I took a shallow breath and continued, "Then the aversion to germs kicked in. A client sneezed on my desk – something that I'm sure had happened at least once before. But I couldn't stop obsessing over it. I felt like my skin was on fire. I tried to wipe down the area in front of where she'd been sitting, and that helped for a few minutes, but then I just kept thinking that it was still dirty. As the day went on I became convinced that there was some type of airborne disease in my office and that it would kill me. By the time the day was over I had scrubbed everything on the desk and ultimately ordered a new one and told my assistant I would be working from home until it arrived. Everything went downhill from there."
Her smile had faded slightly, and she looked concerned as she asked, "You say your father passed recently? Were the two of you close?"
I wanted to give an honest answer, so I tried to seriously consider what our relationship had been like.
The answer is "no", moron, the voice in my head interrupted. You're not close with anyone because no one would ever want to be close to you.
Then my mind fixated on an image of my father, lying lifeless in his bed. I desperately began counting my fingers.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10...
"Mr. Diaz? Mr. Diaz," I heard Dr. Rodriguez calling. "I lost you for a minute there. Are you okay?" she asked as I finally came back to reality.
"I'm sorry," I quickly answered. "I just-"
"You were having a compulsion," she said. I nodded weakly and she continued, "May I ask if it was triggered by something? Was there an obsessive thought? It's okay if you aren't ready to talk about it."
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10
I continued counting while I explained. "When my dad died," I began weakly, "I was the one who found his body. Sometimes the image of him lying there, not moving, not breathing -" I paused to compose myself. "It haunts me. It's unshakable. With the other obsessions, there's something I can do to manage them. But this one – this one eats at me like a living nightmare until my brain decides it's done torturing me."
"I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how traumatic that must be. I asked before if you had a good relationship with your father and that seemed to trigger the mental image. Is that because the relationship was strained?" she asked.
"Not at all," I answered. "He was sort of my hero. My mom was never really around so it was just us. He always made sure I had everything I needed, even if it meant he had to do without something. He supported me unconditionally."
"So now that he's gone, do you perhaps feel an absence of sorts?" she asked.
"I guess I do," I said, the weight of the answer suddenly hitting me like a freight train. "I guess without him I feel like there's this fundamental piece of me missing – like I have no idea who I am or where I belong anymore. It feels like... like I lost a leg, and now I have to learn how to walk again, only there's no prosthetic to catch me. So no matter how hard I try, I just keep falling."
That's not because you lost your dad, it's because you're a worthless nobody, the voice in my head chimed in. I gritted my teeth, gripped the arms of my chair tightly, and ignored it.
"I imagine the dissolution of your marriage has only compounded that feeling," Dr. Rodriguez said.
"Of course," I said. "Now I'm completely alone and I... have no idea where to even start picking up the pieces of my life."
"Well, you've already started," she said, smiling. "You've acknowledged that you need help and you've reached out. Those are not things to take lightly. Treating mental illness is all about baby steps, and you've started down the road to healing. You should be very proud of that."
I nodded weakly, unsure I agreed with her, but willing to buy into it for the time being.
"Do you have a support system outside of your husband? Are there any friends or other family members you can turn to when you can't handle things alone?" she asked.
"Not really," I admitted. "I suppose that's part of the problem. Most of my social circle was composed of work colleagues. The rest are friends I shared with Adam and I'm not sure how to talk to them about our separation."
"That's understandable," she said. "In that case, what I would like for you to do before our next session, assuming you decide to continue working with me – and I hope you do – is reach out to someone. It can be anyone who you trust. Try to open up to them. Even if you can't talk to them about these issues right off the bat, at least try to open the door. I believe therapy will help, but I also believe that a strong support system in your daily life is vital. Can you do that for me?"
"I can try," I said.
Good luck, dumbass. No one wants to hear from you, remember? The voice in my head continued to mock me.
"Good," Dr. Rodriguez said. "Well I think that's about all we have time for today, but I'd like to schedule an appointment with you for this time next week if that's okay." I nodded in agreement and she continued, "Great. In the meantime, I'll send this new prescription over to your local pharmacy for you. I'd like for you to try keeping a log of any particularly strong obsessions or compulsions, what you were doing when they started, and how you managed them. Email that to me the night before your next appointment so that I can get a better picture of exactly what you're dealing with."
"I will," I said. "Thank you."
"Thank you for reaching out, Mark. I truly believe you are going to be okay. Have a nice week," she said, warmly.
I slouched back into my chair and wondered what to do with myself for the next week. I started browsing news online to keep my mind occupied, but the temptation to check in on Adam's social media profiles was too strong. So I moved away from the computer and was just about to start cleaning the already clean living room when my phone went off.
New Message from Kate Sanchez, it read.
Maybe I'm not so alone after all, I thought.
Chapter Three | Adam
The next day at work, I quarantined myself to my office and classrooms all day so that I wouldn't risk running into Wes. Of course, that just gave me ample time between my classes to feel guilty about the previous night.
One day, I thought. You couldn't make it one day on your own without royally fucking up.
