He sat down alongside me and took hold of my hand. His fingers were strong. It was the kind of strength I’d enjoyed for years, him sitting next to me as we whispered through our fears and struggles.
I knew what suggestion was coming before he spoke.
“Can you go back to Dr. Karlin again? I think you need it.”
“Therapy makes no difference. It’s never made any difference.”
He squeezed my fingers. “You have to try again.” He gestured to the glass in my other hand. “It stands a shit ton more chance of working than wine or champagne or playing around with coke.”
My defenses came up. “I’m not doing it anymore.”
I felt his eyes on me. Again, I could feel the disapproval. “That’s not what Harriet said. I saw her at the Aegean last week, and she said Jonesy was telling her you’ve been partying as hard as ever.”
My cheeks burned. “Jonesy shouldn’t be telling Harriet anything. It’s not her business.”
“Even he is worried.”
“He shouldn’t be.” It’s true that I’ve been a party girl. Drinking and clubbing. Doing coke to run away from the dark memories in my past. I’m trying to reform.
“I’mworried, Lainey. Really fucking worried.” He took the drink from my hand.
I groaned. “Quit it, will you? I’m fine.”
I’d always been a liar—I’d needed to be—but even I was pushing it. I was less fine than I’d ever been in my life, and again, that was a high mountain to climb. Or more like a deep swamp to sink to the bottom of.
Sometimes I wished I could find the voice to say what I truly needed to say. I wished I could summon up the words to confess just how broken I was inside and why.Secrets, secrets, shhh, little girl.I wished I could spit it out and live with the consequences rather than reaching the end with the secrets still stabbing me in silence.So, so many secrets…
I couldn’t.
I could never tell my secrets.
With that thought, I grabbed the gin back from Tristan and took another swig.
He sighed. “Please go back to Dr. Karlin.”
I couldn’t stand Dr. Karlin and his probing questions. The condescension as he asked me about what happened…he thinks he knows. He doesn’t. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything.” Tristan met this with silence. “How did it go with that musician? What was his name? Indigo Something?”
“Blue Hawk.”
“Nice. Is he one of those rocker types?”
He laughed along. “No. He’s one of those not-sure-if-he-really-wants-dick-or-not types.”
“Sounds like you just a few years ago.”
Tristan had taken a whole lot of time to finally accept that he was bisexual. I’d been there through the journey, knowing way earlier than he did that he had a fixation for hot guys as well as women. His parents had been…tough. Especially tough on a son who lived his life outside of their trailer park status quo. I still remembered his scars.
Scars had been the very first thing we’d had in common.
I loved his smile as he looked at me. “I don’t have years to wait until he works out if he wants to take dick. There are plenty of dicks out there ready and willing.”
“And pussies.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder. “And pussies.”
“You’re lucky. You can have all the dick and pussy you want,” I said and felt that horrible flare of hurt inside. Just like I always did.
Tristan’s smile disappeared. “They can’t hold you back forever, Lainey. If you meet someone fitting, and you talk to your mom about it…”