by Gia Riley
Lynn reaches out for my arm and takes my hand in hers. “Sophie, I think you should give it a few days. Stay and let them help you. You’ve been through so much stress.”
I glance between her and her son and make the connection. “You both think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Lynn tightens her grasp on my hand and shakes her head adamantly. “No, Sophie. We don’t think that at all.”
Kipton takes my other hand and his answer is written all over his face. He’s worried. “Beautiful, I was so scared when I found you. I can’t see you like that ever again. They can help you get back on track.”
“Please, Kipton. I just need you. Then I’ll be okay.” But I can tell by his expression that he doesn’t believe my line of bullshit any more than I do. He’s always rescued me, but this time he’s not enough. This time, I have to do it on my own.
WAKING GROGGILY, I’M CONFUSED ABOUT where I am. No longer surrounded by machines, this room is empty yet warmer—less sterile. It feels more like my dorm and less like a hospital.
The bruise on my arm remains, but the IV is gone. Where is everyone? Cautiously, I get out of bed to explore my surroundings. The hallways are carpeted with warm lights lining the walls. In between each light are wall hangings covered in inspirational quotes.
Passing by a few open doors, everyone looks occupied in some way yet without a care in the world. It can only be described as peaceful ignorance. That is until I reach the end of the hall and see a young girl being walked down a hallway with her hands cuffed behind her back. She doesn’t stay in one of the rooms like mine; instead she’s taken through a different set of doors. Doors that I don’t ever want to walk through.
“Sophie, nice to see you’re awake.”
I struggle to match the familiar face with a name. Maura. “Thank you. It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”
“Yes, the medication we gave you to help you sleep is very effective. Hopefully you’re feeling a little better now that you’ve gotten some rest.”
“I do.” I look around for a waiting area, but don’t see anything. “My family, I mean my boyfriend’s family, have they all gone home?”
“They have. You’ll be able to have some time to speak to them if you follow your therapy plan and attend your group sessions. It’s important for you to focus on your recovery while you’re here. Without outside distractions.”
“I understand.” Kipton’s definitely a distraction. But one I miss.
“I was on my way to your room for your first session. Would you like to grab a drink from the machine and meet me in the first room on the right? Just press the button for what you want. No money needed.”
They don’t waste any time diving in. “Sure.” I press the button for a bottle of water and wait for it to fall. I find the meeting room around the corner and sit down next to Maura. “This is awkward. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do.” My hands are freezing and the temperature of the cold bottle is making me shiver.
“Treat it like any other counseling session. Say what you want or what you need to with the reassurance that I’m not here to judge you. I’m only here to help you work through your thoughts. I want you to begin to process them in a healthy way. Can you do that?”
“I can try.”
Maura smiles warmly. “Then you’ll do fine.”
We spend the next hour talking about my childhood. The few times I have to talk about the closet, I get anxious. So anxious I have to get up and walk over to one of the windows in order to find another breath. Maura watches me and if she’s waiting for me to break, she may get her wish.
But instead of dwelling on the topic, she shifts to easier questions about college and Kipton. I’m thankful she isn’t pushing too hard too fast. But I’m on to her. She’s mixing in things I love with the things I hate. So as much as I dread it, there will be more questions about the past.
“Kipton’s everything to me. He’s the reason I want to get better.”
“The only reason?” She questions.
“Right now he’s my motivation, but I’m hoping that’s not the case forever.” I want to do this for him, but I already know I have to want it for myself or none of this will work.
“Do you love him?”
It’s the easiest question she’s asked me so far. “Of course I do. He’s saved me more than once. I’m not sure I’d be sitting here right now if he hadn’t found me when he did.”
“Why wouldn’t you be sitting here?” she cautiously questions.
“I had no place to go. If there had been no Kipton, I would have been in my car for days until the dorms opened back up. And then, I would have quit the team or maybe even stayed just to be able to stay in school. But I wouldn’t have been happy. I’d still be living in a lie with a family I can’t stand.”
“So you rely on him to keep you on solid ground?”
“No. I can do it myself, I always have. Although it wouldn’t have been nearly as easy. He found me and took me home. His family accepted me right away, without even having to try to make them like me.”
“Why would you have to make them like you? How would you do that?”
“I’ve always had to work for love. For attention. It was never willingly given. And when it was, it usually came with a motive—one that benefited them and was an inconvenience for me. So for his whole family to open their door to me, to give me a place to stay, it blew me away. Part of me still wants to be perfect so they don’t have a reason to see my weaknesses. But I know they already have. The moment his mom walked into the room and saw me, I felt like the air cracked around her as I waited for her to yell at me or to tell me what a failure I am. It’s the reaction my Dad and Blaine would have given me.”
She takes notes after everything I say, jotting down so much my file is bound to be a hundred pages by the end of this session. “Do you believe you’re a failure, Sophie?”
“Sometimes I do. Other times it’s easier to blame someone else instead.”
