Read Online Afterward by Jennifer Mathieu - Free Book Online Page B

just concerned about how it might make you feel.”
    â€œConnected,” I repeat, like Caroline and I are puzzle pieces or threads in a spider’s web. I know what he means, of course, but I don’t want to think about Caroline’s little brother. My brain has gotten good at shoving memories around where I can’t get to them. And the ones about Dylan are hazy and gray and untouchable and probably right where they belong.
    â€œDo you want to share what she wanted to talk about?” Dr. Greenberg asks, interrupting my thoughts.
    I shrug. “We didn’t really talk about anything.” I remember Jesse’s last visit, and him bringing up his guilt over the past. “She didn’t, like, bring up, you know…,” I offer. I’m gripping Groovy’s brush hard in my hands. “She plays guitar. She mostly seemed to want to talk about music.”
    Dr. Greenberg nods. “What if she did bring it up?” he asks.
    This is the closest Dr. Greenberg and I have ever come to really talking about me in any kind of serious way. I mean the stuff that happened to me. I feel the slightest wave of nausea building in my stomach. I drag the brush over Groovy’s fur and close my eyes for a moment.
    â€œI mean … I know my parents want to protect me,” I say. I wonder if they’ve told Dr. Greenberg to tell me to stop talking to Caroline. The idea bothers me. I feel guilty for making my parents worry about me so much, and I feel guilty that I get so annoyed by them worrying. I want to be able to decide who I hang out with. Not that I necessarily want to hang out with Caroline. I mean, it was kind of cool how Caroline knew so much about my drums and music, but the idea of hanging out with her makes me nervous.
    How am I supposed to come talk to a therapist about my feelings when I don’t really know what the hell I feel?
    Dr. Greenberg gives me a half smile again. “Of course your parents want to protect you,” he says. “I wonder why they might feel especially protective with regard to Caroline.”
    It’s not phrased like a question, but it’s like he expects an answer. I give Groovy one last brush and try to respond. “Maybe they’re worried that talking to Caroline would bring stuff up about … everything,” I say. “And I could get, like, hurt?”
    â€œDrawing healthy boundaries is something that’s sometimes hard for victims of trauma,” Dr. Greenberg says, resting his hands on top of his belly. “I’m sorry. To translate that into normal language, what I mean is that people who have been through something like what you’ve been through sometimes have a hard time knowing who to trust. Knowing who to make friends with.”
    â€œYeah,” I say. I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? No shit?
    â€œIf you’d like, that’s something we could talk about here, during our sessions,” Dr. Greenberg says. “How to have good friendships. Good relationships.”
    â€œOkay,” I say.
    Friendships. I’m not sure I have any left. I’m not sure if Jesse is still my friend, or if I even want to be his. And I think back on Bennie and Narciso, the two guys from the apartment complex. I try to imagine what they’re doing now—skateboarding, complaining about their teachers, talking about girls—and I wonder if they ever think of me.
    All of a sudden, I want to stop thinking about all this. Talking about all of this. So I flip through my mind for something to say. “I liked brushing Groovy. I put him to sleep.”
    Dr. Greenberg smiles. “I’ve found he helps patients relax because he loves to relax himself.”
    An idea dawns on me. “Wait, did you get me to brush Groovy to make it easier to talk?”
    â€œWell,” Dr. Greenberg says, and he looks a little bashful. “The answer is yes, I admit it. Groovy has a way of knowing when