Page 96 of Stolen Hearts
Tuesday
My usual mix of caffeine and Adderall has done nothing to lock down my attention today. I’m barely able to focus on Lee’s questions in our therapy session, not because of the squawking birds flying overhead, but because I’m still waiting for Christopher to message me back and confirm our plans for tonight. My heart leaps into my throat every time I get a notification, only for it to fall into the pit of my chest when it’s not his name that is displayed.
“Do you think I should message him again?” The laptop bounces up and down on my outstretched legs.
“What do you think you should do?” Lee counters.
“I don’t know.” My shoulders slump deeper into the white cushions.
Despite having the urge, I’d managed to resist messaging him all day yesterday. I distracted myself by hitting up Zuma Beach with my buddy Darren to go surfing all morning, and then went over to Temescal Canyon for a hike in the afternoon.
But it’s been four hours now since I messaged him, and he still hasn’t responded. I can’t always trust my mind on whether or not to follow up, especially when it runs away with itself. Itstarts suggesting crazy ideas that I later find out are the complete opposite of the truth. But my usual forty-eight-hour rule doesn’t apply here when we’re due to meet in six hours.
“Honor the compulsion. Invite it in. What is it trying to communicate to you?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The late-morning sun warms the left side of my face as I try to focus on what’s going on.
“I feel punished,” I answer. “Abandoned.”
“Good. Where is that coming from?” Her voice sounds tinny through the laptop speakers.
“It’s from when he never messaged back over the summer. When he didn’t acknowledge my voicemail, my apology.”
I suck in a breath and breathe out. My eyes remain closed.
“Keep going.” Lee’s voice is soft but firm.
“It’s from my dad not returning my messages after my live stream. From all the times I’d reach out to classmates as a kid to go skateboarding, and they ignored me. Like I’m invisible. Like I’m worthless.”
My eyes mist over as they open, and I struggle to focus on Lee’s image on the screen. A wave of sadness settles within me as my chest tightens and my breath becomes shallower.
Will I always feel this way when someone doesn’t message me back?
I readjust myself on the couch, taking my feet out of my black Nike sliders and resting them on the wooden decking to let the warmth radiate through me.
“Let’s take a moment to regulate your breathing, so you don’t become too overwhelmed.”
Lee guides me through a short breathwork exercise, matching my breathing rhythm as I focus on the neutral palate of browns, creams, and whites of the outdoor furniture, and then expand my awareness to the swimming pool and out over Beverley Hills below.
“That’s it. What is your heart telling you now?”
I lift my hands to my chest, the coldness of them through my white-and-navy striped T-shirt connecting with my heart rate, which slows with each subsequent breath. My rational and logical mind slowly reappears.
“He’s probably working, caught up in meetings. I’m sure he’ll message back shortly,” I say, attempting to reassure myself more than Lee.
“Okay, and what can you do in the interim, while you wait?”
“I’m meeting my lawyer at eleven here at my house.” I glance at my watch and notice it’s already ten fifty-five. “Then one of my producers is coming over to my home studio at twelve to work on some music, so my mind will stay occupied.”
“Right.”
Lee makes a note, which always makes me feel suspicious, like I’ve given the wrong answer to a test that I wasn’t aware I was taking.
“Let’s pick this up again next week.”
“Actually, do you think you’ll be around for a session on Friday?”
My whole body shudders at the thought of hosting Thanksgiving this year.
