Page 79 of Am I the Only One

He shifts away from me and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as his head hangs. He stews in his thoughts for longer than I’m comfortable with, but I’m too shocked to say anything. It wasn’t that long ago that Luca confessed his feelings for me, and now here he is, offering to have sex with another woman so I can blackmail her. It’s beyond screwed up, but so am I.

My whole life is a disaster, and it isn’t an easy thing for me to look in the mirror and see the person I’ve become—a liar and a schemer and a fraud. If only my parents were alive, I would never have found myself in this predicament and everything that has led me to this point never would have happened.

When he finally lifts his head, he turns to look at me with pain-filled eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Shaking my head, I reach out and take his hand, promising, “You won’t.” Because what he is offering is more than I ever would’ve expected from him. In a way, it’s evidence of his feelings for me, and in this moment, I feel so incredibly undeserving.

“My love for you has always scared me, but now ... now it terrifies me because I realize there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

After taking a shallow inhale, I hold my breath, and when I exhale, a slight whimper slips out from my heart. Exalted in gratefulness, I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him. I’m a barrage of emotions. I hate myself for dragging him into this. Hate myself for all the turmoil I’m causing when I know how sincere he is when he says he really wants to try to have a relationship with me. Hate myself for not being entirely honest with him, but there is no person in this world that I would ever tell the whole truth to. There’s too much at risk.

Carly

Sitting at my desk in my private practice office, I open my newest client’s file to review before he shows up for his appointment. It was nearly two weeks ago when he called to inquire about receiving services. After our first appointment, he asked if he could see me for another session in a few days, admitting that he didn’t think he could wait a solid week to come back.

Those first two sessions were intense—hewas intense, but last week, he seemed calmer, which isn’t abnormal. Typically, people new to therapy can be tightly wound at first, but that generally wanes over time and they become more comfortable talking about their feelings.

Luca Sadler, twenty-three years old, exhibiting signs of depression.

His case is one I can relate to. He had been considering proposing to his long-time girlfriend, only to be blindsided when he discovered she had been cheating on him for the past year.

The break up has been difficult, affecting not only his mood but also his grades. During our last session, he opened up about how isolated he’s felt recently, and it took everything I had to keep my composure. The heat of tears burned the backs of my eyes when his words hit too close to home, practically mirroring my own despair. As hard as our sessions are, they’re helping me in a convoluted way. It’s as if his words could be my own, and as I help him navigate his way through the emotions, I feed off my own advice. In a weird way, my treating him feels as if I’m treating myself.

I’ve kept so much inside for so long that I hadn’t even realized it has been stifling me. When he left after our last appointment, I sat at my desk and cried. Somehow, through our shared trauma, he exposes my wounds when he exposes his own. For that reason, selfishly, I’ve been looking forward to our appointments.

There’s a loud knock, but when I step out of my office, it isn’t Luca who stands outside. It’s a deliveryman holding a big vase of red and white roses.

Unlocking the door, the gentleman says, “I’m looking for Carly Montgomery.”

“That’s me.”

He hands me a clipboard, and I sign next to my printed name before he hands over the crystal vase.

“Have a good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Carrying the flowers back to my office, I take a seat and open the card.

Life has been crazy, I know, but you’re still the one I choose to share it with. You’ll always be the one I choose.

—Love Always, Tripp

I read the card again. It should soothe, but instead, it scathes, scraping all the tender wounds he’s inflicted upon me. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve crumpled the card and tossed it onto my desk next to the roses.

He’s become a master at trying to manipulate me into believing he isn’t the man he clearly is. He flushed his vows and promises of fidelity down the toilet and has the audacity to think a bouquet of flowers will wipe his slate clean. I may have decided to stay in this marriage, but I don’t need him belittling my integrity with his worthless tokens of fake affection.

Getting up from my desk to refill my coffee in the small kitchenette, I glance outside toward the parking lot to see Luca’s black sports car pulling in.

“Good to see you,” I greet when I meet him at the door, locking it behind him since it’s drawing into the evening and I have no receptionist.

He responds with a passing, “Hey,” as he makes his way down to my office, taking his usual seat on the couch. Closing his file, I grab my notepad and situate myself in the chair that’s directly across from him.

“So, how have you been?” I ask as he removes his coat and tosses it over the arm of the sofa.

“I ran into her this morning.”

My brows lift in surprise. “What was that like for you?”

---