Page 95 of Burn the Script

Wednesday, March 8th

Victor’s legs are crossed, hands steepled under his chin. I grip both armrests of my chair and focus on his shiny black shoes. A faint ticking sound echoes in my head while he waits for me to speak, but there’s no clock on the wall.

“My first relationship was…not good. I’m not ready to go into detail, but he’s the reason I have so much anxiety.”

“Was this in college?” Victor asks.

“Yeah. It started in college and ended later.”

My fingers tighten on the chair, knuckle bones threatening to bust through my skin. I hate talking about my ex. Hate that he made me hate myself for so long and put this fear of judgment in me.

Victor’s deep, soothing voice reaches my ears. “Take your time. We don’t have to cover everything in one day.”

The lace on his left shoe is frayed at one end. It doesn’t bother me as much as it would have in the past. I don’t feel the need to mention it.

“He shamed me in every way imaginable, from how I presented myself in public, to my soft body, to how I performed in bed.” The first teardrop lands with a dull thud on my chinos before it registers that I’m crying in front of a stranger whose feet still haven’t moved. “I felt more shame for letting it go on as long as I did. I didn’t even have the guts to walk away. He finally got sick of me being a problem he needed to fix. Those were his words.”

Letting go of one armrest, I wipe my cheek on my sleeve. “After him, I couldn’t trust myself, let alone put my faith in someone else. So I stuck with people who’d known me before him and stayed in familiar places. My world kept getting smaller. I distanced myself from everyone, including my parents. And I only told one person the truth about what I went through. My cousin.” Victor’s foot budges. I look up. “That’s the most I can say about my past today.”

“It was more than a good start,” he says, handing me a tissue from the box on the round table. “Other than your cousin, is there anyone you’ve learned to trust since then?”

“I take it you enjoy playing the hero?” I ask, pretending not to swoon at Graham’s chivalry as he hands over my wrecked bicycle.

“Sometimes.” His voice takes on a husky quality that raises my eyebrows.

I think this beautiful man is flirting with me, and the kindness in his eyes compels me to flirt back. “And if I prefer bad boys?”

A stunning smile lights up his entire face. Being the reason for it is the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me.

“I could easily switch roles,” he says.

A smile teases my lips as I fold the tissue into a small square. “I met a guy on a beach once. A random twist of fate. There was something different about him, and I trusted him instantly. We talked for less than hour and went our separate ways.”

“Did you ever see him again?” Victor asks.

“Yes.” I scoff. “Not that he gave me a choice. He’s an impulsive, disorganized rule breaker and the real reason I’m coming here. Finding a way to be with him is the goal. A future with him means success, but I’m scared shitless.”

“What’s holding you back?”

I stretch my neck from side to side and take a deep breath, bolstered by the laws of patient confidentiality. “He’s Graham Kingston. His fame and my anxiety don’t mesh.”

Victor’s eyes flare before he schools the surprised expression into neutral one. “I see.” He scribbles on his notepad. It’s the first note he’s taken since I sat down. “Does Graham know about your ex?”

“Yes. He knows everything, and I recently told him how bad my anxiety really is.”

Victor writes another note. “How did he react?”

“He kissed me. Typical, unpredictable behavior,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Victor tries to hide his amusement, but the corners of his mouth lift a bit. “Have you told anyone you’re in therapy?”

“One person knows, the friend who gave me your name.”

He sets his pen on the notepad, folding his hands over it. “It’s good to have support. You know yourself best, so be specific about what kind of support you need. It’s rare to find success in anything without help from people who genuinely care about you and want you to succeed.”

“Vulnerability.” I shift in my seat. “That’s a big ask.”

“Then start with giving them something small.”