Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
The tears start up again.
Frankie sits back up beside me. “It’s okay, Evan. People are assholes, and sometimes you don’t realize until it’s too late.”
“It’s not just that…I mean, it is, but…he was my first.”
I shouldn’t have told him that, but I’m just feeling so vulnerable right now, and it’s nice having someone listen…Frankie’s the only guy who’s been willing to do that much.
“That must have been really hard.”
My face twists up as a knot twists in my gut. I push past it as I continue, “Anyway, like an idiot, I fell for his game. One thing led to another, he acted like he was developing feelings for me…I thought he’d broken it off with Gary, but tonight, I learned all that was a lie. He was just cheating on Gary…just like he cheated on me.”
“Shit, man. I’m so fucking sorry.” His words are so sincere, they catch me off guard.
“I guess I deserved it. I clearly wasn’t the smartest guy with him. I’m not known for my brains.”
“What?” Frankie asks, his brows pulling together. “You seem like a smart kid to me.”
“OMG. You sound like my therapist.” And now I really have said too much. “Oh, shit. Now you know how fucked up I am,” I say, and there are the tears again, flowing freely.
He puts his hand on my shoulder like he did outside.
“Ev, relax.” He says it like he’s an old friend, and it disarms me. I’ve never met anyone like Frankie before—someone who could make me feel so at ease…like he’s not judging me for the things I’m sharing with him. “Who hasn’t seen a therapist these days? It’s not a big deal. I’ve been to a therapist.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I had some shit when I was younger. I had my own bastard to deal with. Not an ex, though. My fucking sperm donor, and yes, that’s the only name he’s worthy of as far as I’m concerned.” He doesn’t seem sad as much as angry at this guy.
“What happened?”
“Wasn’t good to my mom and one night…was really fucked up and drunk and just started laying into her…to the point where I had to call 911.”
“Oh my God.”
“See? Could be a lot worse,” he assures me with a smirk that’s sort of bittersweet. “I’m not saying what that asshole did to you back there was okay. I’m just glad it stopped there. Has it ever been worse than that?”
“No, no,” I reply, hoping to soothe any concern he might have about me. “This was definitely the most physical he’s ever been, and it surprised me. I never figured he was capable of anything like that.”
“People are full of surprises,” he says, and I can tell he’s reflecting on his own circumstances. He shakes his head as though he’s trying to pull himself from the memory he’s stirred. “Anyway, my mom and I got out of a bad situation, and we both had a difficult time, and there were therapists and a couple of psychiatrists involved. I had this period of depression. Was on meds and doing CBT exercises every day for a bit.”
“I do cognitive behavioral therapy exercises too!” I say.
I can’t help being excited to know someone else who’s doing them too. My therapist introduced me to CBT, which helps me question some of my more self-defeating thoughts when I’m having a depressive episode.
“That’s so cool!” I add, and I can tell by the surprised look on his face—that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. “Oh, no, no. That came out wrong. That’s just…that’s what I’ve been dealing with for the past few years. And you’re the first person I’ve met who’s actually said that they’ve dealt with it too.”
“Well, it’s pretty common, so you shouldn’t feel alone. Is everything okay on that front?”
“It’s not as bad as it used to be. I’ve been working with a therapist and taking Zoloft, but a lot of what I felt made me want to just sort of, stay around the condo and not leave.”
“Which I’m guessing the asshole loved because it meant he could tell you whatever he wanted, and you’d never find out the truth from anyone else.”
“I hadn’t really thought of it like that.”
“Really? You hadn’t even considered that?” he says, eyeing me skeptically.
Of course, now that he says it, it seems so obvious. “See. I told you. I’m not very smart.”
“Don’t say shit like that. Don’t let him make you feel bad about yourself. You’ve clearly been having a rough time. He saw that you were vulnerable, and he took advantage of you. I’m sorry you had to deal with all this crap.”
It’s nice talking to him…having someone here when I’m feeling so down.
“I’m sorry about your dad…that you had to deal with that.”
Judging by the way his eyes widen, I seem to have caught him off guard, so I feel like I have to explain: “I had a pretty shitty dad. Not that it compares to yours…just…when I came out, he and my mom wanted to send me to some ex-gay therapy crap.”