How to Heal (And Other Lonely Things): Chapter 1

The first chapter of part one of this book: "Drunk Love."

Chapter 1

Ash

Warmth tingled at my face dully, like the heat of a dying fire. I struggled to the surface of consciousness, fumbling through its darkness till I found myself awake, lying on my side. My eyes rested themselves on the face of my lover. No, significant other? That sounded too forced. Boyfriend? Heteronormative images came flashing to the forefront of my mind. I pondered the dilemma before coming to the conclusion that this was ridiculous, we had been dating for two years and still couldn’t come up with a title, labels are far too constricting anyway, and I was past mature for this.

Gently pulling off the covers, I stepped nimbly on the balls of my feet onto the soft carpet. I looked back at him anxiously, making sure he hadn’t been disturbed by my movements. His body shifted slightly, but otherwise he looked fine, and with a deep sigh he drifted further into sleep.

Still, I was cautious, and made deliberately quiet steps out of the room, down the hall and into the kitchen, prowling like a predator hunting for some omelets. Yes, that is what I shall have for breakfast today, my hungry mind decided. I began taking out the necessary ingredients and utensils in an almost machine-like fashion. I have cooked for him so many times before it has begun to feel like second nature. That’s another plus about dating another guy, you simply can’t enforce sexist stereotypes.

Of course, there are many, many minuses about homosexuality, certain drawbacks I found myself recalling as I held a knife.

I was struck by the glint of the early morning air on the knife’s shiny exterior. I saw my own distorted reflection staring back at me as I gazed into the blade. My grip on the handle clenched, and I felt determined to-

BARK! I found myself shaken out of my reverie by that sound, and turned to see a Golden Retriever wagging his tail at me. He barked again, and I turned back to the knife in my hand, seeing how it’s blade was pointed towards my abdomen. I dropped the knife in horror.

Scattered thoughts chased each other in my head, creating a thunderous commotion I could not control. What am I doing?...What was it this time?...Why can’t I move on?

Though my breakfast mood has been severely dampened, I figured that our faithful dog deserved some gratitude. I ran over to him and began petting him vigorously.

“Thank you so much, Pepper,” I told the dog who had no visual resemblance to the spice. He licked my face as I continued rubbing his soft fur. As his tail wagged I became increasingly aware of footsteps that progressed into the room. I looked up to see him, my…

Whatever his title was meant to be, he addressed me. “I thought I felt you get up.”

He had a soft smile on his face as he often does, but I could not return his quiet joy. I stood up sharply.

“You really shouldn’t get up by yourself.” I did not mean to chide him, but even I could hear the worry in my voice.

“You didn’t stay.” His countering statement was not meant to reprimand me either. “Besides,” he added, “I’m fine on my own.”

I walked over to him, forgetting the dog. Once I came to him I reached out delicately, cupping his face.

“What is it?” He sensed something was not right. “You seem distracted.” And he’s correct. I was put off by a flood of memories and a whirlpool of emotions concentrating in my gut.

“It’s nothing.” Such an easy lie to say. “I just… feel lucky to be alive.” That is not such an easy truth to admit. I did feel lucky to be alive, but still clung to reasons to feel otherwise.

The route to the psychiatrist was simple enough, even with Pepper. His nose stayed straight ahead, not glued to the ground like a normal dog. He wore his vest proudly.

Our one problem with getting there (and I was very proud there was only one problem) was with crossing the street. This had always been an issue with us. Still, we managed to stumble across to the other side despite the crowd that is New York.

The therapist’s office was not crowded, however, and though I was grateful to be inside the building and away from the dreariness of March weather, I would much rather be away from here. The waiting room was nice enough, as it was every time we came here, though the office smell greeted my nose like the stench of fear.

We sat in the two chairs closest to the door, not because we wanted to escape easier, but because there were no other empty chairs, an idea I found foreign in concept. I saw multiple people glance over at Pepper but look away when they realized his purpose.

There were four other people in the room, not counting the receptionist, two men and two women. I noticed them paired up that way too, and realized that we all had something in common already. Dr. Tracey was progressive, after all.

Taking in the male couple first (of course), I noticed that they were a mixed-raced couple, and felt a twinge of respect. One was Asian, the other African American, and both wore expressions of pain. Now I felt a twinge of sympathy and-

Wait. I knew that guy. He and I…

My attention impulsively switched to the women. One had long black hair drawn into a ponytail. The other had a head of dirty blond hair and a splatter of freckles on her face. Both were Caucasian, and both were studying the ground.

“Serena and Eliana?” The receptionist called the names out, and both women looked up. “Dr. Tracey is ready for you.”