We discuss a few more things before she drops a bomb on me. I didn’t see it coming and I’m not sure I would have wanted to. “Sophie, I’m not trying to break you down or push, but I’d like to make you aware of your treatment plan. It includes bringing your biological Father in for a few sessions.”
“With me? Like in the same room at the same time?”
“Yes. Before you get upset, hear me out. I’m not asking you to have a relationship with your Mom, Dean, or your Father. What I am asking is that you speak your peace to at least one of them. I think here would be a great place to begin. From the reports I reviewed, you were doing very well until you found out the truth of your paternity and were given the letters. Do you agree with that generalization?
“Yes. I felt really good until I went home for Thanksgiving break. Then it all came crashing down once I found out the truth about Coach. It spiraled even more after I read his letters.”
“That’s a fair assessment. Would this be something you would consider?”
I stand up and pace. Chewing on my thumbnail, I can’t imagine sitting down with Coach Evans and discussing his words. Of course I have so many questions for him. I must have thought of fifty or more after I left his office. “I’m angry with him.”
“What makes you angry?”
“That I don’t hate him. I hate that I don’t hate him. I’m supposed to. I should.”
Maura nods her head and takes more notes. I’m going to take her pen soon. It’s making me nervous. “I can see why you would feel that way. It makes logical sense.”
“Do you ever have an opinion, Maura? Or aren’t you allowed to tell me what you really think?”
She smiles and laughs to herself, as she takes more notes. “I have all kinds of opinions, Sophie. But they aren’t what you need. What you need is help processing your own opinions. Not mine.”
“Well a little insight wouldn’t hurt. I wouldn’t mind.” She smiles again, but I’d much rather her talk to me like I’d talk to Cara. A normal conv
ersation with give and take—not all take.
She sets down her pen and removes her glasses. “Off the record. I like you, Sophie. You’re going to do well in this program because even if you think you’re only doing it for Kipton, I know you’re not. You want to succeed. It’s how you operate. You’ve grown up in a sport that’s filled with the idea of perfection. But you can’t live your life the same way. You are bound to make mistakes—it’s part of living. So every time you veer from your path of perfection, we have to keep you moving forward while not getting hung up in what could have been. Throw that ideal out the window because reality doesn’t have a set plan. As daunting as it may sound, it’s a fact of life. But you don’t have to carry the entire burden anymore. I’ll be with you every step of the way to help you work through your fears. Sound good?”
“Sounds good to me. But I’ve never been perfect. I wish I was, so they would have loved me, but I’m not.”
“I’m not perfect either, Sophie, and this would be a boring world if we were.”
“You wouldn’t have a job.” I cover my mouth with my hand wishing I could take my comment back. But it’s too late.
“You have a great sense of humor,” she laughs. “You don’t have to bite your tongue around me either, okay? Give me the real Sophie. Not the girl you think I want to see.”
Her words remind me of the time Kipton told me not to be so shy around him. “Okay. And I’ll meet with Coach Evans. But if it’s too much, I’d like him to leave without having to beg.”
“You’ll never have to beg, Sophie. You’re here on your own free will. It doesn’t do any good for either of us if I push you too far. It may be hard to see right now, but you hold all the power. You can walk out of here anytime you want. That’s the scariest part of my job.”
“Me leaving?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not following.”
“It’s simple, Sophie. I want to help you and I can’t do that if you’re not here. Your success is my end goal.”
I roll my eyes, frustrated that even she wants something out of me. “That sounds like something Coach would say.”
“You’re success isn’t for me, Sophie. It’s for you. I want to put hope back into your life. A life that isn’t built around what you have to give. Instead, only what you offer. A lot of people have taken from you, but that’s not the way life has to continue for you.
Hope. One simple word with so many possibilities. I like the sound of it.
THE NEXT EIGHT DAYS ARE spent journaling, in group, and meeting privately with Maura. Not being able to speak to Kipton is killing me. I fall asleep each night thinking of him and wondering if he’s missing me as much as I’m missing him. Thankfully, I trust he will be waiting for me on the other side of the door once I’m discharged. A much healthier, safer Sophie will be leaving this place, but not before I’m ready. There’s several obstacles still standing in my way—two of which are still drowning me.
Today, I tackle the first one—meeting with Coach Evans. As my final step before I leave, it’s my greatest obstacle and the one I’d love to fix the most. I’ve never had a father figure in my life before, and I’m anxious to find out if I ever will. Although I’ve rehearsed what I want to say to him since I found out the truth, I’m still not sure it’s everything I have bottled up inside me. There’s only one shot for me to get it right.
Each step I take to the lounge is cautious. Part of me wants to rush to get it over with. The other part of me wants to savor each spoken word as it could be the last I ever hear from him. Unsure of how I’ll react when I see his face again, I slowly duck around the corner and slither into the room. I raise my eyes from the floor to meet his and although it’s old news, it hits me like a freight train. He’s my father.
“Hi,” I practically whisper.
“Sophie.” He stands up from his spot on the couch and waits for me to fully enter the room. I stand near him awkwardly, unsure of the proper greeting given the circumstances. He decides for me and reaches out a hand to shake. I accept. It feels formal and stuffy. Not at all how I want this meeting to go.
