A cafeteria worker comes darting across the dining hall and tells the man on the table to get down. He defiantly does one more choreographed step routine before jumping to the ground and marching out of the room with the rest of his group. Bryce looks across at me, smiling uneasily, and says, “That was pretty cool.”

Bryce starts packing his Bible, as if he plans to leave without finishing this important conversation. “I have to run,” he says, “but would you be down for grabbing some ice cream after Bible study next Tuesday? I definitely want to think about all this more and discuss it with you.”

With you, he says, as if I am his one. As if we can face the world together, despite its challenges. My face lights up.

“Of course,” I respond, trying not to sound too eager.

“Great, it’s a date,” he says, which I now recognize he says every time he makes plans with anyone. I still can’t tell if he has romantic feelings for me, but I plan to find out at the ice cream shop.

The closer Bryce and I become, the more I want to be “fixed.” I recommit to therapy even though last time I walked away deeply disturbed. Despite the difficulty, it’s soothing to have a stranger see inside you and witness your problems. I decide I won’t do the EMDR again; it was too triggering, but maybe I can keep talking about the delusions, Bryce, my struggles with Blackness, and the pursuit of Prince Charming. I might even talk about why I can’t ask for help, even as my grades continue their free fall, collapsing the window of time I have left to catch up.

Jennifer greets me affectionately, once again disarming my RWP sensor. She is so positive and caring, I find it difficult to activate my defensive mechanisms in her presence.

“How’ve you’ve been, honey?”

“Did you move the fountain?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, last time, it was over there, wasn’t it?”

“No, I haven’t moved anything.”

“Oh.”

“Do you remember it differently? I know last time you said unexplainable stuff was happening. Do you want to talk more about that? Sometimes when someone is overwhelmed, the mind can project inner perplexity onto the outside world. We start to imagine and see things… differently. Does that sound familiar?”

“No,” I respond flatly, afraid she will think something is wrong with me. “I’m not imagining anything. I’m fine. I’ve been fine. Except I got drunk the night I left here last time. I’ve never been drunk before. The Defiance… I mean, I tried to talk myself out of it, but couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me. It was in front of my professor. I was so embarrassed. I wrote her an apology note.”