18-Treehouse Talks

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After my moms dinner and announcement three nights ago I've had the need to get out of the house

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After my moms dinner and announcement three nights ago I've had the need to get out of the house.

Sure I've had school but it was something different.

I knew where I needed to go.

The treehouse.

I make the walk to the house but instead of going inside I walk around to the backyard.

Then I make my way up the stairs in to the tree house.

I can feel him close behind me.

I sit down and look out at the house in front of me.

Out of my peripheral vision I see him come and sit beside me, letting his legs dangle over the ledge.

We haven't just sat up here, the two of us, in two years.

I know what it means and this time I want it to be different.

I want us to talk to each other, so thats what I do.

Still looking out at the backyard I start.

"She's not just a drunk. Half the time she's gone too. The other times she's either passed out somewhere in the house, wasted, or I find her with a guy. Those bruises you saw were from one of the many men she ever brought home, but the only one that has touched me. He didn't do anything though because I kneed him in the balls. Sometimes she forgets that my dad is gone and I have to sit there and remind her."

I take a deep breath knowing his eyes are on me. "It's so hard Alex." I say my voice breaking.

"She claims she's sober and doing better but I don't know how long that's going to last and it scares me. Every time I come home I prepare myself for the worst. To find her laying on the ground, a bottle of tequila in hand. Even with all this preparation I know that if I do find her like that it'll break me." I say and there's a still between us.

A pause that lasts for a stretch, until Alex speaks.

"I have social anxiety disorder." He says and I turn to look at him.

He's now the one facing towards the backyard.

"My whole life I've been nervous when meeting new people, well, not everyone. Some people I am ok with more than others. I would get so worked up over it to where I'd throw up. Usually it happened before the first day of school. My dad would get on my ass about it, saying I was faking sick to ditch school. Then when it came to working with people, the older I got the harder it was. I could feel my heart begin to race and I'd get all fidgety. I hated myself when I became like that."

I listen to him share something I never thought he would share with me.

"It got better though, for a while, when I was with you." He says and my heart begins to pick up its pace.

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