Page 76 of Lost in You

I’m done.

I pull out my phone and call Alex. “I quit,” I say as she answers.

“Okay.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“No, but I do think you need a break. You’ve been through a lot and you didn’t take any time after you and Ryan. And then there’s Cole and the media all over you because he’s dating someone new and they're desperate for a story that isn’t there. So, I don’t blame you.”

I stand at the corner and wait for the traffic to clear or for the signal to change. As beautiful as it is today, the streets aren’t that crowded. I walk into Central Park and find a bench to sit on. There are a few street performers, but none who catch my attention. What I’d really like to do is sit here with my guitar and just play for people; people who don’t care who I am or what I do for a living.

“You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Alex laughs. I know what she’s talking about. We discussed me going to see a therapist when I was on tour, but of course when the tour was over, I went right into the studio. Can’t let my fans down. Maybe Alex is right. Maybe I do need to talk to someone to help me deal with what’s going on in my head, because we all know the song writing isn’t cutting it. Usually that’s my therapy, my release, but not this time.

“What do you think?”

“I think people will think I’m nuts if they find out.”

“No one will find out, Hadley, but I think you need this. You never saw one after the first time with Cole and then there was Ryan and now this very public relationship with Cole again. Talking to someone will help you deal with it all.”

“Okay.” I don’t want Alex to list all my problems. I know them. I’ve always thrown myself into my work and never dealt with what Cole did to me or what I did to Ryan.

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, call someone for me.” I don’t say goodbye. I need to get off the phone before I change my mind. Within minutes Alex texts me with a name, location and a time, a time that is an hour from now. I have a sneaking suspicion she had this set up for a while now.

“So,” she says, she being Dr. Patrick with her jet-black hair wrapped tightly in a bun perched high on top of her head. She greeted me the moment I walked in, like she had a nanny cam in the hallway; either that or she has no other head cases lining up to see her. She likes black. Her black pencil skirt goes with her black stilettos and black jacket only accented by a red cami to match her red lips, all while I’m sitting on a black couch. Maybe she needs someone to talk to.

“So,” I reply back. I keep my hands folded and rested on my knees. I really don’t know what I’m doing here. Am I supposed to give her my life story or wait for her to ask me what’s wrong?

“Sometimes people come in here and just sit and others spill. I’m not saying you have to do either, just remember that no one judges what you say here. This is an open forum. I only take notes when there’s something I want to ask you again or remember for our next session. You don’t have to worry about the press or your manager finding out about what you talk about. Your assistant, Alex, was very clear about what you expect.”

Her voice is smooth and the words tumble out in a gentle cadence; it’s amazing how she eased so many worries just like that. I sit back, a little bit more comfortable. She doesn’t smile or even change her position. She’s good at her job and she knows it.

“You like black?” I didn’t mean this as a question, more of a statement, but didn’t know how to end my thought.

“Believe it or not, it’s calming. If everything was white, you’d think clinical and hospital and you wouldn’t want to talk. Red brings out anger and yellow makes it seem like I’m forcing you to be happy. Black allows you to be relaxed.”

“Some would say black is death.”

“Some would, but it gets people talking.”

She’s right, I want to talk and I do. I start with Coleman and tell her everything. How we met, fell in love and I thought I had found the one for me until I caught him with someone else.

“But when I met Ryan… my soul knew he was the one I was destined to be with, but everything was against us.”

“Like what?” she writes down something, asking her question without looking at me.

“Completely different lifestyles and not just because of my job, but we were even raised differently. My parents doted on me where his didn’t acknowledge he was around. It was hard for me to see him not have basic necessities, like new clothes. I wanted to take care of him, but knew he’d never accept my help.”

“It’s not uncommon for people to come from different social economical classes and have one want to take care of the other.”

I shrug. I think Ryan would’ve been okay if I bought him more, but he would’ve gotten into trouble.

“It’s not just social status. There’s an age difference.”

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