Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Therapy was something I had to do for myself. I hadn’t reached out because Grandma thought I should or because Ellie or Fred or Penny wanted me to. It was something I’d decided to do because I needed it.
I needed to speak with someone who could help me break down the trauma I’d suffered when my father had killed my mum.
If I wanted to move on, to become a better person, I had to do this.
I wanted to do this.
I wanted to unpack my trauma, figure out where it fit in my life, and learn how to grieve healthily. I wanted to re-evaluate my relationship with my parents, especially my father, and re-evaluate my current ones. Friendships, familial… romantic.
I wanted to be a better, healthier version of myself, for myself.
It would be a long, tough road, and I knew that. I would have to rip out a part of me and lay it bare in front of Dr Collins and potentially those closest to me, but I was just so tired.
I was so tired of hurting. I was so tired of feeling pain, of being wrapped in a never-ending cycle of swirling, uncontrollable emotions that controlled my life.
I was so, so fucking tired of being angry all the time.
“I’m… okay,” I said after a moment of silence.
“You don’t sound so sure about that,” Dr Collins replied gently, toying with her necklace. She rolled the locket between her finger and thumb. “You don’t look it, either. Perhaps your feelings today are a good starting point for this session.”
I leant back in the chair, letting my knees fall open, and averted my gaze from the camera. “Ellie’s almost done with her book.”
“Ah.”
“Her parents retired to Portugal, but they come back to England sometimes because Ellie and her brother are here. They’re coming back in a few days, so she’s cutting her time here short and is leaving almost as soon as her book is done to be back for their trip.”
“What difference does that make to you? Her exit frees up a property you can rent out, does it not?”
I nodded. “It does.”
“But?”
“What do you mean, but?”
“There’s a but in there, Max. I can’t help you if you don’t talk freely with me.”
I wrung my hands together. “I don’t want her to leave,” I admitted. “I have some very strong feelings for her that I don’t want to let go of, but she deserves to let go and move on.”
“Deserves to let go of what?”
“Me. The difference in what we want out of our lives.”
Dr Collins cleared her throat. “You told me that you want marriage and children. So does she. I don’t understand the difference.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You admitted that to me in our first session. Have you spoken to her about how you feel?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“You’re projecting your emotions onto her. You’re making the decision that you think is best for her without consideration for her actual feelings.” She peered down at the papers in front of her on her desk. “She deserves to have her say in the matter, doesn’t she?”
“Of course.”
“So why haven’t you been honest with her?”
I swallowed. “I don’t want her to feel obligated to stay,” I admitted quietly. “Mum stayed with my father because of me. I don’t want Ellie to feel the same way.”
“You only ever refer to him as your father, not Dad. Why is that?”
Quick change.
“I…” I stilled. “I don’t know.”
“I’d like you to think about it. I believe your reluctance to tell Ellie how you feel is rooted in your feelings towards your dad. You seem to be keeping him and your feelings about him at arm’s length—something you admit you tried and failed to do where Ellie is concerned,” Dr Collins said. “You said last week you’re angry at him. Do you equate yourself with him because of the title you inherited?”
“I suppose I do,” I said quietly. “He was the last Duke of Windermere, and he didn’t leave a great legacy. It’s an old title with a rich history and he shit all over it because he couldn’t control his addiction.”
“Did he try? From your perspective, not one given to you by others.”
“He tried, but he always failed. I remember the days where he was sober and fighting it. He would cook and bake with Mum and play football with me. He would help me with homework and all the things a normal father would do.” I inhaled, hoping the tears that were burning the back of my eyes wouldn’t break free. “He just couldn’t keep it up. Nothing was good enough for him. We were never enough to make him break the addiction.”
“And you’re afraid you’ll do the same, even though you barely drink alcohol yourself.”
“I don’t want to hurt Ellie.”
“Have you done anything that would lead you to believe you’d do such a thing?”