THE WOMAN IN front of Wyatt did not wear wing tipped prescription glasses like he'd expected. Her silken black hair fell in loose waves down over her shoulders, and she'd paired a seafoam green turtleneck over plain black Palazzo trousers and wedges.
In a sense, Claire Liu dressed like some socially awkward Hollywood exec's idea of what a therapist would look like, and it immediately set him on edge.
"How are you feeling today, Wyatt?" Claire asked, smiling. She kept her tone casual even as her brown eyes remained alert and assessing.
Wyatt shrugged, self-conscious. "I guess, I'm okay."
They had just finished the introductions, and already he fought against the urge to snatch up his phone and check for notifications, or send off a random text.
"So, tell me about yourself." She leaned slightly forward. "What do you do for fun? Seen any good movies lately?"
He found her easy familiarity off putting. "Is this necessary?"
Claire nodded, not in the least put off. She'd been smiling since he first stepped into the office. Surely that had to count as a red flag.
"We'll need to acquaint ourselves with one other."
"Basically, I tell you what I like and it helps you determine just how screwed in the head I am."
It had been meant to come out as a joke, but instead he sounded defensive and this put him even more on edge.
"No." Her expression remained calm as she spoke. "I wouldn't say that. Think of it as me trying to get a baseline on who you are so I can help you."
Wyatt scoffed, and in answer to this Claire simply cocked her head at an angle, lifting a brow.
"Do you have something to say?" she asked looking down, and Wyatt realized he'd been fidgetingâhis fingers especially.
He immediately stopped.
"Not really. And IâI don't have a lot of interests."
His words sputtered off to nothing, and for a moment the room was silent enough that Wyatt heard the sounds he made as he breathed.
"And how are you?" Claire asked when it became evident that he would not speak.
"I'm okay." The words were clipped, and Wyatt licked his lips refusing to meet her eyes. "To be honest I've never been better, andâ"
His phone's screen lit up with a text message from his best friend, and his words trailed off as he read.
TOBI: We always knew you were crazy bro either way try to go easy on your shrink.
Wyatt could sense her eyes on him as he shot off a quick reply, and he sat up as soon as he was done.
"Actually, I don't think I should be here," he said, stopping to gather up his stuff as he got up.
"Why do you say so?" Claire asked, and Wyatt opened his mouth to say something, but another text from Tobi came in.
TOBI: off to soccer practice. Talk later.
He looked up at Claire, shook his head in answer and turned to leave, half expecting her to say something that would stop him in his tracks à la coming-of-age movie, but her gaze bore holes into the back of his skull as he walked away from her.
Wyatt pushed open the door, stepping out to the lobby where he found Regan waiting, and his steps faltered as the older man looked up from a brochure he'd been engrossed in.
"Has it been an hour?" Regan asked, blinking up at him in surprise, and as he pulled out his phone to confirm Wyatt answered.
"It's not the right fit for me."
"Bâbut she came well recommended," Regan said, spluttering as he got up.
"It's not that. I just don't think I need therapy."
At this his father's eyes narrowed.
"Wait here," the older man said, before stepping around him into the office behind.
Wyatt's heart thudded in his chest as the doors closed, and he took a seat on one of the lobby chairs while he waited, scrolling through Instagram to distract himself.
Canyon hadn't unfollowed him yet, but he hadn't liked any of his latest posts and at this rate he knew that it was only a matter of time until the inevitable. He pulled up his profile (now 15K followers), resisting the urge to scroll down his gallery and hit the Message button. Canyon was online, and after a moment's hesitation Wyatt began to compose his text.
WYATT: Hi! Didn't catch u yesterday n my dad was super pissed when I got home late but it wasn't as bad as I imagined. How are you?
He pressed send, thumb hovering over his keyboard as he thought up another line.
WYATT: I also want to apologize for putting u in that awkward position. Please understand that it was never my intention to force myself on u. I guess I read the signals wrong haha.
"Wyatt," he looked up to find his father staring down at him and he powered off his screen. "You're going back in there."
A protest sat ready to be voiced at the top of his tongue, but it died down at his fathers next statement.
"You go in there right now or hand over the eight hundred dollar phone I just got you."
Wyatt's considered his father. On one hand he could push his luck, hand over the phone and walk away to make it clear that he would not be a servant to capitalism. On the other they both knew that it would be a lie, and that there had never really been a choice to make in the first place.
He got up without a word and stepped around his father, entering Claire's office.
"I'll be waiting here," the older man said, and he sniffed.
"Don't bother."
"So why do you say that love, for you, is an addiction?"
He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, and now Claire's question shot into the empty void of silence between them, casting a shadow over Wyatt that left him outlined in stark relief.
It felt like he'd been asked to strip, but he figured the sensation would fade the longer he went without trying to rack his brains for an answer, and so to pass the time he let his eyes roam.
The office was stylishly appointed, with walls painted a shade of light green, on which a grouping of five dark wood framed photographs (one of them was her degree)âalongside the painting of a forest sceneâhung. Potted cacti sat on a set of floating shelves on the strip of wall behind his couch, and the well-worn chairs decorated with white throw pillows created a crisp ambience that culminated in an overall sense of balance.
Claire had taste, he would give her that.
"Wyatt," she began again, "why do youâ?"
"I don't like to be alone," he cut in. "It doesn't have to be more than that. A lot of people don't."