During a particularly long break between classes, I tried to occupy myself by cleaning out my office. Big mistake, of course. I quickly found myself surrounded by mementos of my life with Mark. There was a picture of us on our honeymoon hanging next to my diplomas. A stuffed animal he won for me on a date to a carnival sat on top of one of my filing cabinets. Sweet little notes he had written and hidden around for me to find kept popping up.
I finally gave up and decided to take a walk. I ended up at the book fountain and tried to relax. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to focus on the sound of the running water. It must have been working because I didn't hear anyone approach before I was being tapped on the shoulder.
"Dr. Diaz... Dr. Diaz?" a familiar voice asked.
I opened my eyes to find Dr. Ana Lewis, the head of my department. She was a very tall woman, and the sun glaring behind her head coupled with the way her dark skin made it hard to read her expression in the shadows gave her an intimidating appearance. But Ana was one of the kindest people I'd ever known.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Dr. Lewis. I was, um, meditating," I apologized.
"No need to apologize, Diaz. I hear you've... got a lot going on," she said, sitting next to me.
"You do?" I asked, confused.
"Mr. Harris was perhaps not the best choice of confidant if you hoped to keep it a secret," she said with a smirk.
I'm gonna fucking strangle Wes, I thought.
"I suppose you're right," I conceded. "I promise it will not happen again. It was-" I started to explain, flustered, but she cut me off.
"Again, no need," she said, smiling. "I actually intended to speak with you about something else. I had a rather interesting conversation with Dr. Andrews this morning. It
seems he has been offered a position at another university and has opted to take it. Why he waited until the semester was already in session to inform me of this, I don't know. However, as I'm sure you know, he leaves behind several senior level courses that I need someone I can trust to take over. You were my first thought."
"Oh, wow, thank you, Dr. Lewis. I'm honored, truly. But, in the wake of the personal information you were given by We- Mr. Harris, are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked.
"I imagine only you can answer that," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll leave you to think it over. However, I will need an answer by the end of the day so that I can assess my other options if necessary."
"Of course. Of course," I answered. "I will get back to you as quickly as possible. Thank you again."
"Thank me when you say yes, Diaz," she said, leaving me behind with a quick pat on the knee.
"Oh, Dr. Lewis," I called after her. "It's – it's King now, I suppose. At least, it will be soon"
"Dr. King, then," she said with a gentle smile. And then she was off. I watched her walk back inside, each step self-assured and purposeful. I hoped I could get it together and be half that composed soon.
I sat and listened to the fountain until I had to go to my next class. It was the same intermediate creative writing class as the day before. After reading through their first assignments, I knew I had my work cut out for me.
As the students filed in, I noticed a few new faces. In a class that had been full the day before, I knew that meant I had already scared a few of them off. Better now than after wasting all of our time, I thought. At least, I thought that until I realized that Lauren, the girl who's paper I had been touched by the day before, was one of the missing students.
I pulled an updated class roster and found that Lauren Carter was still enrolled. I quickly sent her an e-mail asking if everything was okay, then proceeded with class. I had each student stand and talk to the class about why they'd decided to take the class and what they hoped to get from it. As usual, the answers ranged from pointless to stupid to actually intriguing. We discussed questions they had over the previous day's assignment and looked over a few examples together. Then I sent them off with a writing assignment.
When everyone was gone, I checked my email and found one from Lauren explaining that she'd had an emergency but would make up any missed work the next day.
I couldn't explain why, but I felt a sense of responsibility for this girl. Maybe it was because she so clearly felt alone here. Maybe it was because I now understood that feeling all too well. In any case, I couldn't help but worry about her as I made my way back to my office. I was so concerned, in fact, that I was completely unaware of Wes coming down the hall in my direction until he was turning into my office behind me and shutting the door.
"Hey, so I was thinking about last night," he began before I had a chance to speak. "And I think we should make it, like, a regular thing. Like, this semester is gonna be really stressful for me, and probably for you too. So, like, why waste time hunting for fun when you can shop local?"
He was clearly trying to be flirty, but sober me had a very different reaction to it than drunk me did. Sober me was unwaveringly aware of all of the reasons why I only spent time with Wes when Amy was around to be a buffer.
"You know what," I said. "Can we talk about this later? I actually have this really important meeting with Dr. Lewis to get to." I was lying, of course. I hadn't really even had a chance to give Ana's proposal much thought. But I was not prepared to deal with this mess yet.
"Oh, are you taking over that troll Dr. Andrews's classes? Because that's even more reason we should definitely keeping having sex," he said, not missing a beat.
"Ye-um-I, I gotta go," I said, quickly sliding between him and the door. Put that on the list of reasons not to take on the extra classes, I thought.
I walked toward Dr. Lewis's office in case he was watching, then cut for Amy's office at the last minute. She wasn't in there, so I sent her a text message: "Can I hide in your office?"
"Only if you want me to come kill you. Hall C. Now," she replied.
So much for wondering if she knows, I thought.
I begrudgingly made my way to Study Hall C, a room reserved for freshman English students to study that was never used because the professors who taught the lowest level classes always failed to mention it. It mostly ended up being used for professors who wanted a place to hide that wasn't their offices.
