“Yes.” I understood, but it didn’t make it any less humiliating. It had been humiliating when Beau tugged my arm toward him in the car on Tuesday, and it had been humiliating when Quinn had insisted checking for new scars on Wednesday.
Dr. West’s gaze turned searching and she repeated something she’d told me at a previous session. “It’s very difficult for people who haven’t lived it to understand why others self-injure. It’s easy to assume all attempts at harm are rooted in suicidal thoughts.”
I don’t want to talk about this.
I slid my teeth to the side, forcing myself to respond. “I know.” But it doesn’t make it any less humiliating.
She must’ve sensed my mood, because she changed the subject. “You said earlier that something happened with Beau?”
“Yes.” I didn’t press my nail into the skin of my wrist, but I really, really wanted to.
“Something about,” she checked her notes, “you said you were upset and flustered about it?”
“Yes. I was very wrong and I need to apologize.”
“This was after I spoke to him on the phone? On Tuesday?”
I rolled my lips between my teeth. Unbidden, the memory of our kiss flooded my consciousness, suffocated me with longing to see him, to do it again, to make things right and apologize.
“It happened Wednesday when we were supposed to go to dinner. But then, right before we left, Quinn showed up and I—” I searched for the right way to explain what had happened. I’d been so surprised to see my brother, surprised and excited, and nervous. And worried. “My mind became too loud. I didn’t forget Beau was there, I forgot I was there. Does that make any sense?”
“Tell me what happened next.”
“Quinn said he needed to speak with me privately. I heard those words, responded to those words, and said yes, then moved to leave with him.”
“And where was Beau at this time?”
“He was in the room.” I groaned this confession, covering my face with my hands and peeked at my therapist through my fingers.
Dr. West leaned back in her chair, her eyes moving over my shoulder. “I see. You and Beau were supposed to go out and Quinn showed up unexpectedly. Focusing on Quinn, you didn’t think about your plans with Beau.”
“Correct.” I rubbed my forehead. “I was so awful, it was awful. When I realized what I had done, I didn’t know what to say. And he looked so hurt.”
“Have you talked to him? Since Wednesday?”
“No. I worked Thursday. He had Thursday off and was scheduled to come in today after I left. He is probably at the shop now.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I was hoping you would tell me that.”
This drew a small laugh from her. “You know it doesn’t work that way, not when what you’re thinking and feeling are completely natural.”
“What is it I’m feeling?”
“You tell me.”
“Remorse. Frustration with myself, that I’m not normal.” I shook my head, studying my fingers. “Maybe he deserves more than I’m capable of giving.” No. I know he deserves more than I’m capable of giving.
“You and I have discussed deserving at great length. And you agreed you would stop deciding what people deserve. What Beau deserves is his choice. What your brother and parents deserve is their choice. You can only be yourself. You must let them decide.”
“You are right.” I nodded fiercely. “I decide what I deserve; they decide what they deserve.” It was a good mantra, so why did it feel like a cop-out? Why did it feel like an excuse for bad behavior?
“What will you do about Beau?”
“. . . Apologize?”
Dr. West grinned, shaking her head at me. “If that’s what you want to do, then apologize.”
“I do want to apologize. He deserves it.”
“And what do you hope will happen after you apologize?”
He’ll kiss me again. And I’ll never make another mistake with him. I’ll be perfect. And he’ll want me.
I twisted my lips to the side. “I hope he gives me another chance.”
“A chance for friendship?”
“No,” I answered without thinking.
Dr. West turned her head slightly, like she’d heard me wrong. “Not friendship?”
“I really want to be with him.”
Ahhhh crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.
Dr. West stared at me with wide eyes for a protracted moment, and then her features were awash with concern.
“Yes, I know. I know this is not part of the plan.” I exhaled a tortured sigh, wincing at the competing and conflicting thoughts in my head, each vying for dominance.
Think of your family. You’re doing this for your family.
But Beau—
You owe them, you need to make things right, you need to be the daughter and sister and aunt they deserve.
But Beau is amazing. Being with him is so . . . effortless. Nothing has ever felt effortless before. And he wants to be with me.
Maybe not anymore, not after what happened Wednesday.
“Shelly . . . I’m worried this is very fast.”
“I’ve known him for over a month.” I didn’t know why I was defending myself. She was right. I knew she was right.
“Yes. And the month has brought many changes. You’ve made it through your first ERP. You’re working with and around people. You’ve made great progress in therapy. Beau is the first person you’ve allowed yourself to touch in a long time. It’s very natural for you to have feelings for him.”
“But?”
“But . . .” she stared at me, holding my gaze, obviously considering her next words very carefully, “is the plan still for you to move back to Chicago? When you’re ready?”
“I’m being selfish.” I glanced at my hands and realized I’d been pressing my thumbnail into my wrist then rubbing my finger over the marks. The ridges soothed me, helped me breathe easier.
“I wouldn’t say that. Tennessee isn’t so far from Chicago. I’m not going to discourage you from living a full life and I do not think you have to choose one or the other. It’s not a choice of being with someone or your family. But I will caution you to take things slowly. Let Beau know you first, let him see who you are before you invest too much.”
“You think what he sees will scare him away?”
“Not at all. Your OCD is a big part of your life, and it always will be to varying degrees, but it isn’t the sum total of who you are. You’re a world-class artist, I’ve read articles describing you as a genius. You’re also a gifted mechanic. You donate your time and money to worthy causes. You’ve fostered countless animals. You have a great deal of empathy and a lot to offer a person.”
I didn’t know why, but I felt like crying. I couldn’t manage anything more than a rough, “Thanks.”
Unexpectedly, Dr. West leaned forward and captured my hand, forcing my gaze to hers. “Let him see these parts of you, give him time to discover how great you are. Then—when or if the obsessive thoughts start—you’ll have a solid foundation. You’ll be able to reason your way through it. You’ll have a level of confidence in him, that he knows who you are and that’s why he’s with you. If you rush into things, it’ll be easy to doubt, both him and yourself.”
“Okay. That makes sense.” I liked how she explained things, how she always had good, logical, defendable reasons. It made believing her so much easier.
“Do you think he’ll still want to help?”
“With my therapy?”