"It doesn't," Claire agreed. "But you've hinted at some of the relationships you've been in and how quickly they tend to fizzle out. Don't you think it could be more than that?"
"Are you saying there is something wrong with me?" Wyatt asked tightly.
"No, I'mâ" Claire began, but Wyatt cut her off.
"Then what?"
The room fell silent, and after a moment the therapist sighed as her smile faltered. She cleared her throat.
"I'm not the enemy here, Wyatt. I'm not here to judge you, or your choices. I'm here to help." He said nothing, and after a while she followed up with another question. "Can we start over?"
The seconds seemed to stretch in on themselves, and after a long moment Wyatt's head dipped in a nod.
"Great, I'm Claire."
She stretched out her hand for a handshake. He eyed the outstretched palm, taking it after a few tenuous moments.
"Wyatt," he said simply, ending there.
Claire reclined in her chair, unfurling her legs as she rubbed her palms against the fabric of her pants.
"Tell me something random about yourself."
"I like online shopping." Wyatt paused, fixing his eyes on one of the potted cacti. "I don't talk to a lot of people, but my best friends are my sister, Viv, and Tobi, who I've known basically my whole life. Is this okayâdo you mean anything like this?"
Claire nodded. "Yes. Anything you feel comfortable sharing."
"Alright," he said, drying out his sweaty palms on the fabric of his jeans. Maybe this therapy thing wouldn't be so bad after all.
"I dance OK, I guess, but I don't play any instruments. Viv does, though. The violin, like my dad, and she is crazy talented." His sister's face flashed in front of him and he withheld a smile. "I don't read a lot of fiction, but I like to know stuff if that makes sense. Like history or politics or biology."
He stopped, suddenly self-conscious, but when it appeared like Claire would be comfortable with having the rest of their session run on in silence he started to tell her of his upcoming AP English Lit. class and how he still hadn't found a poem he loved enough to memorize. Then it was his parents' divorce, and after that, Martha, but he steered clear of any talk of romance even as it sat at the forefront of his mind.
When he finished the room fell into a comfortable kind of silence and Claire beamed.
"That was very good, Wyatt," she said. "But I get the sense that there's more you're holding out on that you may want to address?"
Nobody enjoyed getting called out on their bullshit like that.
"Look Claire, this"âhe pointed from himself to her, and then motioned at the room around themâ"isn't working. Prescribe something to me and I'll be out of your hair because you probably have better things to do with your Sunday afternoons. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."
Claire's expression turned pitying, and in answer Wyatt felt a sneer begin to tug at one corner of his mouth.
"That is not the protocol," she stated. "For all we know, you may not need a drug prescription for your treatment. Remember, I'm still trying to get a baseline."
"Bullshit," Wyatt spat, unable to stop himself, and as seconds ticked by and his outburst failed to elicit a reaction from Claire something inside him coiled tight. A pounding started up in his head.
Unraveling like this was familiar to him. Oftentimes it pushed him, made him say things or act in ways he knew he would come to regret once rationale kicked in.
Over the roaring in his head, Wyatt could hear invisible threads snap as Claire asked if he needed a moment, needed a glass of water, needed something.
"I don't think you understand what is happening here," Wyatt began in his most patronizing voice, and immediately the roaring stopped. Everything fell into sharp focus. "Your thrifted pants, poor foundation technique, and a Bachelor's from Ohio State are inadequate enough. I don't need anything from you. You are pathetic. You're a joke. You'reâ"
Wetting his tongue with his lips to ease his thirst, he settled into his chair when he finished, relishing the stunned expression on Claire's face.
The silence was absolute, punctuated only by the sounds of their breathing, and Wyatt bent down to retrieve a water bottle from his bag. He swilled its tepid contents around his mouth before swallowing.
Looking over at Claire confirmed that while she had looked stunned, her cool mask of professionalism had not shifted through his tirade, and slowly a trickle of mortification started to flow through him.
Wyatt opened his mouth after what must have been close to three minutes (even if it felt like more than that) ready to say something, though he wasn't sure what, but Claire beat him to it.
"That was... illuminating," she stated, and he blinked.
"Excuse me?"
Her infuriating smile returned. "It takes time to have most people open upâshow that they're angry or scared. But that's not you, and I'm not sure I know what this is yet, but I hope that it's a step in the right direction."
The woman was insane.
"Now," she continued, back to business, as if the last ten minutes had not just happened. "Our hour is almost up. I have an assignment for you."
At the latter part of her sentence, Wyatt snapped out of his daze. "No thanks, I've got school work."
"I don't mean homework," Claire ceded. "I just want you to make a list about yourself. It can be anythingâbut a list or listicle of things you perceive to be strengths against shortcomings can be a good place to start. Is that OK?"
Wyatt ran a hand through his hair, wincing when they snagged on a tangle. He nodded.
"Good," his therapist said. "I'm not too familiar with poetry, but I do read around a bit so I may have a suggestion for your recital, but rememberâit's only a recommendation, and it may be pretty long."
Wyatt was skeptical, but the desperation beat all else out and after a moment he spoke. "I'm a fast learner."
When they finished he stood up and left, waiting to exit the room before pulling out his phone. He noticed his father was not in the lobby, and powered open his iPhone to find that he was still on Instagram, specifically his message thread to Canyon.
He had been left on read.