Page 77 of Wrap Around
I huff and let my head fall back, looking up into the rafters. "I've been having a rough time lately, is all. A lot has changed, so I'm… I dunno, processing, maybe? Everything will be fine, I'm just stressing over things I might not need to stress about. Or maybe I'm not stressing enough. I don't really know."
Dr. Shelton hums noncommittally and nods. "We could talk about it, maybe figure it out."
My teeth scrape along the inside of my cheek as I ponder what I could safely say.
"You know everything we talk about is strictly between you and me, right? I'm bound by law to keep everything you tell me confidential. The only exception is if I believe you to be in dangerof hurting yourself or someone else, which I don't believe is an issue at this time." I nod to show I heard her, but I still hesitate. She doesn't push, just waits patiently. Maybe she knows I'll talk eventually, can sense that I want to tell her, because talking to her really has helped me process a lot.
Still, I beat around the bush about the specifics.
"That friend of mine, the one I had a big falling out with? He was my best friend, more even, he was just that important to me. Well, we had a talk and finally cleared some things up. We started spending time together again, a lot of time, actually. And it's been good. Really, really good," I say, my heart clenching. "Maybe it was too good, I dunno. But lately…" I swallow and pick at my thumbnail. "He, uh, he had to leave for a while. Had this once in a lifetime opportunity that he couldn't pass up. And I'm glad he's following his dreams, I am. I'm so proud of him, I actually get choked up watching his games." I pause, realizing I might have given too many specifics, but knowing he's a hockey player isn't going to give it away. "Ever since he left, it's like all that distance that was there before is coming back. He calls less, says less when he does call. And it's like he doesn't want to share this part of his life with me at all, because he won't talk to me about the new team or how he's feeling about all these changes. I'm trying not to take it personally, I know their schedule is brutal, even worse than ours. I don't want to be clingy, but I miss him," I admit on a harsh expulsion of breath as some of the pent-up emotions try to leak out. "I worry I'm losing him."
My conversations with Silas have gotten rapidly shorter over the past two weeks. Less personal. Messages go hours without a reply, and sometimes there's not a response at all. It's hard not to take it personally. Why doesn't he want to tell me about things?
I've stopped pushing for information. It's hard not to let all my self-doubts win. It's gotten to the point that I'm constantly running worst-case scenarios in my mind.
What if he decides not to come back? What if the time apart has given him time to clear his mind and think rationally about how a relationship with me could affect his chances of getting a real contract with the NHL? And not just because of the very legitimate concerns about potentially being outed and how that could affect his career. But because of the scandal of having a wife and child while having a relationship with a teammate. That's what he cares about the most, and I get it. I'm still coming to terms with a few of our teammates knowing about us, honestly. Although I've done everything to hide it, the realization that Ives and Valdez figured it out made me physically ill. But a lifetime in a dark closet surrounded by judgment and fear has made the truth scary when it shouldn't be.
Of course, I don't say all of that to Dr. Shelton. But she seems to get the gist of it.
"Sometimes, people with trauma struggle more when things are going well. When you're used to chaos, peace can feel like waiting for a bomb to drop. And the moment there's the smallest amount of stress or pushback, it's like validation that things weren't as good as they seemed. Whether or not that's the case, it's easy to catastrophize, to twist things into a negative light."
I think about it, and I can see areas where she might be right. I'm not imagining the way he's refused to talk to me about hockey, and since that's the only thing he has time for right now, there's nothing left but small talk that feels like an insult.
"You're not losing anything," she says. "But it feels like you are. And it leaves you scrambling to hold on to any amount of control you have. You go into survival mode. You disengage from the world around you, exercise to the point of pain to distract yourself. You shut down and put the walls you've worked so hard to lower right back up."
Okay, she's not wrong about that, I guess. A little.
"These are old patterns for you, Gideon. It's a more evolved version of fasting, isolating yourself to pray, and inflicting pain to redirect your thoughts, but it's the same behavior patterns."
Well, shit. A heavy breath heaves from my chest, and I duck my head, running a hand through my hair.
Dr. Shelton digs into a bag sitting next to her and hands me something. A small, hardcover notebook.
"Sometimes, getting your thoughts and feelings out can help you process. Seeing them written out can make it easier to see what's true versus your anxiety making things harder for you. Even if you never let anyone read it. Hell, you can burn the pages as you're done with them. But it's a good exercise for working through intrusive thoughts and also for coming up with solutions."
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. A lot of what she said makes sense, and maybe this gives me a place to start. Silas has shut down on me, but I'm not making it any better by shutting down on him. We need a good conversation, and to remember there's only a week left of our forced separation. We'll be back together before we know it.
The texts I sent earlier were marked read, but there's still no reply. They had a home game today, he should be back at the extended stay by now. I push call and listen to the line ring, anticipating the voicemail. I'll leave a message and tell him that I love and miss him and would really like to talk as soon as he has a chance. Surprisingly, he answers. Or he picks up, at least.
There's a lot of noise in the background. Laughter, some shouting. Music.
It sounds like he's in a bar.
"Gideon?" He sounds distracted, and too tired to be out anywhere. He laughs at something someone says near him, and I realize that he's drunk. Or, at the very least, tipsy.
He sounds happy and I don't know how to feel about that. I shouldn't feel jealous or resentful that he's out having a good time with his teammates, they're the only people he has around him right now. But he didn't call me back. Ignored my messages. And went to a bar instead?
Silas says my name again, and my stomach hurts all of a sudden. "What's up?"
"Hey," I say, trying to hide my hurt. "Nothing’s up, just wanted to hear your voice and see how the game went. But, I'm actually really tired, and it sounds like you're busy. So, talk tomorrow?" I don't give him a chance to respond, throwing in a quick I love you as a goodbye, and hang up.
When the call ends, I notice I've bent the notebook from squeezing it so hard.
It's not my anxiety. I'm really losing him.
I drop the notebook in the trash on my way out.
Back at home, I flop down on the couch and turn on the highlights from Silas' game because I'm a masochist. The NHL Network is playing a loop of all of today's top plays, and Silas Caldwell is all over it.
