Recovering from a concussion is actual hell on earth. It took until the end of the week for me to even feel normal again, and even then, I was still a little disoriented and super drowsy. I didn't go to school for the rest of the week, even though I was supposed to. There goes my perfect attendance record. I barely left my bed all week, I barely said a word to my parents. Of course, they talked to me plenty, they wouldn't leave me alone. They apologized more times than I could count. Every time they walked into my room all I could see was him.

I hadn't cut since the night before the assault. Everyone's been keeping a close eye on me since then, asking to see my arms, Trent even asked to see my legs too, so I couldn't even cut there. My anxiety was getting out of control, I couldn't get the memories out of my head, it's like a movie was constantly playing my worst memories over again in my head. No matter how many deep breathing exercises I did, I couldn't turn it off. All I wanted was to forget, but I had no tools to help me do so. The only time I didn't think about Adam was when Trent was here. He would lay with me every day, a few inches apart, and hold my hand or run his finger through my hair. He would tell me about his day at school or we would watch more Star Trek together. He made me forget, mostly because he just didn't talk about Adam. I don't know if it was because he could tell that's what I wanted, or if he just didn't want to bring it up. Either way, I was grateful we weren't talking about it.

Saturday morning came before I knew it and I was trying and failing to come up with any excuse to get out of going to therapy. I tried saying I had a headache, I felt dizzy, I was going to have a panic attack if I left the house, nothing worked. All of my attempts at getting out of it just convinced my parents that I needed more therapy. So, I begrudgingly got into the car and Mom drove me across town to see Dr. Meyer. The car ride was silent. I put on the alternative station that Trent always had on, "Sugar We're Going Down" was playing. I sang along quietly, remembering the time it came on in Trent's truck. I had just found out Adam was coming, and I could barely say a word. I don't think I ever could have imagined where I would be right now.

Dr. Meyer's office was quaint and overly comforting. There were fake flowers and plants everywhere, except for one real bouquet on a coffee table by the couch. There was artwork on the wall, the typical art you would expect in a doctor's office, still life's and portraits, or calming scenes of a park or meadow. Bookshelves filled to the brim with psychology textbooks lined the walls as well, and I noticed that behind Dr. Meyer's desk was a whole row of every DSM ever published. Dr. Meyer was a younger woman, so I doubted that she had been practicing that long, it would be kind of impossible for her to have been practicing in the 1950s. In the center of the room was a brown leather couch, a matching loveseat was adjacent to it, and in the middle a dark wooden coffee table with the fresh flowers, a pitcher of water and some cups, and some stress balls, fidget toys, crayons and paper, and other items that she could potentially use when working with kids. Dr. Meyer herself was wearing a grey suit, her dark brown hair was tied up in a neat bun, a pearl necklace hung from her neck and her bright red lipstick was the only pop of color to her otherwise monochromatic look.

We spent the first give minutes of the session sitting in awkward silence, well it was awkward for me anyway. Dr. Meyer just watched as I fidgeted, snapping a rubber band on my wrist and shaking my leg nervously. "You seem nervous," Dr. Meyer stated.

"N-no shit," I retorted.

"Do you stutter a lot, Grayson?" I nodded.

"How come?"

"I d-don't really like t-talking to people. I don't t-trust people."

"Where do you think that comes from?" She asked.

"You don't kn-know?" I was surprised that the hospital or my parents hadn't informed her of everything.

"Your parents just called to set up the appointment, I also know you recently got out of the hospital. I wanted to wait until after we met to speak with them. I don't like to let outside influences cloud my judgment on new clients," she explained. That was refreshing, most people judged you immediately.

"Oh," was all I could bring myself to say.

"We can come back to your mistrust of others later," she crossed one leg over the other and wrote something down in the notebook on her lap. "Tell me about yourself, Grayson."

"I don't r-really know what to s-say."

"This isn't a 'tell me about your mother' question. I just want to get to know you, what do you like, what do you dislike, who is Grayson Daniels?"

"W-well, I like music and v-video games, and r-reading, I like school for the m-most part. I lo- like my boyfriend." Her ears perked up at the mention of Trent.

"Let's talk about your boyfriend." Dr. Meyer requested.

"Wh-what about him?"

"How long have you been together?"

"A couple of weeks."

"What's his name?"

"Trent," I smiled.

"How did you and Trent meet?"

"S-school."

"Are you in classes together?"

"N-no, he's a junior."

"Then how did you get to meet?"

"He s-saved me from getting b-beat up."

"Do you get beat up a lot?" I nodded. "By a lot of kids or the same ones all the time?"

"S-same ones."

"Because of your sexuality?" I nodded again. "And Trent was your knight in shining armor one fateful day, and the rest is history, huh?" I shrugged. "But I thought you didn't trust people?"

