Page 114 of The Breaking Pointe
“Why don’t you try telling him one deep cut.Before he leaves for school. You think you can do that?” she asks.
“I’m sure I can think of something by the end of the night…
” I say hesitantly.
“Just try.At the worst, nothing will come of it, but you can say that you did,” she says.
She could be right.Or she could be very wrong.I guess another issue that I have is expecting the worst, at all times. She’s probably right, though—considering the years of fixing me she’s dedicated her time to.
“Yeah,” I whisper, considering all the negative possibili- ties.
“Did that make your mind race?I’m sorry, that wasn’t my goal—”
I stop her.“No.”We both pause.
“Sorry.”I look down, dragging my tongue along my teeth. “It does make me think.But more so about what Steven thinks of me—like, beyond what I do for a living, and who I’ve made myself to be in front of him,” I say, closing my eyes.“I don’t have any family left that means as much to me as he and my mother did.”
I lift my head, shielding my mouth with disturbance by my next sentence, rubbing my face.
“I’m scared that his hatred for me has moved onto some- thing more profound. Now that our one parent isn’t here to mediate whatever disagreements we have—I have to try to fix itonmyown.WhatifIcan’t dothat,Dr.Lydia?”Iplead.
She inhales through her nose, exhaling her words. “You can.” She nods. “And you will,” she affirms.
The alarm on her phone begins to disrupt both of our concentration, snatching away the metaphorical, emotional weighted blanket that is my hour-long session.
“Next week, okay?”she says quietly, silencing the loud ringing.
I nod, pushing myself up from the outdated, velvet couch. I would like to kindly disagree with her encouragement, but very much like my mother, she is always right. Most men I’ve met don’t seem to take well to instructions delivered by a woman.In my case, their instructions have never failed
me.
It’s sort of like having that decades old recipe from your grandparents.It tastes like gold, no matter how ancient the concoction is, and if you follow accordingly, you can’t mess up. You can only mess up if you decide to change the formula. If you change the formula, you get something that holds too much of one specific thing, and not enough of something else.It ends up burnt, or just so foul—it’s beyond human consumption. To one’s demise, you usually can’t fix something once it’s been ruined that much.
So, after all is said, why would I change the formula?
* * *
Dr. Lydia encapsulates my feelings so well, you would think that she was the one feeling them.When I leave our sessions, I never leave with a feeling of bemusement.Which is how most human interaction leaves me feeling.
I’m unsure if any of my words hold meaning to most people—even if they say they do.I don’t think people genuinely listen to anything, anymore. They may hear you, but it’s the listening that’s the most important. Without it, everything you say is null and void. I learned at a very young age that people don’t want to listen to you, and sometimes it isn’t purposeful. People are mentally disturbed, in debt, are in the middle of crisis, and God knows what else.Therefore,
it’s imperative that you stay quiet, to appeal to the general eye.The world loves quiet people.I spent most of my childhood being good-natured, God-fearing, and knew the manners playbook quite well.This never worked in my favor, though, simply because I was overly obedient and way past the point of naïve. I had no backbone, couldn’t stick up for myself, was a coward, and well—fucking quiet.
I’m tired of being fucking silent. I need to find out if telling the honest truth will make me feel better.
“Here. Finish the rest of this,” I say, nearly commanding Steven to finish the last of a can of beer.
“Are you sure?It’s alcohol…and I’m your underage brother?”He examines my mannerisms, looking at my nonchalant smile.
“I’m good.I have to drive, and I’m feeling awfully nice tonight since it’s Friendsgiving.” I slightly smile, watching him take a sip.He shakes his head, disapproving of my logic. It doesn’t matter, because I know myself. And once I get alone with Noelle, I’m going to want to play the ‘sleepover’ game.SinceStevenfallsasleepearly,it’llbejustfine,as
long as he’s tucked in somewhere comfortable.
“Y’know, despite you being such a hermit, I got to be really independent here.I might miss that the most once I’m gone.” He chuckles.
I huff out a bit of laughter. “You’ll be even more indepen- dent now.Doesn’t matter cause you’re very quick witted, kid.”
“I’m not a kid…and I know.”He smiles, respectively.
