Page 79 of Keeping Kyler
He shrugs.
I stick him with a serious look. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through that beautiful head of yours.”
He sighs, flopping down flat on his back. “I’m just not in a good mood today. You know why.”
I lean over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah.” My tongue darts out, moistening my dry lips. “If you like, I could phone that therapist and see if she could fit us in today?”
He stares up at the ceiling, and I watch his chest heave up and down. “Okay,” he whispers.
“Yeah?” My eyes search his face.
He angles his head so he’s looking me straight in the eyes. “Yeah.”
Three hours later, we are sitting in the therapist’s swanky office on the fifth floor of a modern building occupying prime position in Beacon Hill. Boston Common is visible in the distance through the floor-to-ceiling window. Ky’s knee jerks anxiously as we wait on the plush leather couch in the reception area. We are only here thanks to a last-minute cancellation.
The door to the room next door opens, and a small, well-dressed lady with a warm smile steps out to greet us. We both rise. “You must be Faye?” She shakes my hand, and I nod.
“Hello, Kyler.” She extends her hand in his direction. “Would you like to come this way?” She steps aside, motioning him forward.
I give him a quick hug, hating how his body trembles underneath me. “I’m proud of you.” I peck him briefly on the lips. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”
He gulps, making no attempt to mask his absolute terror. I squeeze his hand. “You can do this.”
“We can take this at your own speed, Kyler. I can assure you this is a safe environment, and you can talk to me about anything or nothing.” She smiles again, and his shoulders relax a little.
My heart is in my mouth as he steps into her room, and she shuts the door behind them.
I’m a bundle of nerves the entire time he’s in there. Because it’s Saturday, and we secured the last appointment, there’s no one here. After pacing back and forth across the room, I drop to the carpeted floor beside the window, pulling my knees into my chest. I idly watch pedestrians on the street outside as I blow on the window, clouding the glass, and drawing a love heart with our initials inside. I snicker to myself, remembering how I used to doodle similarly when Luke and I first got together. But I was only fourteen then. I’m almost eighteen now. Too old for this juvenile carry on. Yet I can’t bring myself to rub it away. As I stare at my jagged, hastily drawn love heart and our initials contained inside, I think of how accurate a representation it is. Ky’s nameiscarved in my heart, as I hope mine is in his. The longer I stare at the crude drawing, the more my heart swells.
Growing up, the only measure of romantic love I had was my parents; however, I couldn’t have had a better example. Their love story may not have been conventional, but it was true love, a real partnership, a genuine meeting of minds. They didn’talwaysagree on things, but they respected one another. Respected their differences. Appreciated them. I never doubted how profoundly they loved one another, and I can remember wishing that I’d find a great love like that one day.
Now, I hover on the cusp of something great, and it’s equally wonderful and terrifying.Isit foolish at almost eighteen to believe that I’ve met my soul mate? The one person who is destined for me? To feel so much for a boy I’ve only known a fewmonths?
Memories flood my mind, and I lean my head back and close my eyes. I confided in Mum when I first struggled to deal with my changing feelings for Luke. He was my first steady boyfriend. The guy I’d given my virginity to. The one I’d thought I’d love forever.
Hence, all the love heart doodling.
I felt guilty when everything he did started to irk me. When I’d snap at him for no reason whatsoever. When I started making excuses to not want to spend time with him. I knew deep down what it meant, but I was afraid to confront that reality, so I asked Mum how she knew Dad was the only one for her.
I can still picture her in my mind’s eye. She was wearing her favorite mauve knitted dress, and her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. She had taken my hands in hers and stared earnestly into my eyes. “There are many reasons why I love your father so completely,” she had said. “Far too many to mention, but if you want to know if he’s the one, just imagine your life without him. What if he died? How would you feel? If you can answer that question, you will know what’s truly in your heart.”
Honesty and simplicity.
That’s how you know.
How I knew I had to let Luke go.
How I know I can never let Ky go.
Because even the thought of him not being in this world sends my body into shock. A sharp, twisty pain pummels my heart; a physical pain so intense it causes my chest to throb excruciatingly. I rub a hand over the sore spot. My throat locks up, and my mouth is suddenly dry. Tears prick my eyes, overflowing, rolling down my face. I feverishly rub the aching spot over my heart, reminding myself that it’s not real.
He’s here. He’s alive. He’s mine.
He’s all I’ll ever want.
All I’ll ever need.
My heart and my mind are in no doubt.