I found Amy angrily tilting a Nintendo 3DS as if it was going to help whatever she was doing. "No, no, no, no, NO, come on! Fucking blue shell," she yelled, slamming the game down.
"Bad time?" I asked, half hoping she'd say yes.
"Well, a better time would have been before you fucked Loud Mouth Lou, but I guess that bird already kamikazed out of the nest, didn't it," she said. She sounded angry, but the look on her face told me she was at least half joking.
"So, you heard about that, huh?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
"Are you kidding? I heard about it in excruciating detail. You're lucky I didn’t throw up the $8 breakfast burrito I was eating because I would definitely have billed you," she said, smacking my arm. "What the fuck could you possibly have been thinking, Adam?"
"I wasn't. That's the problem," I said, laying my head on the table.
"You haven't even filed divorce papers yet. Have you?" she asked.
"No," I admitted. "I know, I'm a monster."
"Okay, now hold on," she said. "You obviously have the intention of doing so, and you guys are definitely done right?"
"Well, that's the idea," I said, picking my head slightly up off the table and slamming it back down. "I don't know, Amy. I mean, I feel awful, but at the same time – we agreed to a divorce right? So part of me thinks I didn't technically do anything wrong, but another part of me feels like if I have to rely on a technicality then I definitely did do something wrong. And in either case this was exactly the very last thing I needed right now."
"Well, do you want to know what I think you need to do now?" she asked.
"Why do I feel like you're gonna say, 'suck it up, buttercup'?" I asked, bracing myself for her favorite catchphrase.
"Because you need to suck it up, buttercup," she said, not even a hint of irony in her voice. "You fucked up. So what? We all make mistakes. Twice last week, Jason only picked up one of our two kids from daycare. Twice. Shit happens. And even though this mistake makes me want to do the world's biggest spit-take, what's done is done. You and Mark are not together right now and you and Wes are both adults. Sort of. I mean, we both know Wes behaves like a 17-year old, but he is technically a grown man. So, do I think you should do it again? Dear God, no. But I also wouldn't say you did anything wrong. Maybe just cut back on the drinking for a while, or at least get better at making drunk decisions."
I still felt guilty, but she made some decent points. Surely I would have moved on to someone else eventually. Plus, I was certain that had I not been the drunkest I'd ever been in my life, Wes would never have ended up back at my apartment.
"Thanks, Amy. I appreciate that," I said.
"Anytime, young Padawan," she said, patting my head gently. "Now go forth and be single. I gotta go call Jason and make sure he remembers to feed the kids tonight while I go to some bullshit Homeowners Association meeting."
"Amy, is Jason okay?" I asked
"Of course he is, dude. He's just an idiot like every other man," she said with a wink, heading for the door. She turned back right before she exited. "Oh, and you should definitely take Andrews's classes. Guy was a hack anyway. You'll do great."
"Is anything a secret around here?" I yelled after her.
"Not a chance, babe. Love you, bye," she called from the hallway.
I laid my head back down on the table and thought of all of the times Amy and I had teased our husbands together when we'd go out for dinner or to each other's houses. I hadn't until that moment considered all of the little things that giving up my
marriage meant I'd be giving up along with it.
No more feeling sorry for myself, I thought. Time to suck it up.
I had a few minutes before my next class, so I stopped by Dr. Lewis's office.
"If it still stands, I'd like to take you up on your offer," I said.
"Wonderful," she said, smiling. "I have three courses for you. Fortunately the timing of them already worked out so that they don't conflict with your current schedule."
She pulled a large box filled with books and paperwork onto her desk.
"This is everything Dr. Andrews had prepared for them," she said. "You're of course welcomed to change anything you feel is appropriate. However, since many of your new students will have already purchased the textbooks, I would recommend you not change those. If you do, be sure to give them plenty of time to make exchanges."
"Of course," I said, my voice cracking.
I don't know what I expected, but this was not it. This single box contained almost twice the material I had for the classes I was already set to teach. I immediately began praying that I was not in over my head.
"Well, I better get to it," I said, nervously. "Need to make sure I'm ready for tomorrow."
"I'd expect no less," Dr. Lewis said. "I trust we'll see great things come out of the students, and yourself."
"Thank you again, Dr. Lewis," I said.
I headed to my last class of the day and spent most of the following half hour trying not to worry about everything in that box. I ended class early under the guise of giving the students extra reading time.
I hauled the box home with me and spread all of the material out on the dining table, trying to decide where to start. I was halfway through sorting everything when I realized it looked just like the dining table covered in work I'd shared with Mark when I was in grad school. I slammed everything back into the box and moved into my bedroom, but was quickly distracted by thoughts of the night before.
I tried to make myself focus, but my thoughts alternated between the night I'd spent with Wes and the many evenings I'd spent bouncing ideas around with Mark about my lesson plans and his ongoing cases. Five minutes later I was sitting at the stop sign nearest my former home. Part of me wanted to run inside and scoop him up into my arms and apologize for being such a colossal asshole. But a louder, more persistent voice in my head was telling me that there was a good reason I'd left.
How We Love Page 3