Troy moved to the edge of the bed.
"I could never look at you and not think you're the most beautiful person in the world." He reached out with his good hand and touched my cheek. His green eyes softened like they always did when he looked at me.
"Oh God." The tears poured out of me, and I turned away. I never thought I'd hear him say a kind word to me ever again. The thought of how close we came to breaking up overwhelmed me.
Troy wrapped his arms around my waist.
He held me while I cried. He stroked my hair and kissed my neck.
"Everything is going to be okay," he whispered.
All the things I was supposed to be telling him. He was the one in trouble.
When the tears subsided, I turned back to look at his face to see his eyes, but he didn't give me a chance. As soon as I turned, he let go and moved to the other side of the bed.
I remained at the foot of the bed trying to remember the last time I felt so alone. I felt like I had everything and then nothing, all in a matter of minutes.
***
I thought the comforting hug would lead to an apologetic kiss and a profession of never-ending love followed by the best make-up sex my brain could fantasize. Troy retreated as far away from me as possible without leaving the room. There went that fantasy.
I waited for him to speak, anticipating the sound of my heart about to break for the third time today.
"Miranda, I think we should stop seeing each other for awhile."
And there it went.
I didn't know how to react. I looked at Troy for some direction.
"You obviously have a lot of stuff to work out regarding this."
I did?
He couldn't even say it out loud.
"I think if we were together it would... complicate things."
"Okay," I said, not recognizing the word even though it came out of my mouth. I cursed myself for not leaving when I had the chance. Maybe I could drop dead from the shock of it all right here and now. Anything would be better then hearing his reasons for why we shouldn't be together.
"It wouldn't be fair for us to pretend like nothing happened; that wouldn't be good for you."
"Oh, you're concerned about me?" I asked.
"Yeah. Maybe you should talk to someone. You know, get some therapy."
His lip moved, but he didn't sound like himself.
"You have to face what happened to you and deal with it and then you can begin to move on."
"Is that what the doctor told you, or did you read it in a pamphlet?"
"Miranda, I'm trying here."
"No you're not. You're telling me to go fix myself." The feeling returned to my legs and I stood up. "And if I do a good job, do I get to come back?"
"Randa."
"No really, Troy. You want a note from my doctor when I'm cured, or are you going to take my word for it?"
"Babe."
"Don't call me that."
I left the room. I attempted to slam the door in his face, like he did to me this morning, but I didn't have the chance. Troy followed, grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. I didn't give him a chance to speak.
"Troy, I have dealt with this. I'll admit, maybe not in the healthiest of ways at first, but I have. I stopped sleeping around. I started taking care of myself. I am a fully functioning music major in college,"
Hell, I thought I was doing pretty well.
I wanted to continue to be strong, but my heart betrayed me. My voice softened, talking about us. "And four months ago, I found you. My best friend. You told me you loved me. You said there was nothing in this world that would prevent you from loving me."
I stood there for what seemed like forever, watching Troy try to come up with the right thing to say, wrestling with options, saying them in his mind, discarding them and trying again. It was painful to watch.
"I guess I was mistaken."
I turned and walked out of the house. I figured the least I could do was put him out of his misery.
***
I, of all people, understood my unresolved issues. I knew I should talk to someone. More than that, I was ready to deal with it, but not because he told me to. Who did he think he was?
Shocked and pissed off, I left Troy's house and walked, not paying attention to where I was going. I may have been walking in circles, but at the next street corner, I recognized the coffee shop. I walked in and headed to the front to order.
My phone beeped. It was a text from Darcy.
Darcy: Checking on u.
Miranda: Meet me at the coffee house on 42nd and Lupe.
Darcy: On my way.
I reached the front and the cute blond barista smiled.
"Hey, Miranda."
"Hi. Jeff, right?" Happy I remembered his name.
"Yeah, I haven't seen you in here since the first time. How's Austin treating you?"
I couldn't begin to figure out how to answer that question. I stuck with the simplest answer.
"Fine."
"Great." His positive tone reminded me of someone. "What can I get you?" he asked.
"Large latte." I handed him money, and he gave me change. I headed toward the end of the bar, but the piano on the stage called me. A few people occupied a table on the opposite side of the room. My fingers tingled.
"Jeff." I turned back. "You mind if I play the piano?"
"No, go ahead."
I waited for my coffee. The smell and taste calmed my nerves. The first note I played began to calm my soul.
I played some Mendelssohn. A little light for my mood, but I needed to warm up. Went into some Bach. Warmed up, I play Chopin's Black Key étude and felt that familiar click in my brain when I stop playing the music and the music played me, but it was different this time. Instead of being on the outside looking in, I felt everything, every emotion as it ran through me and translated into music through my fingertips. I felt it deep in my bones. It wore me out, and the applause from the six patrons freaked me out, but I smiled and calmed down when Darcy’s screams eclipsed them all.
