Page 3 of Deeper

Rylan

Aria,

I’ve been crushing it in Connecticut. Today is my last week of hulking out correction counseling. Go me!

Since getting my boss to agree to let me work remotely, he says my last three articles are some of my best. I’m glad he finally realizes I don’t need to be sitting at a desk to type an awesome article about sex. He contributes my week suspension and these classes for the extra flair in my writing. Whatever, I’ll let him think what he wants, but it’s probably more likely an effect of not having to look at Chip anymore. He has a way of killing the libido. Punching him during that strategy meeting may have been impulsive, but it definitely worked in my favor.

I’ve got to run!

I miss you. I love you almost as much as ice cream.

Rylan

I close the weathered notebook, stuff it into my purse, exit my car, and scowl. The air holds a slight chill, and my Florida blood isn’t made for anything below seventy-five degrees. I pull my hood over my head as I walk down the sidewalk to the office building. At least I missed the bitter cold of New England this year since I only moved here a little over a month ago. And, now, it won’t be long before spring takes over.

I open the polished glass door and stride inside, letting it swish closed behind me. Cheesy motivational posters hang on the walls. Chairs are set up in a circle around the room, and only half have people sitting in them. A few people linger by a table set up with cookies and coffee, which I steer clear of. I’ve already learned how much the coffee more closely resembles garbage sludge.

Tatum, a tiny girl with rainbow hair whom I’ve come to know, stands in my path. She smiles up at me and tilts her head, causing the feathers on her headband to sway a bit. When I met her five weeks ago, I thought I had never seen anything like her. At my first session, I tried to avoid her, I really did, but somehow, she’s found a place in my world. I was rude when she said hello, cold and standoffish when she tried to chat. She ignored my bad manners and acted as if I weren’t shutting her down. I thought I didn’t need people in my life, but now, I’m warming up to the idea. How could I not with a girl like Tatum?

“Did you see Perry is here today?” Tatum asks as we head to the circle.

“Perry will be here for the rest of his life. I can guarantee it.”

She smiles at me again, and we take seats next to each other.

I remember asking myself, What the hell is this girl doing here?

Tatum doesn’t look like she has anger issues. She’s all bright colors and big smiles. I can’t imagine her even raising her voice to someone. But her stories paint a different picture. She shares a lot about an ex-boyfriend during these sessions. After he cheated on her, she made pamphlets detailing bogus behaviors of his and left them in the mailboxes of all his neighbors. She posted his phone number on Craigslist under Male Seeking Male and filed formal complaints against him at a job. In short, she made his life hell. She relayed each incident with a smile on her face. I was stunned.

Originally, I thought these sessions would be like AA meetings. I guess my only knowledge about group therapy was what I’d seen on television, but I was wrong. Sometimes, there is a whole lot of complaining and self-pity, but most of the people here really want help to change their ways. Others, like me, are only here because they have to be.

Vanessa, who I decided during the first session was in the latter category, walks into the room in a wrinkled pencil skirt and blazer, and everyone else takes their chairs.

She claps her hands twice and then pushes up the glasses falling down the brim of her nose. “Hello, everyone. I’m sure most of you know me, but for everyone joining us for the first time, I’m your counselor. For everyone else, you know the drill. One person at a time, and we’re here to listen, not to critique or advise. So, who would like the floor first?”

“Hey, guys,” a stout woman in her forties speaks up. “The journaling techniques have been working really well for me, but I’m still having an issue with controlling my temper when I’m in the heat of a moment. Writing my feelings down takes the edge off, but when I’m faced with a problem, counting to ten rarely slows me down.”

The woman goes on, but I check out. Vanessa doesn’t care about this job, and it shows in her running of the sessions. I’m not sure that anything I’ve learned here would have prevented me from punching Chip’s smarmy face.

“Five bucks says Vanessa is writing her grocery list.” I nudge Tatum with my elbow and try not to laugh.

“Shh.” Tatum attempts to ignore me.

“Are you in for five? I’ll get up for a tissue, and I guarantee whatever she’s writing isn’t related to this meeting.”

“Rylan, behave!” she hisses under her breath.

“Last chance. Here I go.” I overtly brace the soles of my shoes to the floor, as if I’m about to get up.

“I’m not betting you.” She pulls me back in my seat. “I’d be an idiot to take that bet. I’ve been going to these meetings for a lot longer than you, and I’m more than aware that Vanessa is a bit self-involved.”

I glance over at the woman in question, who hasn’t looked up once to notice Tatum and I aren’t paying attention to the woman telling us about going off on a store clerk.

“A bit?”

Tatum takes these meetings so seriously sometimes. She needs a little loosening up. That’s all I’m trying to do. I sigh, looking around the group, and zero in on Perry. He glares at me from across the circle. I itch the side of my nose and discreetly give him the finger. There is no love lost between that man-child and me.

Perry attempted to call me out at the first meeting. He made assumptions and judgments about my life. He targeted me as the perfect, rich girl, only there to whine about first-world problems. He was so wrong. My biggest issue growing up wasn’t a life of high parental standards; that’s for sure.

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