know it would make Colt happy in the end, once the smoke is clear and everybody understands each other. Without Nix, he’s half of himself.

I want him to have everything he needs. That’s what it means to love him.

Even if, right now, it doesn’t seem like he wants my love.

“I feel like Colt resents me,” I whisper, and some of the tightness in my chest eases now that I’ve said it out loud.

Tucking a strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear, she peers at me from over the frames of her glasses. “Why would he resent you? What reason would he have for that?”

“Because his brother reached out to me and not to him. I can’t tell if he thinks there’s something deeper going on, or if he’s just hurt or what. But it’s affected life at home, for sure. There’s this feeling in the air,” I confess, shivering when I think about it.

“What kind of feeling?”

“He’s angry, but he doesn’t know who to be angrier with: himself, his brother, or me. So he’s just angry in general, all the time.”

“How does that make you feel?”

What does she expect me to say? Why do I feel like there’s a right and a wrong answer? I have to remind myself this is not a test. I won’t be graded. “Like I don’t want to breathe too hard sometimes. I feel uneasy.”

“Your home is where you should feel safest.”

“I know,” I whisper. “It’s not that I feel unsafe. I just feel… uncomfortable.”

“Have you tried talking to Colton about this?”

I avoid answering directly. “I mean, what is there to say?”

“You could start by telling him what you just told me—that you feel uneasy. You said before this is essentially the first relationship for both of you, right?” When my head bobs, she shrugs. “First relationships require a lot of patience and compromise. There are always going to be growing pains involved. But I encourage you to work through them,” she insists.

In response to my uncomfortable silence, she continues, “When you first came to me, you talked about wanting to claim your power. We agreed that was something we could work on together. Finding ways for you to stand up for yourself, speak up for yourself, make sure your voice is heard. There’s no time like the present.”

She makes it sound so easy, like all I have to do is snap my fingers and become a better, stronger person.

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