Cover by - Ssstevey <3
Jake's POV:
I sit in the annoyingly comfortable, leather seat of the waiting room of Dr Martin's office. I feel like a misbehaved child. Janelle, my foster carer, sits beside me, jiggling her leather-heeled foot up and down. Apparently, due to my 'unfortunate upbringing', I've meant to have had counselling.
Janelle tries hard to be a good carer, she really does, but I wish she'd just listen to what I want, for once, and not teachers, principals or social workers. It's always their say and not mine, which is ironic, because it's my life that's always being discussed.
We're sitting in an awkward silence. I never know what to say to her.
"You don't have to sit here and wait," I finally say.
She flickers her eyes to me. "I don't trust you'll go in if I leave."
Well, she's right.
"Jakob?" a girl asks. She's young and not at all what I expected as a counsellor. She'd be mid-to-late twenties, dressed in a professional suit. She has a long, brown pony tail and dark-rimmed glasses. She seems too... young and perky, to be a counsellor. I was expected an old, white guy with worn frown lines and grey hair.
"Just Jake," I clarify when I stand.
"Come on in," she smiles. I look to Janet for a moment, before sighing and entering. When I pass, she leans in. "Just Jake."
"Funny."
"I do try," she counters, wandering over to her light blue lounge and taking a seat.
Well. This is not what I expected.
The office has stark, white walls, but so much colour decorated around it. Splashes of yellow, blue and purple litter the walls, flowers bursting out of vases and a series of plants stashed in the corners of the rooms. It's professional but sort of... fun. This is all too weird for me.
"Sit," she says, but her voice is so light and kind that it hardly feels like a demand.
I do as I'm told, dragging my hands across my skinny jeans, feeling jittery and a little rattled. My eyes dart everywhere but at her while I try to absorb everything around me.
"Jake," she begins, rolling a fancy looking pen between her pointer finger and thumb. "How are you?"
"Bit sore," I reply honestly.
"What are the bruises from?" she questions.
"I got in a fight."
"Do you often get in fights?"
"Probably more than the average person," I nod.
"Why do you think that is?"
"I'm angry and I feel better after I hit someone," I shrug. "And I like pushing people's buttons. Getting reactions out of them." I feel like I need to keep moving. My fingers tick and drum on my legs.
"What do you gain from that?" she asks, not breaking eye contact with me as she begins to scribble down things on her notepad.
"Satisfaction."
She tilts her head to the side, ever-so-slightly. "Do you feel good about yourself, after?"
I kind of don't react for a moment while I think. "Um. I don't know. Not really, I guess."
I pause for a moment. We've really steam rolled into this situation. I was meant to resist, argue, anything. But we're already right into it and it's not actually that bad...
"Define 'not really', for me."
"It feels good to get some of the anger out, but then I go back to feeling... empty."
Empty. That's a good way to describe how I constantly feel. Until I'm around Callum.
"Okay," she nods and gives me a polite smile. "I'm really happy you're talking to me, Jake."
"Isn't that what I'm here for?" I remark.
"Yes, but you'd be surprised how many people sit right where you are, and don't say a word."
I look down at my hands, to see I've picked so hard at the side of my nail that it's bleeding.
"Easy pay day for you, then, Doctor."
She cracks a smile at that. "If you say so, Jakob."
"Just Jake."
"Apologies, Just Jake."
"I wasn't really planning to talk, if I'm honest." I go back to what she was saying. "But you haven't asked anything..." I trail off, trying and failing to come up with a word that sums up what I'm attempting to say. "Weird."
She lets out a soft laugh. "Weird?"
I half-shrug. "For lack of a better word."
If she's surprised by me, she doesn't show it. I'll give her credit, she's mature and professional for her age. Unless she's way older than she looks.
"Jake, is there anything you'd like to discuss?"
I lean back. "Nah."
"You sure? It's a safe place."
"By 'safe place', do you mean you can't tell anyone the shit I say?"
The corner of her lip twitches, but she keeps herself composed. "What you tell me is safe, unless I fear of any harm to yourself or another person."
"Safe as in, just between me and you?"
"Just between you and I," she nods.
I exhale. It's long and heavy, as if my body is trying to release the tension I feel in that one breath.
"Okay, let's bro down for a sec," I lean forward, digging my elbows into my knees, my eyes fixing on hers.
She arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Sure, let's bro down."
"I don't want to talk about my father. He's an abusive, alcoholic who ruined my life. I'm royally fucked up from it, I know. I don't want to walk down memory lane or get assessed about it. I'm trying to forget about all that shit and I don't think it'll do me any good reliving it."
She's nodding before I finish speaking. "Sure, Jake. Whatever you want to do."
"Okay. The only family member I am happy to discuss is my brother, Haze. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here right now. But I don't want to talk about that either."
"What do you want to talk about?" she queries, rolling her pen rhythmically between her fingers.
I twist my mouth, scraping my teeth against the inside my lower lip. I'm torn. A part of me just wants to scream out all the emotions and confusion I've been feeling. It might be worthwhile getting it all out. The other half, however, is telling me to shut my mouth and suppress everything, like I always do.