I sit down on the opposite end of the couch leaving distance between the two of us. Maura starts the meeting off with some general comments about my therapy. She talks with pride about my progress and I appreciate it. Coach Evans takes in every word, genuinely interested in what she has to say.
After that, Maura takes a moment to check in with each of us. Staying present is something I can struggle with. I tend to revert to the past while thinking of all that could go wrong instead of focusing on all that could go right.
When it’s my turn, I’m honest. I tell him about my hurt, my anger, and my frustration. He listens attentively, never once interrupting me. I get out everything I’ve rehearsed saying, yet I don’t gain anything. At least I don’t think so. Worried I was overly prepared, I blurt out the only thing left inside my jumbled brain. “I don’t hate you.”
His head jerks in my direction, a shocked expression covering his features. Maura even looks taken aback. I’ve expressed something similar to her several times, but as far as she knew, I was still debating one way or the other.
She speaks next. “Sophie, would you like to elaborate on that, or would you like him to respond?”
“Um. I’m not sure. I guess I needed him to know that I don’t hate him. I’m sure I did when my mom first told me the truth, but it wasn’t for the right reasons. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. Over and over it never changes. As much as I want to be mad, resent you even, I can’t.”
“Why do you think that is?” She questions.
“The letters.”
“What about the letters?”
“He wouldn’t have taken the time to write if he didn’t care. At least that’s the way I see it. I still wish he would have fought harder for me, but he didn’t. The letters don’t make up for all the wrongs, but they opened my eyes to a lot of truths. Each one is consistent. They’re all about me and how much he loves me.”
“I’ve always loved you, Sophie. Just because you didn’t see me, doesn’t mean I didn’t know what was going on in your life.”
“You didn’t know how sick I was.”
“No. I didn’t. But your Mom would send me your school picture every year. And I’ve seen almost every gymnastics meet. A few I snuck into without her seeing me, and the others, she sent pictures of you with your medal around your neck. The guilt I’ve lived with consumes me at times. There’s no excuse for the way your Mother and I handled things, but I’ve missed out on so much. It’s been a lifetime of punishments, but I do love you, beauty.”
Beauty. Dropping my head into my hands, I let him see me cry for the second time. Only this time, the tears aren’t angry. Instead, they’re forgiving. He has made an effort.
And I’m finally ready to forgive this man. Maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s taken too long, but I can’t put a timeframe on what feels right inside of me.
“Sophie, stay with us. Tell me what you’re thinking,” Maura moves in front of me and places her hand on mine. It’s the reassurance I need to continue. This doesn’t have to take me to a dark place. It very well may, but I won’t know unless to try.
“I-I forgive him.”
She looks into my eyes and instructs me. “Look at him, Sophie. Tell him what you told me. Let him hear you.”
Turning my head slowly, the wall seems to rush by faster than my movement. My eyelids flutter open and closed in slow motion—the image of his face going in and out of focus. We sit staring eye to eye until I get the nerve to speak again. “I forgive you, Coach.”
Tears of his own trickle down his face, catching on the stubble of his beard before dropping to his jeans. He swallows noticeably and absorbs my words. “If you can, maybe it’s too much too soon. You can call me by my first name, or if Coach is all you can handle that’s okay too. But I want you to know how happy I am to hear you say those words. I love you, Sophie. I always have and I’ll ne
ver stop.”
“Can I call you Dad?” I whisper.
He shakes his head and wipes his eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”
Glancing at Maura, I wait for her direction. But for the first time, she seems content on letting this play out on its own. “I don’t know the rules or anything, but maybe you can meet Kipton too. And his family. They’ve been really good to me. I’d like you to meet them.”
Maura interjects quickly. “There are no rules Sophie. What you want is up to you. The sky’s the limit now. Once you made the decision to forgive, which you did beautifully, you opened up a world of possibilities.”
“I like that. It sounds like the hope you told me about.”
My dad smiles fondly as we sit and absorb our newfound peace.
Hope.
One simple word. One endless possibility.
Two weeks later
KIPTON STRETCHES, HIS SHIRT RIDING up giving me a glimpse his sexy body. “You look hungry.” He smirks and it’s very clear I’m not talking about food.
“Always.” He cuddles me in his strong arms where I feel entirely at home.
“I’m sorry I took you to hell and back. Thank you for sticking by me.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just want you to find your happiness and realize your future is where you’ll find your joy—not locked up in the past. You won’t ever be able to change the decisions your parents made for you, no matter how much you wish you could. Put the letters, the anger, and the hate into something else. Something that makes you happy.”
“Change a negative into a positive.” I smile up at him. “I like that.”
“I like you.” He taps my scrunched up nose and kisses my lips softly. “Correction, I love you.”
“That’s better.” I snuggle closer to him.
Kipton reaches for my hand, tracing an infinity symbol on my palm. “You have no idea how happy I am to see your smile. You deserve so much more than you’ve been given. You’ll always have me, but I want you to have it all.”