Ch2-Batter Out

My next session, the following week, I tried something new. I came early and I marched straight into the therapy room. I told my place at home base and readied myself for the inevitable fast balls of the day.

Scary was sitting distanced from the circle with a kid I didn't recognized- a skinny boy around my age wearing jeans that went past his ankles and glasses with rims that were far too big for his eyes. I could only assume he was going off about love and unity or something equally cheesy.  I hovered over his chair, my arms crossed and my eyes hard and determined.

He tried ignoring me for the sake of his conversation, but either my looming presence or the tapping off my foot (or maybe the wary look on the boy's face) was distracting enough that he tore his eyes away and towards my charming self with a sympathetic smile.

His gaze met mine for half a second before gesturing to the new kid, no doubt preparing to introduce him.

I was actually quite offended. At least, for a split moment, Jen genuinely thought I would play nice. I suppose that was his first mistake of many for the day.

"I need therapy much more than Twinkie Toes right now," I snapped at Jeb before he could get a word in edgewise.

Then, I sat back and watched as the initial, immediate shock set in. He stood, far too excited, and I couldn't help but notice as this surprise melted into suspicion when I took hold of his arm and lead him outside the therapy room. Right before we entered the deserted hallway, I heard him call back a desperate apology to new boy over the blood rushing to my ears.

The minute the door clicked shut behind us, I let out a breath I didn't notice I was holding. "What's the deal with Sam?"

Scary deflated, just subtly enough for me not to comment, to only stiffened again a second later with recognition. "You know his name?" It was supposed to be a question, I figured, but it sounded more like he was coming to a realization.

"Yeah?" I said, hating how naively oblivious I was to the implication behind it. There was a typical, sarcastic underlining of duh lining the shape my words. "He told me- like those rare, mythical, normal creatures do." I wiggled my fingers in his face. "Although, I know it could be hard to remember them after your type of isolation, so I'll look past the confusion."

Jeb's eyes had widened fractionally somewhere during my dramatics and had began speed-walking down the hall and towards his office. I fought the urge to break my composure at his little old man waddle. Right before he entered, he gestured wildly for me to follow him inside and to sit on one of the cliche, lush therapy seats.

He shut the door behind me and sat down directly across my seat and into his desk chair. He crossed his hands together, practically bubbling over with barely contained excitement.

"What's the big deal?" I finally asked.

"Considering how much you enjoy discussing the 'clinical insanity' of your group, I thought you would instantly understand the weight of someone acting 'normal'," he huffed a laugh. "Look, usually I wouldn't tell you this, and it's very important you keep it to yourself, but I feel as if I don't have a choice in this matter. For the sake of both your and Sam's wellbeing, of course. Sam has a type of social anxiety that manifests as selective mutism."

There was a pause in which I was staring and Scary was practically bouncing in his seat.

"Well, obviously not," I snorted, "he talked fine with me. I mean... it took him a while, I guess, but once he started talking he seemed fine with it."

"That's exactly why I'm letting you know," he paused, "it took me weeks of one-on-one sessions with Sam for him to even say his name without onsetting panic. It's the fact that he was able to build that kind of bond with you with virtually no time spent together."

"Maybe he just doesn't like you," I mused. "I wouldn't hold it against the poor guy."

"Not everyone finds me completely insufferable, for your information," he said, dare I say it, teasingly.

"Hmph. I guess it's just me," I shrugged, making a face.

Now, in his defense, he looked like he really didn't want to say this next part (he should've trusted his gut). But, of course, he did. Well. Kinda. "Unless you have been...?"

"Have been?" I raised an eyebrow, already reluctantly anticipating the next part (Spoiler: I was right).

"Together," he said, adding emphasis to the word, "for a period of time before his speaking?"

Don't snap.

I stood up, with what I realized later to be my familiar flair of dramatizing the situation, and my chest clenched painfully behind my ribs. "Did you suggest that we were sleeping together?"

I felt my lungs burn with every inhaled breath, and I began to notice just how harsh the light in the room was. The worst of it, though, was the fierce hope resonating somewhere in the back of my head. The hope that maybe I misunderstood.

Jen stood up, leveling our eyes, looking a million times regretful, "I'm sorry, Cara. I really didn't mean it in any sort of incriminating-"

"To hell with 'incriminating'," I snapped, and cringed at the way my voice cracked. It was right around this time that I recognized my hands shaking, "I know it's easy to assume I'm just a whore, but-"

"Cara, you have to understand that I didn't mean to come off that way," Jeb said, desperately trying to undo his done damage. (Spoiler: it didn't work.) "It's common for young adults your age to be involved in sexual relationships. I was just seeing if that was the case with the two of you. I didn't want to make any assumptions about-"

"Oh god," I slumped back in my chair, and covered my face with my hands. "Don't. Just... don't. Forget it.  Stop it.
I understand."

There was a beat of silence. I willed the overbearing heat to go away, or maybe the red in my eyes or the trembling of my once steadied hands.

"Look, about Sam," I muttered, wanting nothing more than to leave, "he just told me some things about himself. I wanted to run them by you and see if any of it was true."

Jeb looked just a touch amused by this, but it was clear he was still just as stuck on his second mistake as I was, "You have trust issues."

I shrugged, pursing my lips and stringing my hands together, "Well, it doesn't take a detective- or a psychologist, I suppose- to figure that one out. Congratulations, though, that's quite the astute observation."

"You don't trust Samuel to tell you the truth about his past," he elaborated, leaning back into his chair. "Why?"

"The same reason you don't trust me to answer this honestly," I said, matching his casual posture. "People lie. There's no deep psychological reason behind it. I was just curious if Sam was one of those people."

Scary smiled. "You're right. I didn't trust you to answer that honestly. But it has nothing to do with some deep imbedded flaw or my distrust of the whole human race, the same way your distrust has nothing to do with it either. You were hurt, and that doesn't make you any less of a person.

"I know that you're desperate for help; and I know you want to get better. You're not only here to talk to me about Sam, are you?."

Discomfort replaced the heat churning in my stomach. "You give yourself too much credit." I paused, looking helplessly at the clock hanging above his door, "You're gonna be late for that sharing circle bullshit."

"They can wait," Jeb said, leaning forward in his chair, "It's important to me that we discuss this."

Gee. It probably would've been less painful if he skipped the sympathies and just stuck his skinny fists in my chest and pulled out my heart. I never had someone who would go out of there way to help me, even if was their job to do so, and I was oddly touched. "There's nothing to discuss."

"I disagree," he told me, "I know you've faced challenges your whole life. I know you deem it necessary to overcome those challenges, and I respect that, but you don't need to push everything away for that to happen."

"Do you really think-"

A fist ratting against the door knocked the words from my mouth.

"We'll finish this later," Jeb promised, looking disappointed.

"Not if I'm lucky."

"You're clearly not," he half joked, "After all, you're still here." His voice was stern, with an underlying promise.
He didn't even bother taking another look back before standing up and opening the door.

And for a really dumb moment, I managed to believe him. Though, we never really did talk about this particular topic again. Perhaps that was his third mistake of the day. Batter Out.