"Safe place, Jake," she murmurs, giving me an encouraging smile. "I promise."
"I think I'm gay," I blurt, my heart hitting my ribcage so hard that I physically hold my hand up to it. I feel my fingers shaking. I grip my shirt and wince, my knuckles aching.
She nods, her facial expression not wavering. "Have you thought this for long?"
"Yeah..." I nod. "A few years ago, I first thought it but hoped it was a phase. I guess not."
"Why did you hope it was only a phase?"
"I don't want to be laughed at or made fun of," I sag back into my chair.
"If that's who you think you are, it could do more damage holding it in," she says softly. "Have you told anyone?"
"My brother and his girlfriend know. And..." I sigh. "There's a guy."
"Tell me about him."
"He's..." I struggle to find the words to explain. "The best person I've ever met."
"Why is he the best person you've ever met?"
"He's funny, nice, caring, hot as fuck, cool, chill, I don't know. Just everything about him is amazing. Except his right hook. Hurts like a bitch," I say, pointing at my face.
Composure slip. Her face shows pure shock before she recovers. "He did that to you?"
"Yeah, it's cool, though. I did some things that made him angry."
"Is he often violent towards you?"
"He's actually very calm and non-violent. Except to, er, me. I bring out the worst in him because, you know, I'm just toxic for any person, in general."
"Jake," she shakes her head, her dark eyes wide and full. "You're not toxic."
"I really am. He was happy before I came back. I mess with him. Sometimes on purpose. I don't know why."
"I think you know why."
"Self-destruction," I mutter. "That's what he calls it." She tilts her head, signalling to keep going. "He says when I feel myself get comfortable or happy, I stuff it up because I'm scared."
"Do you think that's right?"
Slowly, I nod. "Yeah, I do."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Being happy," I pull at a loose thread in my jeans. "Because happiness never lasts."
"It can last," she murmurs, her tone warm and oozing confidence.
"I've pushed him too far," I shake my head. "He hates me."
"I'm sure he doesn't hate you."
"He tried to rearrange my face," I deadpan.
"Feeling hurt is very different to hate, Jake. If he hated you, he wouldn't approach you at all."
I mull over her words. She has a point. He wouldn't lash out, unless he cared, right? I know he cares. Of course he does. What we have... it's too intense, too overwhelming, for him not to. Even after everything.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. He's told me what he wants. I did it, for a day, and it was so, so good. And then I ruined it. I don't know why I do it. I hate myself."
"We all battle demons, Jake. Each person simply deals with them in a different way."
"What do I do?" I ask her pleadingly, shifting in my seat. "How do I stop being like this?"
"I can't tell you what to do, but I can suggest to tell him what you feel, when you feel it. Communicate with him. Be honest and open."
"And what if that's not enough?" I whisper. "What if he doesn't want me anymore?"
"Rejection is a risk we all have to take, unfortunately. But not knowing, is worse, isn't it?"
I bury my face in my hands. My eyes are burning. God damn it. I can't remember the last time I cried.
"Tell me what you're feeling, Jake," she urges.
"I fucking love him," I say, my voice muffled because of my hands. I blink at her, my eyes feeling swollen, salty tears flowing down my face. "I want to be with him."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know," I groan, fisting my hair in my hands. "I don't want everyone to know my business. I want it to be just us."
"What's so scary about other people knowing?" she asks, leaning closer to me, a slight sparkle in her eye under the lights. "They could laugh at you, yes. They could make fun of you, yes. But in the end, if it's what makes you happy, then isn't it worth it?" I feel a little out of breath. I can't quite form a sentence. "Isn't he worth it?"
"Yes," I breathe. "He's worth everything."
"There's your answer," she says, leaning back, a satisfied smile on her face.
I ask her to change subjects as I'm simply too wound up. She asks me about a variety of things like school, friends, sport. Easy things. It feels effortless to talk to her. Like no matter what I say, it really doesn't matter, because she won't judge. She won't blab to anyone. It's simply a place where I can tell people how I feel and it's not going to change everything in my world.
Never thought I'd be the counselling type, but hey, I guess I never expected myself to fall in love with another guy, either. Life is full of surprises.
"Jake, we've reached the end of our session, but I'm really happy with how it went. I'm very thankful you were open with me. I hope we can continue to see each other and talk."
I wipe at my face and push to my feet. Even when we weren't talking about Callum, the tears didn't stop. In the end, I just ignored them.
"Yeah... thanks."
She gets the door for me. She places a very gentle hand on my arm. "I'm going to give you my card. Please contact me if you need to talk, okay?"
My fingers shake when I take the card from her. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
I walk back out to the waiting room and my heart catapults into my throat. I feel slammed. Callum is there, leaning casually against the wall, looking like a damn model. He's dressed head-to-toe in black and white, looking fucking fine. His knuckles are splattered with bruises and God damn it makes him look even hotter.
I feel raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. He turns his magnetic eyes to me and I feel like every hair on my body stands.
"Oh shit," I breathe, looking to Dr Martin, my face still a mass of tear stains. "That's him."
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