Therapy by Kathryn Perez Page A

has this serious, stern look on his face and it makes me feel uneasy.
    “I’m glad you’re sorry, but I’m still pretty damn mad,” he says, and my lips puff out in a little pout. It’s my turn, so I spin again. His eyes are pinning me down as I do so. It lands squarely on him.
    “Why are you still mad at me?” I ask pointedly.
    He lets out a big exasperated sigh and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
    “I just don’t know why you freaked out. And that crap you pulled by getting all shitty and mean with me was completely out of left field. One minute everything is fine, the next you’re furious and bitchy. You drove away after the sex comment, and I was left standing there thinking what the fuck just happened?”
    He pauses, opens his mouth, and closes it again. I see the inner struggle he’s having, trying to form his thoughts into words.
    “I’m just going to ask. If I’m way off base, then say so, but I have to ask. Do you want more than just a friendship with me, Jess?”
    His question wraps around my neck and strangles me with fear. This is it. I am at a crossroads. I can lie, or I can be honest, but for some reason both paths seem like they will end badly.
    I drop my face into my hands and force the tears to stay at bay. I don’t want him to see this sad, broken-down side of me. He saw it after I got beat up, and I never want him to see it again. But all I want to do is cry because I can feel things falling apart with him already. I fucked up by overreacting and that’s the way it always starts for me. One overreaction leads to another, and eventually anything that was good is ruined.
    “Jess, why are you about to cry? I swear I’m not trying to be a complete ass about this. I just think we need to get on the same page about whatever is going on. Please, just talk to me, dammit. You never open up to me, and I’ve opened up and told you more stuff than I’ve told anyone else. Why can’t you do the same? You’re frustrating the hell out of me.”
    I lift my face from my hands and the tears escape, unhindered by my desperate efforts to hold them back. When I look at him, I can feel his frustration, his anger, but most of all I can see that he’s sincere about wanting to fix whatever is wrong between us.
    “Please don’t cry. Dammit all to hell! I hate this. It’s obvious you’re hurting. I can see it in your eyes and not just because you’re crying. There’s a pain behind them that I can’t reach.” He takes a deep breath and continues, more gentle now. “You have to tell me what’s wrong, or it’s going to eat away at me. What’s wrong, Jess?”
    I’ve always felt as if he can read me better than anyone else ever has. He’s right about the pain, just not the level of pain. The problem is how am I supposed to explain myself to someone else when I can’t even explain it to myself? There’s no way to tell him what’s wrong with me without sounding like the unstable, needy girl that I know I am.
    I have to tell him how I feel about him because if I don’t it will be yet another regret I’ll have to live with. No matter what happens between us in the future, I need him to know how he has made me feel and how much more I want from him. I reach down deep within myself, mustering every ounce of bravery I can, and tell him what I’ve wanted to say for weeks.
    “Jace, I’m sorry for acting like I did. I’m sorry for all of it. I was jealous—am jealous—at the thought of you being with someone else. When you start to date again, I want it to be with me. The next time I feel someone’s lips on mine, I want them to be yours.”
    I pause before continuing to pour my soul out all over this table.
    “You’ve given me more in the past two months than anyone ever has in my life. I trust you. You make me feel like I matter. You’re funny, sweet, cocky, sexy, adorable, and you always know how to make me smile. There are things you don’t know about me that I’m not quite