Kevin
I had to take a deep breath and remind myself why I was here. Looking around at the dark walls and bookshelves filled with thick textbook-style books, I knew I just needed to keep things happy at home for a couple of weeks more; then we would be free.
Keeping things “happy” meant I was in a therapist’s office again, but this time I knew therapy wouldn’t help. I’d fought against going to therapy the first time because I’d been afraid to face what had happened, but it wasn’t the same this time. I wasn’t afraid of bad guys coming to get me or what might have happened. This time, my fears weren’t something any psychologist would be able to understand.
Hell, sometimes I barely understood.
I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to say to the doctor, and I was running out of time. Even knowing for days that the appointment was coming, I hadn’t been able to work out a reasonable lie.
The kidnapping nightmares had long since disappeared, except for the occasional one that was more of a frightening dream than anything else. Sitting in the too-hard round leather chair in his office, it was kind of late to be coming up with a good story.
I figured the best defense would be to just be a typically quiet, sullen teenager who didn’t want to be there and was being made to come by his parents. It was all true; I hoped the therapist wouldn’t look for much more than that.
Looking down at the time on my phone again, I frowned. I should be glad the man was late because it would make the uncomfortable conversation that would follow shorter. But it was still rude to leave me like this. Ten minutes might not be too long to wait in a regular physician’s office, but I’d been in enough shrinks’ offices to know that no doctor behaved like this.
Finally, the door opened, and the psychologist walked in. He was a lot younger than my old therapist. She’d been a well-meaning older woman who worked with traumatized children. She was nice, and I hadn’t minded seeing her, but when my parents started with the new push for me to see a therapist again, they’d had to find someone else.
I’d hoped they’d get frustrated with trying to get the insurance company to approve a new therapist after so many years and drop the idea, but no such luck. I couldn’t figure out if they were honestly concerned for me or if they had some other reason for pushing me to talk to someone.
He was a short middle-aged balding man that didn’t make a great first impression. “I’m Dr. Hamilton. I apologize for keeping you waiting; I had an emergency come up.”
That sounded promising, though I shouldn’t want something bad to happen to anyone else. “Do you want to reschedule?”
I hoped he couldn’t hear the excitement in my voice, but I might not have covered it up very well because he kind of smiled and shook his head. “No, everything is handled now.”
“Okay.” I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. Nothing came that easily in my life.
“So, Kevin.” The doctor sat down across from me in another one of the too-hard chairs. If he used these, why didn’t he have better ones? “I’ve talked to your parents, but I’d like to hear from you why you’re here.”
Oh, it was going to be one of those kinds of sessions. Might as well start with the truth since he wasn’t going to hear much of it from me later. “My parents insisted.”
He frowned, and I considered it a score for me. “Well, you’re eighteen. If you don’t want to be here, as long as you’re not a danger to yourself or anyone else, they can’t force you.”
He gave a small smile, and it looked like he thought he’d scored a point by showing that I must actually want to be there. I couldn’t help but burst his bubble, though I should have probably kept my mouth shut. “I live at home still so not really my choice.”
Nope, not my choice at all. If things were up to me, I wouldn’t have to hide my real college plans by pretending to make additional college plans, and I wouldn’t have to hide other things I wanted. Nope, there were lots of things I didn’t seem to have any say in.
The doctor shifted in his seat and cocked his head like he was trying to figure me out. Not subtle but maybe he wasn’t trying to be. What the hell had my parents told him? I thought I was only here about the nightmares but from the look on his face, maybe not.
I wasn’t even going to try to guess what he might have been told. My parents had a list of things they thought were probably wrong with me: too much studying and not enough social life—specifically not enough girls…not enough ambition—because I didn’t seem excited about the junior college…not wanting to grow up—because I still shared a room with my brother. There were probably other things that concerned them. Darker, more taboo things they wouldn’t bring up with me but might have shared with the therapist.
“That’s very interesting because it is not the impression I was given.” There seemed to be a thousand unsaid words in his statement.
I shrugged and didn’t say anything. No matter what they told him, it would be incorrect. My nightmares weren’t from anything they could understand or even anything the therapist would probably get. I wasn’t worried about college or something typical like that. No, I was worried about weirder things. Or at least worried about stuff most people would think of as odd…wrong.
I’d been able to accept the things I desired, and I wasn’t worried about what I wanted anymore. The last year had given me a lot of time to really look at myself and embrace who I was…what I needed. My fears came from things that were completely out of my control.
In my dreams—my nightmares—I was leaving for college, but I was heading off alone. It always started with me walking down the driveway, suitcases in hand, alone. Mom, Dad, and Jeremy were watching from the porch, staring at me in horror. My parents didn’t upset me in my dream. It was Jeremy’s face that tore me apart.
Watching his face as he looked at me with loathing and shock was like a knife to the chest every time—and the dream was always the same. I always walked away knowing I’d lost him. That was what had me waking up shaking and crying. The revulsion he had felt when he’d found out what I wanted…how much I loved him.
That was why I didn’t want to tell anyone what my nightmares were about—not even Jeremy.
Sometimes I thought he’d understand. I knew it was my imagination, but once in a while, I’d catch him looking at me and there would be this curious expression on his face. Like he really saw me. It gave me hope, but it also scared the hell out of me. What if it was all in my head? No matter how odd our relationship was, he was my brother. He’d never look at me the way I craved.