"That was amazing." She climbed up on stage. "I didn't know you could play like that."
"Thanks."
"No, really, why didn't I know you could play like that?"
"I guess because you've never heard me play." I ran my fingers back and forth over the keys.
"I've seen you banging away on that keyboard, but it doesn't sound like that."
"Darcy."
"I didn't think I'd liked piano music."
"Darcy!"
"What?"
"You're rambling."
"Sorry." She sat next to me on the piano bench. "I'm trying to be encouraging."
"So you didn't like it."
"No, I did. When you play, you have the most peaceful look on your face."
"It does that to me."
"It's cool to watch."
"Yeah." But the high didn't last long. I grabbed a table while Darcy got some coffee.
When she returned, we didn't speak for a while as we watched the activity outside.
"Here, ladies, I thought you would like some cheesecake."
"Thanks, Jeff."
"You were so good. That was so cool. You should come and play more often," Jeff said.
"Isn't she amazing?" Darcy said.
"Thanks, Jeff. Darcy, this is Jeff. Jeff, Darcy."
I watched as Darcy and Jeff shook hands, their attraction obvious. It made me sad. I was so damaged, I couldn’t even be happy for my friend.
"You ladies need anything else, let me know," Jeff said.
I watched as Darcy’s eyes followed him back to bar. When he turned around, he winked at her and went back to work.
"He's cute." Her enthusiasm deflated when she saw my expression. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’m not upset about that.”
“What happen with Troy?”
I sat up and cleared my throat.
"Troy doesn't think we should be together until I get some
help for my problem."
"I'm sorry. What problem do you have?" Darcy said.
"I'm not sure."
"Well, does he know? You know, maybe it will make it easier for you to get help." I wished I could have captured her sarcastic tone when I spoke with Troy, including her animated hands.
"I guess he figured if I talked to someone they would be able to figure out what's wrong with me."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him to go fuck himself."
"Good for you."
"Not really, but I did tell him that allowing myself to fall in love with him proved I was working on it. I guess not according to his standards."
"So, how did you leave it?"
"It's over." I swallowed to relieve the pressure from the lump in my throat.
"I'm so disappointed," Darcy said.
"Me, too. You know what kind of sucks?" I said.
"This whole thing sucks."
"Well, what sucks at this moment?"
"What?" she said.
"I was planning on talking to someone anyway."
We returned to the dorm, and I fell into bed and stayed there for three days straight.
Darcy gave me three days to feel sorry for myself. She said it was the appropriate thing to do. Again, a southern thing. She brought me food, which I barely ate. Every night she informed me of the latest campus gossip. I suspect out break was at the top of the gossip list, but Darcy left that part out. I only pretended to listen. She handed me tissues when I cried. She cursed Troy's name once an hour in order to remind me he was the asshole in this situation.
I woke up Thursday morning with a clear mind. I showered and dressed, all before Darcy could open her eyes.
"Get up. We're going to be late for calculus."
"You sure you want to go?"
"You said it yourself, I can't hide in my room for the rest of the semester."
"I was going to give you one more day."
"No, I'm fine." My energy made me feel manic.
"Why don't you skip calculus and I'll go. You can have my notes."
"Darcy, Troy and I are going to run into each other eventually. Campus is big, but it's not that big."
"Why are you being so mature about all of this?"
"Well, not really. I figured I'd ignore him. Pretend like he doesn't exist. How's that for mature?"
"Oh yeah, I see the difference."
"Besides, he might not even be there."
And he wasn't. I didn’t think I have ever been more relieved and disappointed about something at the same time. He could still walk in, but it was a small victory knowing I wouldn't have to subject myself to walking to my seat while he stared at me. Or worse, watch him try to ignore me first.
I didn't feel comfortable taking my eyes off the door until the professor started his lecture. He didn't show up for class, but Ryan did. He walked up the aisle and sat down in his normal seat. He turned to face me.
"I need to talk to you after class."
I didn't have a chance to respond. The professor began the lecture.
I didn't listen to a word he said. All I could think about was what could Ryan possibly have to say to me.
***
After class, Ryan remained seated, and so did I.
"You want me to stay?" Darcy asked.
"No, I'm fine, but meet me for lunch, okay?"
"Of course."
Darcy walked by Ryan, who had turned around to face us, and gave him a look I could only describe as a "don't mess with my girl" glare. I smiled as Darcy left. She was becoming one of my favorite people.
When the class emptied, Ryan stood up and walked around the table and sat beside me.
"You okay?" he said.
"Uhm, yeah, getting there, anyway."
"He's not coming to class for the rest of the year. He didn't want you to be uncomfortable."
"Well, that's mighty big of him." The sarcasm came out, but I tried to control it. Ryan didn't deserve it.
"He's worried about you."
"He needs to be worried about himself."
"How do you expect him to get over something like this?"
