Chris smiled brightly. “My daughter loves your studio! I’ve been there a few times myself! It’s wonderful, Corin.”

I relaxed a bit further. “Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment for someone so young. You’re only twenty-five, correct?”

I nodded. “I opened the store just out of high school.” I took another sip of tea and sat back into the couch cushions, crossing my legs. This was a lot easier than I expected it to be.

“Wow. That’s incredible. Did your parents help you start it up?” he asked innocently.

I instantly tensed.

Here we go…

“Uh, no they didn’t.”

I scratched at my arm again.

Chris, recognizing that he had stumbled onto a topic I wasn’t comfortable with, deftly moved on. He didn’t push for more information, which shocked me. Isn’t that what he was supposed to be doing? Getting the dirt?

“So tell me about the people in your life, Corin. Your friends. Significant other.”

I relaxed again. “My best friend Adam helps me run the store. He’s my partner, actually. We’ve been friends since high school. He’s a bit rough around the edges but he’s really been there for me.”

I thought about Adam and how he had supported me over the years, even when I didn’t realize that was what he was doing. He was a better friend than I ever gave him credit for.

“Adam sounds like a great guy,” Chris observed.

I nodded. “He is. He’s really the only friend I have. I’m not the easiest person to be around.” I laughed.

Chris looked at me searchingly. “Really. Why is that?”

“I can be high maintenance. It takes a special person to put up with all of my neuroses.”

“Okay, so you have Adam. And you say that there’s no one else in your life?”

I flushed and bit down on my lip to stop myself from grinning. “I have a boyfriend named Beckett. He’s why I’m here, actually,” I found myself saying.

Chris smiled. “Oh really?”

“I want to build a life with him. And if I want to do that, I have to deal with all of the crap I have going on up here.” I tapped my temple for emphasis.

“You have a very low opinion of yourself, Corin. Are you aware of that?” Chris asked gently.

“It’s not low self-esteem, it’s just fact.” I shrugged.

Chris made a note on his clipboard. “So you’re here because of Beckett. Can you explain that for me?”

I took a deep breath. “My parents died when I was a teenager. My mom and then my dad in pretty close succession.”

Chris’s face went soft and sympathetic. “That’s a lot of trauma for someone so young.”

“I’m afraid of dying. Like really afraid of dying. I think about it all the time. Every time I leave my apartment I wonder if I’ll get hit by a car. When I cough, I think I have lung cancer. Every headache is a potential aneurism.”

I felt the familiar threads of panic. “My doctors think I’m crazy,” I said quietly, strangled.

Chris leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Why in the world would you think that?”

Tears started slipping down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. And then the dam broke.

“Because I am.”

I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. Chris handed me a box of tissues but made no move to touch me or console me, which I appreciated. He simply waited until I had cried myself out and was able to compose myself.

It took me fifteen minutes and I was able to dry my eyes and breathe normally again.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said sheepishly, not quite able to look at my therapist, though I was pretty sure he had seen a lot worse in his line of work.

“Don’t ever apologize for feeling how you feel. I get the impression you don’t do that much.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Cry.”

I shook my head. “Not really,” I admitted.

Chris regarded me steadily. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that you’re not crazy, Corin. Not in the least.”

“How can you say that? You’ve known me what? Twenty minutes?” I scoffed.

Chris sat back in his chair and tucked his pen into his breast pocket. “You’ve experienced a lot of trauma, Corin. You have established some destructive coping mechanisms. Your anxiety has become your crutch. But that doesn’t mean you’re crazy. Not by a long shot.”

His words loosened the knot in my gut that had been there since my dad had died.

“Dr. Harrison says I’m a hypochondriac.” I felt embarrassed to say it. But it needed to be put out there.

Chris smiled. “What you are is a smart, competent, accomplished young woman who has yet to learn how to work through her grief.” He paused. “I’d like to help you do that. I hope you’ll let me.”

I had been so averse to therapy for so long, convinced it would never help me. That I didn’t need it.

But things had changed.

I had changed.

And I needed to believe that I wasn’t crazy. That I could have a normal life.

That I wouldn’t drag Beckett down with my issues.

I could do this.

I would do this.

For me.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Chapter 23

Corin

“I really want to go to the spring carnival in the park,” I said one Sunday morning. Winter had finally caved to the might of spring. The air was clean and bright. The flowers were blooming. And I was embracing every moment of it.

Because of the man by my side.

Beckett had completely transformed my life.

It was still so unbelievable.

“You want to go to the carnival? Really?” Beckett scoffed.

“What’s so strange about that?”

“You are probably the last person I can imagine subjecting herself to a crowded overpriced fair with half-cooked hamburgers and cotton candy.”

“It’s called living, Beckett. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me I should be doing?” I tossed a napkin at him. He tried to catch it but failed. He let his hand drop into his lap.

He was looking a little pale this morning. His eyes were duller than normal.

“Are you all right?” I asked, feeling a niggling of worry.

“No. I’m not all right. I think aliens have done a body swap with my girlfriend,” he exclaimed, grinning.

I must be imagining things.

I did that a lot.

Created problems where there were none.

Chris Riley said that I constantly anticipated the worst possible scenario so as to not be caught off guard should it happen. He said that when I felt myself becoming negative, I had to counteract it with a positive thought.

He was teaching me a lot about how to handle everyday situations that normally had me retreating and going into my protective shell.

Therapy worked, people. I never thought I’d say that.

My eyes lingered on my boyfriend’s face.

Beck looks happy. He’s smiling. We’re in love.

Our life is just beginning.

So yeah, I was getting a lot out of therapy. More than I ever thought I would.

But I was by no means fixed.

I often wondered if I should just suck it up and admit I was always going to be fucked up.

Beckett wouldn’t let me think that way too long though.

The silly man seemed to think I was amazing.

Apparently he had his own delusions.

“I haven’t been to the carnival since I was eight. I think it could be fun.”

I should have taken note of the shadows beneath Beckett’s eyes.

I would never forgive myself for ignoring the voice in my head that said something wasn’t right.

But he insisted he was fine and I didn’t want to nag him. Because I was trying not to fixate on the could happen.