Stay With Me

We walked in silence while Gerard led me to a coffee shop just around the corner from the practice. It was awkward and full of unasked questions from both sides. I was curious about him, there was no point in lying to myself about it. He seemed so together that I found it hard to believe he needed to see a therapist. It was so surreal and off putting when contrasted with the picture I had in my head of what a normal ‘patient’ would be like. They should have major psychological problems, or addictions like drug use or alcoholism. Perhaps they liked to hurt themselves or others. At the very least they suffered crushing depression that made them unable to function, or they were so antisocial and lonely that they needed somebody to talk to. Gerard didn’t appear to have any signs of those conditions as we strolled to the café with a slow, easy pace that did nothing to warm me up against the cold chill of autumn. I sneaked glances at him when I could get away with it, trying not to be obvious in my creepy behaviour. I certainly wasn’t in denial about my how negative my curiosity was; I knew it was probably borderline stalker-ish if I didn’t rein it in. I was one of those people that loved gossip magazines and celebrity news. I got a little thrill out of learning more about the dirty little details of other peoples’ lives. Maybe it stemmed from my own inability to be open with others but the reasons didn’t matter. I was a nosey little bitch when someone or something piqued my interest, and Gerard was no exception to this it seemed. I had no real desire to open up and talk to him about myself, in my mind that would be too much. The less he knew about me the better. I just wanted to get inside his head a little, maybe see how much he would talk if given a chance. He seemed like an open person if I judged him by our first meeting. So far I already knew he was an artist, he was in therapy for six months and he has a brother. He was college educated and he had a penchant for dark clothes. Our total conversation time ran to less than five minutes but I was privy to some knowledge about him. He knew nothing about me other than my name and that I had a boyfriend. The bandage he saw my wrist would perhaps give him an idea that I had hurt myself somehow, but he didn’t see that the off white cotton bandage ran all the up to the crook of my arm, and that underneath it there were more stitches than I cared to count. He didn’t know it was copied on the other arm. I never looked at the stitched up lines that littered my arm. I was going to be scarred for life as a result of my actions, something I had managed to avoid before. I had never cut deep enough to damage the skin to the point of scarring. If the cut was thin and light, and treated with Bio Oil it wouldn’t be permanent.

He stopped in front of a white door with two glass panes. He pulled it open and gestured for me to go on ahead of him. It brought a smile to my face to see he had manners. I headed straight for the counter, suddenly desperate for a caffeine hit. I scanned the menu that was mounted on the yellow wall behind the counter. The white chalk was easy to read against the black background, informing me that practically every kind of coffee imaginable was available to order. There were plenty of cakes and pastries for sale too but I hated eating in front of people I don’t know so I didn’t give that side of the menu board a second glace. Okay, maybe I did but it was only because deep down I really wanted something sweet. The white chocolate and raspberry muffin sounded like a piece of heaven right now. But I wouldn’t get it now. Maybe I’d get one to take home whenever I finished this…whatever this was with Gerard.

‘Can I get a large black coffee with peppermint creamer’ Gerard ordered beside me while I continued to look at the board. The barista at the till turned her attention to me

‘Can I get…a large skinny cappuccino please?’

‘Are you paying together?’ she inquired.

‘No’ I answered at the exact moment he said ‘yes’.

‘Yes’ he answered again before I could say again and handed her a ten dollar bill. I dug my hand into my bag to retrieve my black and white purse when he put a hand on my forearm.

‘It’s on me’ he scolded me sternly, the tone making me feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

‘Thanks’ I gave him a quick smile, trying to hide my annoyance.

It might sound ungrateful, but honestly I didn’t like it when people bought me things, especially if I didn’t know them. It meant you owed them something, whether it was your time or your money. Either one made me feel as though I had something held over my head, something that they would bring up and use against me at a later stage. It was how Nick kept me quiet in the early stages of the sexual abuse. That familiar feeling of being indebted never rested easy on my shoulders, and I made a mental note to pay Gerard back somehow.

We went to sit down while we waited for our caffeine fix, taking a small table by the window. It gave a nice view of the street; I imagined I could quite happily spend an hour or so just sitting here on my own people watching. It was quite amazing how much you see just by watching a seemingly mundane street. You could see people arguing, people being affectionate and in love, sometimes people looking so lost and alone that it made me feel better about myself. It sounds horribly selfish maybe, but sometimes you need to see other people’s misery to stop you feeling so shitty about your own life.

‘It’s nice to see I have so much of your attention.’

I jumped in surprise, a blush rising to my cheeks when I realised I’d been ignoring Gerard while staring out the window.

‘Sorry…I just people watch a lot. Bit of a habit’ I mutter in embarrassment.

He chuckled, a smile gracing his face as his eyes made contact with mine.

‘It’s fine. I do that sometimes too.’

‘People watch?’ I questioned.

‘Sometimes. You get a lot of inspiration from just taking in the world around you. There’s a lot of beauty to be found if you just open your eyes a bit.’

I smiled, a genuine one this time. He really was a good looking man, and the enthusiastic light that shone from his hazel eyes made me want to blush again. The barista came with our coffees, both us muttering thanks as she placed the drinks in front of us. I left mine to cool, not wishing to scald my tongue and throat because I was impatient. Gerard got stuck right in though, taking a large sip of his creamed coffee. I never knew how people could do that, just drink boiling liquid as though it was nothing. The only time I tried it I was left unable to eat anything other than ice cream for the rest of the day unless I wanted to be in pain. The tub of ice cream made up for it, but it was still something I rather not try again.