"I didn't ask him to."
"Great, so give him some time to deal with this, but don't leave him."
"I didn't leave, Ry; he asked me to go." I tried to control my tears. It didn't work. They fell too fast. I started to wipe them away, but noticed how uncomfortable it made Ryan. I let them fall.
"Don't take it like that."
"How else am I supposed to take it?"
"He's scared you're going to rely on him to fix your issues, and he doesn't want that responsibility."
"Again, I didn't ask him to fix me." I stood up to walk out, but stopped when Ryan grabbed my arm.
"I don't know how to help him."
"Tell him to go get some therapy."
It helped to know Troy was having a hard time, happy that he had not gotten over me yet. Maybe happy wasn’t the best word to use; sadistic satisfaction was more like it. The ironic part of this whole situation coming to light was the lump in the pit of my stomach was gone. I missed it. My sanity was playing tricks on me and no amount of Beethoven and Brahms could make it better. Good thing I had made an appointment at the student heath center.
Darcy and I walked over after lunch the same day of my conversation with Ryan. The health center building sat in the back of campus in a small, two-story building. We walked in. About twenty pairs of eyes turned. I bowed my head and walked to the reception desk. I signed in, and Darcy and I found two chairs in the corner. The silence in the room increased my nervousness. After waiting ten minutes, the doctor called my name.
"Miranda Preston." A tall, dark-skinned man with bright eyes stood in the doorway on the opposite side of the waiting room. He had a nice smile.
"I'll wait for you here," Darcy said, and gave me a hug.
"Hi, my name is Brandon." He extended his hand. I shook it.
"Miranda."
"Nice to meet you."
"You want to come on back?" He started walking, and I followed him. We passed four closed doors on each side of a narrow corridor to the last office on the left.
I peeked in before walking through the door. I'd never been to therapy, and I didn't know what to expect. His office looked like every one of my professor's offices. Dark wood, dark carpet, books lined the walls, and papers covered every open surface. A brown couch sat against the wall of books opposite his desk.
"Have a seat."
The room filled with natural light, and he had a window open even though it was fifty degrees outside; the sun's angle warmed the room.
"Do you mind the window open?"
"No, it's fine."
"You prefer the desk and chair, or the couch setting? Your choice." Was this a test? Did my seat choice reflect something about my problem?
"Desk."
"Great." He went behind his desk, and I sat in the chair closest to the window.
"So, first of all, do you have any questions for me?"
"How old are you?" I had no clue why I asked that question. It seemed innocent enough.
"Does my age matter to you?"
"No, just making conversation."
"I'm thirty-five."
"How long have you been a counselor?"
"I'm a psychologist, see?" He pointed to his diploma on the wall. "Ph.D., six years ago."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He smiled and wrote some notes on a pad of paper. I guess therapy had begun.
"Why don't you tell me why you're here?"
"I don't know where to start," I said.
"Well, I could go down a list, and you could say yes, or no, but that's not really productive."
"I was abused as a kid."
"Okay."
"And to deal with it, I gained a lot of weight and slept with a lot of guys in high school."
"Uh-huh."
"Before I
came to college, I never had a boyfriend."
"Continue." He wrote notes as I spoke.
"I ended up reconnecting with my best friend from when I was little, and we picked up where we left off, and we became boyfriend/girlfriend."
"That's nice."
"Up until last Saturday when he found out what happened to me when I was a kid, and he broke up with me."
"He broke up with you because you were abused as a kid."
"Yeah, well, that and because the boy who abused me was my boyfriend's half-brother."
He stopped writing and looked up at me.
"And, this all came out between you, your boyfriend, and the brother on Saturday."
"Yep."
"What did you boyfriend say?"
"He told me I needed to go get counseling."
"That was good."
"And once I fixed myself, maybe we could be together."
"How did it make you feel?"
"Like I was in love with the biggest dick in the world." I laughed, but he went back to making notes in his notebook.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you are free to say whatever you like in here. This is a no-censor zone.”
"Okay," I whispered.
"Have you had therapy before?"
"No."
"Really? You seem pretty well-adjusted, considering."
"I've developed some coping strategies to deal."
"Oh yeah? What things have you done?"
"Sex with random guys who treated me bad, drinking, drugs."
"Yeah." Brandon smiled and shook his head. "Like I said, pretty well-adjusted. Any healthy strategies?"
"I play the piano."
"Right, I see from your record you're a music major. Scholarship." He flipped through a folder on his desk. "What's your favorite piece to play?"
"I love Rachmaninoff's Preludes, especially No. 5 in G major."
"Nice."
We talked more about music and how I used music to deal with stuff in my life. He focused on my one positive outlet and encouraged me to find others.
As the session winded down, Brandon had a few more questions.
"How did your family handle your abuse when you were a kid?"
"We moved."
"Yeah, but how did you tell them and how did they react?"
Another New Life Page 16