At first, Dr. Wells was convinced I was just punishing myself. But as one session gave way to another, and another, and another...she started to change her tune. The more I opened up, the less and less inclined she seemed to rush me to work things out with Ivy. She did that freaky shrink thing where she somehow read between the lines of everything I said and didn’t say, and formed a new conclusion, hitting the nail right on its ugly, twisted head:

Codependence.

Cue the fucking jazz hands.

It hurt. Hearing out loud that Ivy and I are essentially no good for each other. At least, for the time being. Frankly, it freaked me the fuck out. I don’t want to lose Ivy, and that’s kind of what it felt like when Dr. Wells first brought up a little thing called “space.” Like in order to heal, I had to give up the person who’s been holding me together all these years.

The thought alone fucked with me enough that I found myself calling Will at two in the morning one night in a near-panic, wondering if this was all one big mistake.

He didn’t seem too surprised by this revelation. He had already figured that was somewhat the case, especially after that night at Bootleggers and everything Reggie revealed later on while I was passed out in another room.

Rather than casting judgment, Will took to reassuring me instead. Walking me off the ledge with words that left no room for argument.

“This is killing her as much as it’s killing you.”

Wrong as it may be, his blunt honesty was enough to ease some of the pressure weighing down on my chest.

Enough to clear the cobwebs in my head so I could remember the point of all this.

Enough for me to choose me, for once in my life, and have it not be a means to a disastrous end.

I wasn’t alone. I’m not alone. And I need to get better to get back to her.

Yeah, I probably should have been pissed or panicked or whatever when I found out Will suddenly had my life story in his hands. But if anything, I think I was just grateful someone had already taken the choice away from me. It’s bad enough I already have to trudge through it all twice a week in therapy. The last thing I want is to rehash it when I’m home, it’s the middle the night, and I’m already on the verge of a fucking meltdown.

The fact Will’s a total nerd when it comes to this therapy stuff doesn’t hurt either. He clearly knows his shit, and I kind of hate that he felt he needed to give it up because of what happened with Zayne. He would have been good.

Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to tell him as much.