There was no way I would tell a stranger about my nightmares.
I’d only just come to accept that I was going to have to talk to Jeremy about my fears and what I wanted. That was when the nightmares started—when I’d made the decision that I couldn't go to college with him without confessing. I’d been trying to work up the courage to tell him for weeks, but I’d chickened out every time.
I still didn’t know what I’d tell him or how I’d say it. How did I explain that I wanted more? How did I confess that when he held me it wasn’t brotherly affection I felt, but something far stronger? That when he referred to his bed as “our bed” or said things like “we need to head to bed” it made my stomach flutter?
I must have been silent for longer than I realized because Dr. Hamilton cleared his throat and looked at me expectantly. What was the question? Oh! Why was I here? “I’m not sure what you were told, but I was informed I had to come.”
“Part of what I discussed with your parents was that you’ve been having nightmares, and they’re concerned about you.” He must have decided to try a different tactic.
“I’ve had nightmares.” There wasn’t any way to get out of agreeing with that. It would look weird if I argued about it. Waking up yelling—almost crying—on the couch didn’t give me a lot of room to deny them.
The point-scoring smile was back again. “Can you tell me what they’re about? Your parents have been very concerned. Talking about dreams, especially nightmares, can be beneficial, and they said you haven’t wanted to discuss them.”
Was no an acceptable answer? Probably not. “Just typical shit.”
The frown was back. “What do you think are typical nightmares?”
This was going to be the longest hour of my life.
****
I’d severely underestimated how ridiculous and tortuous the appointment would be. After nearly an hour of listening to the doctor go on and on about how important opening up was and how it wasn’t healthy to keep fears internalized, I was ready to go off on the guy.
Even if I wanted to talk to someone, and most of the time I didn’t, it wouldn’t be him. He seemed like a nice guy and probably a good therapist, but there was no way he could understand what I was going through. The decisions I had to make. What was at stake.
Listening to Dr. Hamilton ramble on had given me too much time to think. Too much time to remember. When I’d first started climbing into Jeremy’s bed, fear had been the only thing on my mind—finding someone to chase the demons away. And who better than the person who saved me? Jeremy had always been careful to say how brave he thought I was, but I knew the truth.
I’d been so frightened and helpless. No matter what I would have done, if he hadn’t come running around the side of the house, I wouldn’t be here. Fighting the man who tried to kidnap me hadn’t been doing any good. I’d been only seconds away from disappearing when Jeremy saved me. So finding Jeremy when dreams turned into nightmares had been automatic.
At first, it had been about feeling safe and having someone to chase the bad dreams away, but after a while, it changed. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think things began to grow into something more the first time I woke up and found Jeremy watching me sleep. It’d been a few weeks into therapy and the nightmares were starting to fade.
I had a few nights in a row where I hadn’t woken up at all. I’d thought everyone would be pleased things were starting to go back to the way they were before. What I hadn’t realized until the first time I’d woken up with Jeremy sitting at the foot of my bed was that things weren’t ever going to be the same again. For either of us.
I still remember opening my eyes and feeling someone in the room with me. Turning over, I had seen Jeremy there, and something in his expression hit me so hard I’d wanted to cry. He’d seemed so lost and afraid that it’d hurt to look at him.
I remember wanting to throw myself at him and hug him. To tell him everything would be okay. I hadn’t, but I still feel bad that I didn’t. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be in this endless cycle of denying what we wanted and hinting about what we needed.
If we’d both been more honest in the beginning, each telling the other just how scared we were, maybe we could have been more direct about harder things. Maybe I could have been honest with him the first time I’d gotten hard when he’d held me…maybe he could have been honest with me the first time he’d looked at me with that painfully loving expression. There were so many times.…If we’d been more open, things would have been easier.
Now we were both at the point where the truth was so big it was like a huge canyon that separated us from each other.
“Kevin, are you listening to me?”
The frustration in Dr. Hamilton’s voice was clear. How long had I been ignoring him? All I needed was for him to tell my parents I’d been rude. I wanted to get out of here without sharing things that were none of his business, not get myself in more trouble at home. Having my parents take a closer look at what I was doing wouldn’t be good for me or Jeremy.
There was no good way to say, “No I wasn’t listening,” without getting more questions about what was distracting me. I cocked my head and tried to give him one of those typically disinterested teenager looks. I wasn’t the most typical teenager, but I’d seen enough kids give the look to teachers and other adults to pull it off.
Dr. Hamilton shook his head, but before he could say anything else, I noticed our session was finally over. “Looks like our time’s up, doc. Got to go.”
He looked at the clock and seemed to sag down in his seat. Frustrated for me to escape without talking about anything or relieved to see me go? It was hard to tell. Probably a bit of both.
As far as therapy went, it was a waste of time, but it had given me a while to think and be honest with myself. It was time for us to stop hiding things from each other and open up. We couldn’t go off to college like this without it tearing us apart. And that was the last thing I wanted. How did I start? It’s not like I could simply jump in and ask Jeremy if he thought of me as more than just his brother. No, starting slow was probably best, and it was more our speed anyway.