Stay with me

Chapter Eight

“Leaving her breathless in my aftertaste

was the worst way to leave. The best was

to stay, but she isn’t ready for me yet.”

—Oliver Masters

I MADE IT IN time to my first group therapy session on Thursday and found an empty seat in the circle. Unfortunately, the whole crew was present, amongst other students I’d seen in passing. Everyone greeted me with a small smile but stayed quiet for the most part. Group therapy had to be the place where Isaac, Jake, Alicia, Bria, and Ollie had been brought together.

Chairs faced each other in a circle in the dark room, and in a corner lay a dusty piano under a lit floor lamp. The piano stared back at me, taunting me. My fingers itched to feel the cold keys, and my ears ringed, begging to hear the music my fingers could produce with each stroke.

“A musical genius,” my mother used to call me, but I hadn’t played since before she passed. It was bizarre, of all the places, a piano was in this room. My gaze touched over the black and white details, and I wondered if the F-chord still caused my pulse to skip.

“Mia Jett?” a dark-ski

I nodded, and he continued, “Please, introduce yourself.”

“It sounds like you just did. Why don’t you tell me your name?” There was movement throughout the circle as if I had stepped over an invisible line.

“You can call me Arty,” the counselor said, my comment not taking him by surprise one bit. “Tell us why you’re here. This is a safe environment, I can assure you.” There was no notepad in his lap and no pen in his hand. Arty only wanted to listen.

Ollie’s green eyes fixed on me as his elbows rested over his knees. I hadn’t spoken to him, or any of them, since the Bria incident. Trying to meet his gaze, I wondered if the broke

Though, I couldn’t remember what had made me this way.

Life is ironic like that.

Ollie blinked his eyes away from me. He did remember, but he wanted me to forget.

“I tried killing myself”—a small laugh pressed through mid-sentence—”a couple of times now. Not because I hate myself or my life, but because I can’t hate. In fact, I don’t feel anything at all.” Ollie shifted in his seat before bringing his fingers under his chin, so I continued, “I thought maybe, just maybe, at the very last minute, I could flip a switch on a mental breaker, and care enough to stop myself … but that never happened. My father found me, both times, and if it weren’t for him coming home early, I wouldn’t be here.”

My focus stayed on Ollie as I let out the truth. “I’m incapable of feeling or showing emotion—completely detached. Dr. Conway listed several disorders I can’t recall at the moment, but all in all, I might as well be dead. I’m incurable and a lost cause.”

The room became quiet. If you listened closely, you could hear the distinct sound of a tab breaking open on a Coca-Cola can in Texas. And if you closed your eyes, you could hear the small sigh of relief after the first sip. That’s how quiet it was.

“Thank you, Mia,” Arty said, bringing me back into the room without a drink.

“She can’t be serious.” Ollie laughed in disbelief as he snapped his head in Arty’s direction. “And you’re buying that tosh, yeah?”

“Safe environment, Oliver,” Arty insisted with an eye-nudge. “Mia here”—he gestured toward me—”is disassociated from her emotions, and if she can’t break through her roadblocks, there may come a time when it’s too late.”

Ollie turned his head back to me. His eyes squinted as if they were trying to see past the lies, stripping me down to my truth. But the truth was already right in front of him; he just couldn’t accept it. His knee bounced under his elbow as I stayed calm, though I couldn’t understand why he was so physically affected.

Bria let out a laugh. “So, let me get this straight. She’s here because she doesn’t care about other people? Doesn’t sound like that was the case the other night …”

Thanks for pointing that out, Bria.

Defending actions with words could only get one so far because mouths weren’t created to be used as weapons, and not all battles were meant to be fought. But I also wasn’t going to allow her words to plant ideas in other people’s heads—in Ollie’s head.

Leaning back into my chair, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned the tables around. “Enough about me, Arty. Why don’t I learn more about the group? Let’s start with Bria.”

Bria crossed her legs and arms simultaneously, mimicking my actions, drawing her sword, preparing for battle. After Arty’s nod of approval, her a

“Hold on, let me guess.” I brought two fingers to my chin. “Fights in school, petty theft crimes, a bad crowd had you under their influence … You’re a people pleaser. You just don’t know how to say no, or take no for an answer.”

“Yeah!” Jake blurted and clapped his hands together. Arty held up a palm to calm the room buzzing from my comment. “I told you she had some talents,” Jake whispered to Ollie, shoving him in the arm.

“You don’t know shit!” Bria stood, her pale and delicate features flushed as she pointed a finger at me. I sat with a smirk as her appearance transformed before my eyes.

“Alright, let’s settle down,” Arty said as he raised both hands in the air, his soothing baritone voice louder than the chatter amongst the group. Bria eventually listened before Arty continued, “Isaac, you’ve been quiet. Why don’t you clue us in on what just happened?”

Bria blew out a puff from her cheeks, and I raised a brow as I waited for Isaac to answer. Isaac sat beside Arty; his eyes darted to Ollie, then back at me. “It’s a way for Mia to manipulate her surroundings. From the looks of it, she has sociopath tendencies. She gets off on this shit.” Tell me something I don’t already know.

Seconds and a couple of gasps passed and Arty glanced over to me. “You see right there”—Arty shot his palm in my direction—”nothing. Bria would have left with such a remark, but because Mia is so disco

Because I was already broken.

“Can Mia be affectionate?” Ollie asked, catching everyone, including myself, off guard.

Arty peered over to me, expecting me to answer the question for him.

“Only under the influence,” I said. “But even so, it will never be real. I was only motivated by lust and a high. Once the side effects wear off, I’ll be back to this: incapable of loving or maintaining any form of personal attachment.” I pointed to myself and mouthed, “Lost cause,” as Ollie squinted.

“All of it meant nothing,” I added, and the moment the words left me, a slow burning ache stirred in my chest. Quickly, I swallowed the bitterness lingering over my tongue and swiped my sweaty palm down the side of my jeans.

The air around me weighed heavy, stifling, and Ollie leaned over. He rested his elbows over his knee as he dropped his hands from his chin. “I don’t believe you,” he said to me from across the circle, his tone low and direct.