Page 102 of True Sight
“Here, man, drink this, it’ll help.”
I reach for the bottle and take a sip. He is right, it does help. “What are you, a doctor or something?”
“Firefighter,” he says confidently, pulling his lips into a cocky smirk. “We see our fair share of panic attacks on the job.”
I shoot my eyes back to Hanna who’s brushing a piece of blonde hair over her shoulder. “You’re dating a firefighter?”
“No one said anything about dating, either,” she squawks, glancing between me and her not-boyfriend firefighter.
“Uhh, I think I should go,” he says awkwardly, shifting his weight between his feet. “I’ll see you next time, doc.”
“Yeah, just text me to schedule an appointment.” Her hand touches his arm for a moment and even I can feel the sexual energy between them. He looks at her for half a second longer than normal and for a moment I think he’s going to lean down and kiss her goodbye. Instead, he simply stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and trudges out of the office.
“That man absolutely wants to get in your pants,” I deadpan as she stares at the open space where he used to be.
“Well he’s not going to so just let it go. Come on, come talk to me in here.” She waves a hand at me and I follow her into her office, sitting down in my usual spot on her couch.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she starts, tucking herself into her chair like she always does.
“It’s Henry,” I say quietly, trying not to get emotional again at the sound of his name. My hands come to my face and cover my eyes, blocking out the images of him lying in his hospital bed as my ears ring with the sounds of the machines all going off at the same time.
“Did you guys have a fight? Last time we talked, things were good with you two.”
“We didn’t have a fight. We–he–I–there was an accident. He was in an accident, a car accident.” My words come out in a jumbled, frantic mess which is exactly how I feel.
“Oh my god, is he okay?” she gasps, her mouth falling open before she can bring her hand to cover it.
“No, I don’t know.” I squeeze my eyes shut behind my hands and feel my palms becoming wet. Anger, frustration, sadness, and a million other emotions ravage around inside of me and I’m failing at controlling them like I normally try to do. “I just left the hospital. I couldn’t take it, seeing him like that. It was too much.”
“What was too much?” she probes in her best therapist voice. I blink a few times and look up at the ceiling.
“Seeing him so broken, so hurt. He has cuts and bruises all over his face and arms and something is wrong with his leg. He’s barely breathing on his own.” I squeeze my eyes closed again, the memory of him too painful to bear.
“He looks so small,” I whisper just loud enough for her to hear. “And Henry isn’t small. He’s big and loud and full of life. He fills up every room just by standing there. He doesn’t even need to say anything and you know he’s there. He’s made me happier than anyone else ever has and I’m going to lose him like I lost them. Just like I lose everyone.”
I choke back a sob but it’s too powerful. Before I can restrain them, tears are flowing down my cheeks. I drop my head into my hands again and cry, finally releasingeverything I’ve been holding in my entire life. I cry for the loss of my parents. I cry over the loss of my grandmother who stepped in and raised me. I cry over the fact that I’m an orphan and I could be losing the only person who I’ve ever loved more than my friends. My shoulders shake and my body reels as I sob uncontrollably.
She gives me a second to catch my breath before speaking. “I can only imagine what you’re going through right now, but what you’re feeling is valid. Loss, especially the amount of loss you’ve faced is hard for anyone to handle.”
“You don’t understand, I didn’t get to say it back,” I interrupt her, shaking my head and trying to look at her through watery eyes. “I didn’t get to say it back.”
She shakes her head, confused. “Say what back?”
I sink down in my seat and try to take a breath. “I love you.”
Her eyes go wide at my confession and a soft smile tries to break across her face. “He told you he loves you?”
“Yes, a few days ago. He told me he loved me and then I didn’t say it back and then he ran out. I was going to tell him today. I made him something.” My words stop when I remember the recording I’d made him and how I left it at home in the panic of everything.
“You made him something? What did you make him?” she asks another clarifying question as I continue to only tell her half truths.
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” I wave a hand at her suddenly feeling stupid about the entire idea. He isn’t going to be able to hear it anyway so what’s the point in telling her about it?
She studies me for a second and then sits up pin straight in her seat, crossing her hands over her knees. “You should give it to him.”
My brows furrow as I look back at her. “What?”
“Whatever it is, you should give it to him.”