"When so-someone saves your l-life it makes them an exception."

"He saved your life when he was saving you from the bullies?" I started snapping the rubber band harder. I hated this conversation, hated therapy. She was trying to prove that I was just a dramatic teenager, I couldn't possibly be in love and this boy didn't literally save my life, except he did.

"N-no, when he saved me from A-Adam," I stuttered.

"Who is Adam?" Her brows furrowed.

"My parents' best friend."

"How did Trent save you from him?" I just shook my head; I wasn't ready to talk about that yet. She nodded, pursing her lips and writing something down in her notebook. I was still snapping the rubber band on my wrist; which Dr. Meyer had taken notice of as soon as it started. "How come you're snapping the rubber band against your wrist?"

"You're the psychologist," I laughed, "d-don't you know a coping mechanism when you s-see one?"

"So, we're going to deflect with humor, are we?" She shot back.

"I'm not g-good at talking about things," I said.

"Feelings can be hard, can't they?" She asked.

"You have no idea," I sighed.

"What makes feelings hard for you?" I rolled my eyes, I walked myself right into this one. I thought hard about how to answer, I stared at the row of DSMs on the bookshelf behind Dr. Meyer's desk. I wondered what diagnosis she was coming up with for me, a mood disorder, personality disorder? Maybe I had some yet undiscovered disorder that was so fucked up only I had it.

"I-I just don't know how to d-deal with them," I stuttered.

"What do you mean?"

"L-like the pain and s-sadness, what do I do with it?"

"Do you feel pain and sadness a lot, Grayson?" Dr. Meyer asked, scribbling in her notebook some more.

"All the time," I sighed. I was becoming overwhelmed with Dr. Meyer's questions, and with how honestly I was answering them. This time around I genuinely wanted to deal with things, I wanted to get better. That wasn't going to happen if I wasn't honest. But why did being honest have to suck so bad? I was growing more and more anxious as the conversation went on, the weight on my chest increasing. My breathing became shallow, and I avoided eye contact with Dr. Meyer as I gasped for air.

"Grayson, you're okay. I know it's hard." I nodded and continued gasping for air. "You know I used to suffer from panic attacks too?" I looked at her in shock. "It's true. That's why I became a psychologist. The thing that helps me when I have a panic attack is to name 5 things I can see in the room around me. It's called a grounding technique. Why don't you try it?" I nodded and glanced around the room, looking for things to notice. I wanted them to be interesting things, and not obvious ones like the coffee table.

"I s-see the DSM 5, the p-painting of the f-fruit basket, the p-petal that's about to f-all off that white rose," my breathing was returning to normal as I listed the items. "And I s-see your coffee mug, and the orange pillow on the chair across from you." By the time I was finished listing the items the weight had lifted from my chest, and I was breathing like normal again.

"Good job, now whenever you start to have a panic attack, just do that. Sometimes it takes listing more items, sometimes I just list facts, things I know are true, not that my brain tells me are true."

"Thanks," was all I could manage to say.

"That's what I'm here for." She smiled. "Why are you here, Grayson?" I froze, unsure of what I wanted to say, if I wanted to say it yet.

"Um, m-my parents b-best friend raped me." I stuttered. Her eyes became sympathetic, and her smile turned to a frown. I started looking around the room again, refusing to meet her gaze. "It's b-been happening since I w-was ten."

"I'm so sorry, Grayson, I can't even imagine..." her voice trailed off. I've officially left a therapist speechless. But there was something comforting about her not pretending to know what to say. Maybe that was a technique they taught her in grad school, either way it was helping.

"Y-you're like the third person I've t-told, if you don't c-count the police."

"How did the police get involved?"

"He t-tried to assault me e-earlier this week," I stuttered.

"Who called the police?"

"Trent." She scribbled in her notebook some more.

"So, when you said earlier that he saved your life..." she trailed off at the end.

"I m-meant this, yeah." She nodded and continued writing in her notebook.

"Well, Grayson, it sounds like you've been through a lot. I appreciate your courage in sharing as much as you have with me today. Unfortunately, we're almost out of time for today, so I just wanted to ask if there was anything else you need to share with me today before you go?" I shook my head no. "Are you in danger of hurting yourself or someone else once you leave this office today?" Again, I shook my head. "Sorry, I just have to ask," she laughed a little. "Over the next few weeks we're going to focus on getting all of your past trauma out in the open, and then we'll work on processing it and working through it. You've made a huge first step in just coming here, and you should be proud of yourself."

"Th-thanks," I mumbled.

"I'll see you next week, Grayson, it was lovely meeting you," Dr. Meyer smiled as I got up from the couch and left the room. I took a deep breath and noticed that a little bit of the weight I always carried with me was gone.