Page 82 of Tangled Desires

She nods. Listens. “I hear you. Let’s work with that, and we can talk about some options if you want. The goal isn’t to change who you are. It’s to help you feel more like yourself—on your terms.” Yeah, her voice is calm, sure, but it still digs under my skin. I guess… not in a bad way. Maybe just enough to loosen a few bricks in the wall I keep up.

She leans forward a little, watching me. “So, what does ‘yourself’ feel like to you?”

“Being loud. Always moving. All over the place.” My hands flex in my lap. “People say I’m too much, too energetic, but… that’s just me.”

“Do you feel like all of that gets in your way?”

“Sometimes.” I take a deep breath. “But I’d rather be too much than feel numb. Half here.”

She smiles at me. “You’re here for a reason, Harrison. Why don’t we start from the beginning? Tell me about where you grew up. Your childhood.”

My stomach twists. That word—childhood—hits like a punch. I grip my hands tighter. I could bail right now. Walk right out. But I can’t. If I’m going to be good for Imogen, for the baby… I have to fix this. All of it. “Whenever you’re ready,” Dr. Lowes says quietly.

“Well, I grew up in Wattle Creek. Eventually, it just became the three of us. Mum, my brother Michael, and me.”

“Eventually?”

My throat bobs as I swallow, fingers twisting in my lap like they’ve got a mind of their own. “Gary.” My jaw tightens around the name. “He wasn’t a good person. He was an addict. Alcohol, drugs, whatever he could get. Mum, too. Eventually.”

In her eyes I expect judgment, pity—something. But it’s just a quiet understanding. Like she’s waiting, letting me set the pace. “He was… violent,” I grind out. “To her. To us. Mostly me. I took it because—well, because I didn’t know what else to do. Later, we fought back. Tried to protect her. Mum would just… turn a blind eye. Or she’d be too high to care.”

Her pen scratches across the notepad. “Why do you think he focused on you?”

“Michael was younger. Easier target, I guess. But me? I was different. Tougher. Always pushing back. I think they hated me for it.”

“Was it constant? Or only when you did something to trigger it?”

“At first? Only when I messed up. Broke something. Spoke too loud. Whatever excuse he could grab.” My throat tightens. “By the time I was ten, eleven, he didn’t need a reason. He’d do it just because. As a joke, sometimes.”

“Did he ever hurt Michael the same way?”

“No. Never like that.” The next part comes out before I can stop it. “But one day, he hit Michael, and I just fuckinglost it.” The memory crashes into me, so fucking vividly. “I went at him. Hit him back, caught him off guard. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. Because he—he’d hitMichael.” My vision blurs. I blink hard, but a tear slips down and I swipe it away.

Dr. Lowes doesn’t react, doesn’t push. Just sets her notepad aside and leans in. “Harrison, it sounds like you carried a lot. Took on a role most kids never should. You weren’t just a brother—you were protecting Michael. And your mum. That’s a lot for anyone, especially a child. And it wasn’t just the physical abuse, was it? The verbal attacks, the neglect—that leaves scars, too.” The lump in my throat swells, choking down any response.

“And then there’s the ADHD,” she continues. “You’ve always had more energy, more intensity. That’s not a flaw—it’s just how you’re wired. But in an environment where everything’s on edge? Where you don’t feel safe? That energy becomes something else. It fuels the tension. Makes the symptoms feel… impossible to control. Trouble focusing. Mood swings. Aggression.” Her eyes are locked onto mine. It’s intense. “Does that all sound familiar?”

Yeah. Too familiar.

“He targeted what made you different,” she says, nodding. “It wasn’t fair. It’s like he resented you for being strong, for standing out. That resentment—how he treated you—it shaped how you see yourself. You carried that anger because you had to. It was survival.”

“Yeah. Guess that’s true,” I murmur. “Never thought about it like that, but… yeah, you’re right.” The words taste weird in my mouth. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I’m too much. Too loud, too hyper, too… everything. Everyone just wants me to tone it down.”

Her gaze softens, but it’s not pity. “And when people keep telling you to tone it down, it makes sense you’d feel like something’s wrong with you.”

Jesus.It’s like she’s flipping through the pages of my life, reading the shit I’ve tried to hide. She’s good at this. Real good. Sheshouldbe, with the amount she’s charging.

“You’re not too much, Harrison. Your energy isn’t a flaw. And you don’t have to carry this alone. That anger, that need to protect—it served a purpose. But it doesn’t have to define you now. You don’t have to fight the world just to be yourself.”

Something cracks wide open inside me, deep and raw. My jaw tightens, but the tears come, anyway. Dammit. I shove my face into my hands, breathing in short, desperate bursts like I’ve just taken a hit to the ribs. “He used to say all the crap he did would make me strong. A real man. Said it’d toughen me up.” My hands drop into my lap, heavy and useless. “But it never felt like that. Just made me feel… broken.”

“Harrison, look at me.” It’s gentle, but firm enough to make me listen. “What he called strength? That wasn’t strength. It was control. Real strength isn’t pretending you’re okay after every hit. It’s facing the pain. Letting yourself heal.” Her words hit harder than anything Gary ever threw at me. My tears keep coming, and this time I don’t stop them.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she murmurs softly. “Breaking isn’t weakness—it’s human.” A shaky breath escapes, loosening some of the weight crushing my chest. Just enough.

She offers a smile. “I’d really like to see you again. We can work through this. But it starts here, with you. Taking the first step.”

It’s not a cure. Not a fix. But it’s something.

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