“I guess only time will tell, Clay,” I said, getting into my car. I didn’t wait for his response. I started the engine and left before I ended up making a fool of myself by chucking in all of my self-respect for a momentary taste of Clayton Reed heaven.
When I got home, compelled by motives I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to identify, I dug the butterfly necklace out from the bottom of my jewelry box. I hadn’t worn it since I had taken it off in the wake of Clay’s kiss off letter.
But here I was, carefully clasping the delicate chain around my neck, letting the thin silver butterfly lie hidden beneath my shirt.
It rested cold against my skin but I felt the truth of why I was wearing it again burn through me. Clay was in my heart and in my head. It was exhausting continually pushing him out.
But was I ready to let him in?
Chapter Fifteen
-Clay-
I had started seeing my new therapist a few weeks ago. Shaemus Laughtry was about as different from Dr. Todd as you could get. Whereas my Grayson therapist was calm and collected, Shaemus was energetic and fervent. He was a likable guy, I’d give him that, but I was still on the fence as to whether he would be a good fit for me.
Our sessions had included teleconferencing with Dr. Todd, in order to “ease my transition.” Shaemus had me sign a new no-harm contract and we went over what I wanted to get out therapy. It was hard for me to open up to someone new, but I was determined to give it the good ol’ college try.
As it currently stood, I met with Shaemus two times a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. I would go to his office in Staunton right after school and stayed until six. So in all I was meeting with my new shrink four hours a week. This was significantly less than what I was getting at Grayson, but it was still a lot of time to be spending in counseling every week. I was bitter. Of course I was bitter. What eighteen year old guy wanted to be stuck talking to a balding, middle aged dude that smelled like stale coffee and cigarettes instead of doing, oh I don’t know, anything else?
I felt like a freak, needing to spend that much time talking about my feelings. How does that make you feel? Lets process that. Draw a picture of your happiest memory. Fucking hell, what a pain in the ass! I could have blown it off; conveniently forgotten to show up. But then where would that leave me? And the truth was I was too scared to find out.
Things at home with Ruby weren’t getting any better. It was like Night of the Living Dead around there. And not in the cool George Romero kind of way. More like the crappy remake.
She barely spoke to me and I felt like I was taking care of a child. She had yet to return to the shop. Tilly was running things for now, which was fine for the interim, but couldn’t be a long term solution. I was beginning to think that Ruby would never bounce back. But then wasn’t it messed up of me to expect her to be right as rain after only a few weeks? What did that say about me that I couldn’t let the poor woman grieve? That I was so set on helping her move on.
The vibe in the house was miserable. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be there. But I couldn’t leave. I wouldn’t leave. Even if it did trigger every self-destructive impulse I had.
“You need to find a hobby, Clay. Or a job. Something,” Shaemus announced as our session was coming to a close. I blinked slowly. Huh?
“I have a hobby. I draw. A lot,” I replied, swearing that if he told me take up macramé I was out of there.
Shaemus rubbed at his greying goatee thoughtfully. I started fixating on his sweater. It was a loud teal and neon green. Who woke up in the morning and thought Today I’m going to wear a sweater that will make everyone that looks at me want to gouge their eyes out?
Just when I was going to ask where he bought his wardrobe because I think I might want one of those sweaters, he snapped his fingers. I waited for him to shout out “Aha!” and the moment would be complete.
“Not drawing. Your art is wonderful but it’s become too tied up in the angsty stuff. I’m talking about something that would force you out of your house and interacting more with other people. You self-isolate entirely too much.”
Oh God, he was going to tell me to sign up to coach little league, wasn’t he? I had a flash of screaming children and I shuddered in revulsion. Interacting with people, in my opinion, was entirely overrated. I shared my assessment with Shaemus, who raised his bushy eyebrows as though I had just proven his point. “That’s exactly why you should do it. You fall into old patterns when things get hard. That’s a natural, human response. But the point of all this is for you to break those patterns. To make yourself bust out of the mold you’ve created. So, that is why you need some sort of activity that keeps your mind active and focused on something positive.” He gave me several brochures on volunteering. Wow, I could spend my free time emptying bed pans as a Candy Striper. What the hell did you call a guy Candy Striper? Shit, it was going to drive me nuts.
Or I could join the litter patrol and get up at six every Saturday morning to walk up and down the road picking up garbage like some sort of chain gang.
Not liking any of those options, I decided on something a bit more productive. And that’s how I found myself, Thursday evening after my therapy session, filling out an application at Bubbles, home of gluttonous banana splits and hamburgers with a side of heart burn.
I had never worked before, unless I could list illegal sales on my job history. But now that my parents had cut me off and Ruby’s shop was floundering, I figured it was time for me to roll up my sleeves and pitch in. And this would get me “interacting.” Mark your calendars folks, Clay Reed was gettin’ a job!
“You’re here to schlep in with the rest of us?” I looked up to see Rachel smiling at me a little warily.
I put down the pen and turned to face her. “I thought you worked at the movie store in town,” I said, indicating her Bubble’s apron. She smoothed down the purple fabric strapped to her front and looked sheepish.
“I do. This is my second job. My car and insurance don’t pay for themselves. Though I really wish they would.” Her lopsided smile was a bit warmer this time. I laughed and nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, I understand that.” I tapped the pen on the paper, feeling a bit awkward. What did I have to talk about with Rachel Bradfield? Should I start off with Hey! So remember that time I tried to off myself? Good times, right? Yeah, my sense of humor was seriously messed up.
Discomfort aside, I needed the job. And I needed to prove to my therapist that I was capable of mingling in general society. No more playing scary shut in for me.