Nodding, the woman with black hair walked over to the other side of the room, followed by her freckled counterpart. They both walked through the office door.

The remaining four of us sat in an uncomfortable silence. I tried not to look over at that guy. Did he recognize me? Did he even remember?..

“Ethan?” The receptionist was calling out again, though I had a feeling she knew he was here. “Damien?”

Both men stood up, but only one spoke.

“But aren’t the others in there?” It’s the African American, his voice deep. The receptionist tried to feign confusion.

“The others?” Her ploy failed.

“The two women that just went in there,” the man elaborated, his voice calm but in a controlled sort of way, as if any more barriers that required him to produce further explanations would cause him to burst.

“It doesn’t matter.” The receptionist waved her hand. “Go in.”

I could tell that it indeed mattered very much to the man, but he and the other guy walked into the office anyway, leaving the three of us alone. I briefly wondered if I should’ve just walked into the office because the receptionist would inevitably call us anyway. Still, I refrained from such rebellious actions.

Sure enough, the receptionist called us and we went into the office as directed.

I was not surprised at all to see the other two couples already sitting in a mixture of armchairs and sofas around the room, with Dr. Tracey smiling at us as we entered.

“Please, have a seat,” she ventured to offer us, and we obliged. The questioning man from before, however, stood up. I was confused, wondering why he was pretending to be the real Slim Shady at a time like this. However, his actions soon became clear.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded to know. “Doctor, why are we all here?”

“You scheduled an appointment,” she said simply, “And you came as such.”

“That’s not what he meant.” The woman with black hair stood up. “He means why have you brought us here together?”

The psychiatrist held up her arms placatingly. “Serena, please, sit down and let me explain. You too, Damien.” Begrudgingly, the two of them did so. “As you all know, each of you is seeing me for grief counseling, correct?”

Nods rippled among us.

“And I think we’ve made some progress,” she continued far too optimistically, “But I wish to try a new tactic to move things along for all of our benefits. Do you all know what group counseling is?”

“Hell no!” Damien exclaims.

Dr. Tracey was confused. “So no you don’t know what it is? Or-?”

“I know what it is!” Damien yelled, “But we’ll have no part in it! I’m going.” He made his way to the door. “Ethan?”

Ethan had already followed loyally right behind him.

“Yeah, we’re going too,” Serena quipped and moved towards the door. Eliana got up too, though it seemed to me like she did it less willingly.

“Wait!” It was Dr. Tracey’s turn to get up. “Hear me out.”

The four of them have turned to look at her, and so she took her chance.

“This method has been highly proven to work, and while it can be hard-”

“Yeah,” Serena snapped, “Because we don’t know anyone here.”

“Exactly!” The others seemed too confused to leave. “Since you don’t know them, spilling your secrets won’t have any consequences. Who cares what they think? You wouldn’t have to see them again anyway!”

“It makes sense,” Eliana muttered, and Serena looked over at her in shock, looking almost hurt.

“But I don’t want to talk,” Damien fired back, “At all.”

“Then why are you in therapy?” Dr. Tracey asked logically. When Damien offered no response, she continued. “Because even though you don’t like talking about it, you know it’s good for you.”

“It does make you feel better,” Ethan mumbled, his eyes downcast like Eliana’s. Damien looked over at him too, but his expression softened. Ethan glanced up, and they sort of had a mental conversation, I could tell. Then Damien walked over and slumped back into his seat, Ethan following. Serena and Eliana exchanged a look and then did the same.

“Alright, how do we do this?” Damien asked cautiously. I could tell he still had reservations about this, despite Ethan’s assurances.

“Well,” Dr. Tracey began, “One of you has to start talking.”

We all stared across the room at each other, our eyes darting from one person to the next. Ethan and Eliana were too shy, I could tell, and while Damien and Serena had agreed to do this, that didn’t mean they were going to do the hardest part: the beginning.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this either, to tell the truth. However, I felt indebted to Evelyn, the psychiatrist.

“I’ll go first.” Everyone turned their gazes to me, and I found myself filled with instant regret. However, Evelyn’s grateful smile told me I couldn’t go back now. “How do I start?”

Evelyn’s smile widened. “Why,” she said, “You start at the beginning of course.”

My heart splashed into my innards. No way was I going to start all the way back there. Unlike everyone else, I actually knew someone here, and even among the strangers, I felt as if I had a lot of respect to lose. So instead of stretching back to the start, I skipped a bit further ahead in my mind.

At this point, however, I found my throat was rebelling, unwilling to speak. Then I felt a hand over mine. My mouth twitched as if attempting to form a rare smile, and I clasped his hand more firmly. I took several deep breaths.

Then I began.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism only, please.