Page 105 of Disarm
I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.
“Campus Counseling Center, this is Dana,” a bright voice answers.
“Uh. Hi.” I clear my throat. “My name is Miguel Veracruz. My… My partner is one of Dr. Kaur’s patients. Caleb Burton.”
There’s a pause. Keys clack softly in the background. “I can’t confirm or deny patient lists,” she says, all professional. “But how can I help you?”
“Right, yeah, I know,” I say quickly. “I’m not asking for… for his stuff. I just…” I exhale. “I’m trying to support someone who’s going through a lot. And I think I’m in over my head. I was wondering if there’s… I don’t know… a way to talk to someone about how not to screw this up. How to be there without… breaking myself in the process.”
Another pause. This one is softer.
“We do offer individual sessions for partners and family members,” she says. “And Dr. Kaur sometimes does joint sessions if the student requests it. I can’t schedule anything without his consent in that case, but we can absolutely set you up with your own appointment to talk about support strategies. Would you like that?”
My throat burns.
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “Yeah, I think I would.”
She takes my information, offers a couple of times next week, and I pick one that doesn’t require me to blow up my whole work schedule.
When I hang up, the condo is quiet.
Too quiet.
I drop onto the couch and stare at the ceiling for a long time.
This isn’t the big drama. We haven’t come out to his dad. There’s no ambulance.
Just me, finally admitting to myself that I can’t be everything he needs.
I pull my phone up again and open our conversation.
Miguel
Hey, when you wake up tomorrow, I wanna talk to you about something.
Nothing bad. Just… me looking into getting a little extra help so I can be better for you.
Okay?
I watch the message sit there, unread.
For once, I don’t spiral.
I just breathe.
One inhale, one exhale, remembering the sound of his voice, his smile in my hoodie, and the way the darkness didn’t feel likea threat. If I’m going to keep loving him through all of this, I need to stop pretending I can do it on willpower alone.
For him.
For me.
TWENTY-THREE
CALEB
Miguel’s text is the first thing I see when I wake up. Everything else comes second to the glow of my phone on the pillow next to me, buzzing once before going still.
My eyes feel like sandpaper and my body feels like I was hit by a truck and then backed over again for good measure. The weighted blanket is heavy on my chest, Miguel’s hoodie bunched under my chin, and my mouth dry as hell.
