Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 111038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Dr. Ferrer said I could slow down my therapy, but she wanted to see me for another six months. Turns out, a childhood of abuse and trauma really fucks someone up.
“I have a guess as to why you haven’t confronted your mom, but I want you to tell me your thoughts. Because you do have them, right? You have some idea, don’t you?”
God, I missed Aspen.
Right now. I wanted her here. In my arms.
I wanted to hear her voice.
“Blaise.”
“What?” I hadn’t meant to wander off. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, but I would like you to answer my question.”
I didn’t want to answer, and not because I didn’t know. I’d thought about this; I just didn’t like saying it out loud. That made me feel…more raw, if that was possible.
More exposed.
I was getting tired of this daily shit.
Every day I felt exposed, vulnerable, emotionally stripped, and then every night I had to regroup from practice and from counseling. Aspen wanted me to do the work, so I was, but it was hard. The hardest thing I’d gone through… No. That wasn’t true.
Surviving him had been the hardest thing.
That’s when I knew I had to answer.
“Because if I confront her, I will hate her.”
Naomi shifted in her seat, her mouth tightening. She didn’t seem to have expected that answer.
“That door is shut right now, but I know it’s there,” I continued. “I’ve been angry at everyone except her. Been wanting to tear into everyone, hurt them, except her, and part of that is because she was all I had growing up. I had no one else—and yeah, I didn’t fully have her either, but she’s my mom. He broke her too. She didn’t know the extent of what he was putting me through. I hid it. He hid it. She hid from herself, drinking. Then this shit that he wasn’t my real dad came out, and I was relieved. I was thankful. But…”
I rubbed my hands over my face. “I try to sit and think about the ‘what if.’ What if she’d told me? What if she’d told Stephen? I don’t know who wins going down that path, so I don’t. Nothing can be changed. I survived. I used to think I was like him, that I was the lowest piece of shit on this earth, but I’m not. This—doing this shit, keeping focused with soccer, having Aspen in my life—I’m not him. I won’t be him. And I don’t know, a part of me is grateful I attacked Stephen, because I have that clarity now. I didn’t have that before. I couldn’t have that before, so maybe I should yell at my mom. I don’t know. Is that the right thing? Lash out at someone who was hurting right alongside you? Lose the one person I had during all that hell?”
I shrugged, no longer seeing my therapist. I didn’t feel the chair I was in. I wasn’t aware of the room around me. I had no concept of time or day or anything. I just saw my mom after one of the last times he’d ripped into her.
“She was crying so hard. The words he said to her, no one should ever hear those words. But he said them. And she took it, and I realized she’d been taking it for years. Fucking years. And she was still standing too. So I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I have enough bad shit inside of me. I don’t want to let myself think further about the ‘why’ of her putting me in that situation. If she knew what we’d end up in, I don’t think she would’ve done it. That’s obvious. She would’ve told Stephen she was pregnant, but she didn’t. She told him, and he loved her, or that’s what he said, and I have to think it hurt her something fierce to go with him, to decide to keep quiet about everything. We’ve never talked about it, but I know it eats at her. And I know she’ll tell me. She’ll have to, and I know she’s sorry, and I know she’ll apologize for lying to everyone, but… I don’t know. I’m still healing. She’s still healing, and we’re not there yet. We will be one day. I have to believe that. But I’m tired. Of all of it. I’m tired of being a dick. I’m tired of lashing out at people. I’m tired of hurting people, but I also know I’m still me. I’m still an asshole. I know I will say shit to hurt people, and I hate that now. I don’t know. Who am I to judge her, you know? Who am I?”
Naomi leaned forward. “Her son.”
“She said she’s in counseling.”
She nodded, leaning back. “She is. I asked you earlier if I could reach out to her therapist. You both signed waivers so we could talk, and your mother has made progress as well. Great progress. I’m aware that your biological father was in counseling too, as was your half-sister.”