Read Online Therapy by Kathryn Perez - Free Book Online

a loss, and her coldness towards Genevieve was sad. I never really understood it since Mom had always been so focused on me growing up.”
    He sighs and reaches out, running his fingers across the engraved words on the headstone before continuing.
    “She rode a special needs bus to and from her school every day. Like I said, it was as if Mom wanted to hide her from everyone here. Even though Genevieve didn’t really express herself verbally, and she didn’t like physical affection, she’d always let me hug her. Everyone else thought she wasn’t connecting socially, but she connected with me. She’d always reach out, touch my face, and smile. She was so adorable and innocent. I always felt like she was lonely, even though the doctors said she probably would prefer being alone and would need time to herself often. I would go into her room and play with her daily. She loved to line random objects up across her floor, so I’d help her. It seems dumb, but it was our special time together.”
    A single tear streams down his cheek and my heart cracks for him again.
    “One day as she got off the bus, some middle school kids were walking by and yelling stuff at her. Mean, nasty things. It made me so angry; I ran to the end of the driveway, screaming at them to shut the hell up and leave her alone. I was the one who always met her and walked her to the house when she got off her bus, so I had to see those punks every day.”
    I feel him tense up as he stands quickly, wiping a tear from his face. “One day I was late,” he says, breaking down. Painful sobs erupt from his throat, and his body quivers as he covers his face with his hands. He shakes his head back and forth as if he’s trying to will away the memory of what happened.
    “I was too damn late, Jess. Those fucking kids started throwing rocks at her and she got spooked. She started running. When I ran down the driveway, all I saw was Genevieve running and a trail of kids behind her, taunting her. The damn bus had driven off, even though protocol was for them to wait ‘til someone got her. She was probably so scared. She darted out into the street unexpectedly and was hit by a work truck that was speeding by. She was killed instantly—right there in front of my eyes.”
    His body shakes as he cries the most heartbreaking sound I’ve ever heard. It’s as if he’s crying for his loss for the first time. I reach over and put my arms around him, holding him. He drops his head to my shoulder and I feel the wetness of his tears soak into my T-shirt. In this moment, he’s like a scared little boy, not the big, strong quarterback. And I feel like the tough girl holding him up, not the weak girl who lets everyone put her down. He sniffles as he pulls his head up and wipes his eyes. He straightens his shoulders and suddenly becomes strong Jace again.
    “I’m sorry. You must think I’m some sort of big crybaby or something,” he says, raking his hand over his face again.
    “No, I don’t. If you had told me that story without shedding a tear, I’d think something was wrong with you,” I say as my own tears slide down my cheeks.
    “After she died, for the first time since she gave birth to Genevieve, my mom acted like a mother. Her death rocked my mom and dad to the core. Guilt and regret plagued them. My mom has never been the same. She spent weeks in her bedroom not eating or showering. Our house was like a tomb for a long time. My mom finally went into therapy for her grief and depression, and the therapist convinced her that the entire family needed to get therapy as well. We started attending family sessions and I learned to stop hating my mom for being the kind of mother she was to Genevieve. Until then, I never really saw how broken-hearted and tortured she was by her guilt.”
    The sadness on his face is painful to look at. It’s heartbreaking.
    “Ever since, I’ve tried so hard to be the perfect son for her, especially after Dad died. I just want her to