Page 79 of The Alternate Captain
It’s only when she hands me the tissue box that I realise I’m crying. A whole well of emotion, buried so deep I’ve forgotten what it feels liketo let go.
“But ever since, I’ve been replaying the interaction and how seeing Sarah reminded me of what a fucking failure I am.”
“What makes you believe you’re a failure, Johnny?”
“My sister fucking hates me right now—she seems to think that our parents didn’t want her. I did my best when we were growing up. I tried to make things as good as possible for her. Because we were pretty much left to our own devices. I tried. And hockey. Flitting between pro-teams in North America because there was always someone better to come along and take my roster spot. And my sex issues—I mean, what the hell is that about?”
“Let’s consider this, Johnny. When do you feel the least like a failure?”
“I guess when I’m playing, and we win, and the guys are fucking beaming and they’re all buzzing with energy.”
“And do you think your captaincy has anything to do with that success?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
Justine settles her hands on her lap. “Who do they tend to look up to? Who do they unload their concerns regarding hockey onto?”
“Me, I guess.”
“I think so. From what you’ve told me before. It sounds like they come to you because they trust you, and they see you as a leader and someone who can carry them forward. Which is why the victories are a little sweeter, most likely. How do you think you could use this information to focus on other aspects of your life that you find troublesome?”
I think for a moment; consider a long line of things that I find frustrating, and what is lacking.
And it’s like a lightbulb pings on in my head—I need to be in control of the situation. Sarah belittled me and made me feel fucking tiny and redundant. I wonder if this is why I found it so hard to let go when it came to sex. Ialways had my guard up. I wasn’t willing for her to see me at my most vulnerable because she could do even more damage then.
I replay my view to Justine, who nods thoughtfully.
Then, I remind her of a previous conversation we had. Early on in our sessions. Where I concluded I spent my childhood trying to parent Vicky. And even now, all these years later, I struggle to relinquish control, because it’s something I’m so desperate to hold on to.
“See, I think this is something you should consider,” she says. “How can you be in control of your orgasm, Johnny?”
Christ, this is embarrassing as hell.
“By doing it myself,” I say.
Justine doesn’t say anything back. She lets a smile creep over her face.
“So, you’re saying I need to be in control to finish?”
“You tell me, Johnny. Do you need to be in control? Or let someone take control, with your full permission. Because when we’ve discussed Sarah in the past, she took control, but it didn’t sound like that was your intention.”
“It wasn’t. But that doesn’t explain my partners before.”
“It does, Johnny. Consider it.”
She’s right. I mean, I wasn’t raped, but the times I had sex before were hardly on my terms. It’d be a girl who only wanted sex because of a status thing; an athlete with lots of choice but giving them an ego boost to be picked—the lucky girl for the evening.
They wanted to feel special, except so did I. And I never did.
I wish I knew the answer, because Kelly deserves this. Not a half-assed effort, or, like she’s been saying, an alternate version of myself. I need to give her me.
But the sting of potential rejection runs deep.
“Tell me about Kelly.” Justine smiles, and from the premise of talking about her, I can’t help but copy her. “She makes you smile like that a lot?”
“Like what?” I ask, shifting my eyes to Justine.
“Like you did then.”