‘So, do you want to talk about it?’ he asked as he put his mug down, his hazel orbs focusing on my face again. I wondered what he thought of my appearance. I was short in height, with mousy brown hair and grey blue eyes. I wasn’t too skinny, but I made sure I didn’t carry any extra weight. My mother had made sure to drill it in to me at an early age that over indulgence in the short term had a heavy price in the long term. Not just in terms of weight, but other health problems that ran in my family like diabetes and high cholesterol. Right now I was certain my make up was wearing off and my hair (which had been tied back this morning) was full of flyaway bits. I shouldn’t care about whether he found me attractive or not, but I told myself it was only natural to want someone to find you appealing, or at least to think you weren’t the most hideous thing they’d ever seen.

‘Not really. But seeing as you asked me out for a drink, maybe you should tell me about yourself.’

‘Ah, classic diversion. Not gonna work with me’ he reprimanded me gently, not truly annoyed at me.

‘Fine. You tell me more about yourself, and then I’ll talk.’

‘Fair enough. What do you want to know?’ he asked, casually leaning back to rest his back against the chair.

‘Why are you in therapy?’

He laughed, or giggled to be exact. It was so girlish that I couldn’t help but laugh at him.

‘You get straight to the point, huh?’

‘I’m curious’ I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.

‘You’re nosey.’ He retorted

‘Same difference’

‘Alright. I’m an alcoholic….recovering alcoholic I should say.’

The shock I felt must have shown on my face. Sitting here across from me he didn’t look like someone abused substances. He was well dressed, well groomed and spoke very well. I couldn’t imagine him locking himself away drinking.

‘Really?’ I stupidly asked.

‘Yeah, I was pretty bad at one point. I nearly lost my job ‘cos I’d drink all night and be too hung over the next day. My brother realised I had a problem and made me accept that I needed help. He forced me to speak to someone, and now here I am.’

‘Wow. I must admit I’m surprised…you don’t seem like the type.’

He barked a mirthless laugh, full of self bitterness.

‘I have issues just like everyone, perhaps more than most. I drank to forget about them but I ended up nearly destroying myself. I was one step away from suicide when my brother made me get help. If he didn’t I would be dead by now.’

The last line resonated with my own thoughts on Frank’s intervention. In my heart I knew if he hadn’t made me go to Dr. Manning I would have made another attempt, and made sure I’d succeeded.

‘What issues did you have to make you want to hurt yourself so badly?’

Perhaps I was going too far. I was digging more than I had any right to do, I was nothing more than a stranger to this guy but I just couldn’t help myself. I suppose in a way I was testing him. If he could tell me about his past, tell me what made him thick, I could try and be honest with him. I wanted to know if he had horrors in his past that compete with mine.

The silence that fell after my blurted question, and the strange piercing, calculating look he gave me made me wonder if I had actually pushed too far. I was going over an invisible line that he had drawn up in his mind, and I felt a sting of guilt and shame at my behaviour. I opened my mouth to apologise, but he silenced me with an exaggerated sigh.

‘If I tell you it’s only right to expect the same honesty in return.’

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised or offended by the response. It was only fair to reciprocate if I was asking him to expose his secrets. Then again, perhaps his dirty secret was nothing more than he had gotten cheated on by some ex. I wouldn’t reveal a thing to him unless his was of equal value to mine, or at least something more substantial than a broken heart. I decided to agree, and if his secret was some non issue I could make up some bullshit.

‘Okay, you tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.’

He nodded to show he heard and understood me. He stopped gazing at me, instead diverting his eyes to the mug in front of him. His hands which gripped the ceramic mug suddenly went tight, and even though his jacket hid his arms from view I could see how they had tensed up. His while body was rigid and coiled, making me wonder if he was truly comfortable with the topic at hand. It didn’t bother me enough to encourage me to tell him he didn’t have to tell me. I was too interested to turn back now.

‘My mother is Italian, so naturally I grew up in a catholic household. When I was eight my mother encouraged me to become an altar boy for the local church. She was really involved in the community, helping out with fundraisers and all that stuff. It meant a lot to her. So I agreed to keep her happy. I spent the next five years being sexually abused by one of the priests.’

If I had been holding my mug of coffee it would have been dropped as his words hung in the air for a few tense drawn out seconds. At first I didn’t know how I should respond. Do I tell him I’m sorry? It was so cliché and yet I couldn’t think of anything else to tell him. Except perhaps the thing I had avoided tell anyone else.

‘My stepbrother abused me for four years when I was a teenager.’

There was a confused and shocked expression on his face. My response was not what he expected, but I felt it was far more honest than telling him I was sorry. I was sorry for him, don’t get me wrong but I also don’t know him well enough to reach out to him with sympathy. It wasn’t what he wanted from me, and I certainly didn’t want any from him.

‘What made you start going to a therapist now?’ he asked.

I sighed, not really in the mood to talk about it but he had been honest with me and I wasn’t about to throw that in his face.

‘I met my abuser for the first time in four years a couple of weeks ago. I tried to commit suicide a few days later. My boyfriend found me and now he’s making me go to counselling.’

Gerard didn’t give a verbal response to this. He gave a curt nod of understanding, and the compassion that shone in his eyes revealed he was thinking the same thing I was in that moment. There was a mutual feeling of comfort, and a relief that we had found someone who not only sympathised but had suffered a similar experience. The knowledge that there was someone who had an inside perspective on what I was feeling made me feel not so fucked up and alone anymore.

It was a nice feeling.

Notes

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