Self-destructive.
Maybe there’s no hope for me, and all of this will be for nothing.
Whatever. This is stupid. Don’t think it’s going to help.
CHAPTERSIX
Rowan
To be honest, I thought I’d see more recognizable famous people here. Given what this place is. Sure, I’ve seen a few models and actresses, and there’s even a star football player. I decided to take part in one of the facility’s yoga classes this morning. Being here, even if only for a few days, has made me realize just how much I relied on social media for ways to pass the time. I can’t do that here, so I figured I’d take up a hobby. Yoga seemed like the best choice. Anyway, I saw an influencer in the class. She wasnotgood at yoga, and she wasn’t quiet about her annoyance at that fact. Oh, and can’t forget the very unfriendly drummer from Wicked Hearts who I semi-had a breakfast date with last week. But other than that, it looks like it’s a bunch of rich-ass no-name individuals.
Am I a“rich-ass no-name individual”to some people too? I mean, yeah, everybody knows my dad, most people know of my mom, and sure, I’ve done a bit of modeling myself, but… Damn, I guess I am pretty no-name in the grand scheme of things.
Well, that’s shitty.
Taking a seat in one of the many folding chairs placed into a circle in the middle of the room, I glance around, seeing who I know. Today is my first group therapy session, and I honestly have no idea what to expect. I’ve never done anything like this before, and sitting in a circle, campfire style, and talking about our problems sounds pretty fucking interesting. Not for me, since I sure as hell don’t want to share my shit, but hearing everybody else’s? Yeah, sign me up. It’s no secret to anybody that knows me that I love the drama. The tea. I’m a sucker for a good juicy gossip story.
The room is filling up, almost all the seats now taken. A thing I’ve noticed about this place is all the windows; every space lit with beautiful natural light, and this room is no exception. The counselor—or I’m guessing he’s the counselor, because he looks the most responsible out of the bunch—shuts the double doors leading to the hallway before taking his seat almost directly across from me in the circle. There’re still a few empty chairs, so I wonder if that means more will be joining us, or if they just over-planned.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Dr. Kevin Keller,” the responsible looking man states, crossing his left ankle over his right knee. He looks a little nerdy. Like he maybe goes home after work and plays World of Warcraft in the basement with several empty cans of Orange Crush strewn about all over his desk and a clunky headset on that he talks to his buddies with. He’s in his early thirties, at the oldest, and a pair of teal-framed glasses sit on his nose.Is it a prerequisite for all psychologists and therapists to wear glasses?Dr. Kevin Keller opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can, the closed double doors creak as they’re pulled open. No,yankedopen.
All eyes shift toward the entrance as our tardy member joins us. Lips turned down into a frown, eyes dark and broody, and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his zip-up, Caspian takes one of the few remaining seats, which happens to be beside me. His dark hair, which falls to about his ears, is damp, like he just got out of the shower right before coming here, and he smells fresh.
Yummy.
He doesn’t say anything, despite everybody in the room staring at him, including Dr. Kevin Keller, who clears his throat softly before saying, “Hello, welcome.”
Caspian glances up and grunts out a response.Okay, caveman.
Dr. KK forces a small smile before addressing the rest of the room. “As I was saying, I am one of the group counselors here at Black Diamond, and I will be the leader of all of your group therapy sessions while you’re here.” He slides his gaze back over to Caspian, who’s staring down at his lap. “I know it can be overwhelming and a little intimidating to partake in a group therapy. Having people know your personal details, feeling vulnerable and unsure, but I assure you, this is a safe space. In my years of experience, I’ve found that group settings such as this often help people feel not so alone, help them find their voice, and help them relate to people who share similar struggles.”
He has us introduce ourselves, starting with the woman beside him, going clockwise. Some people are chattier than others. They tell us all about their life, down to what their cat is named. While others keep it short. A sentence or two, clearly not wanting to share too much. Due to the way we’re sitting, Caspian is supposed to go before me. Shamelessly, I’m thrilled to hear his story. Know why he’s here. Just hear him speak in general. The deep baritone of his voice, paired with the faint Scottish accent... I could listen to him read me a grocery list, and I’d enjoy every damn second of it.
Caspian seems like an enigma. From what I know about him—which admittedly, isn’t a whole lot, mostly from interviews, tabloids, and such—he’s closed off and quiet. He has a reputation for partying and drugs and fighting. A hot head. A playboy. Reckless. Be it my nosy nature or the simple fact that I want to pass the time here so I can get home, I find myself wanting to crack his shell. Get to know him. Make him my friend.
I’m great at making friends.
I’m a little pushy, and can sometimes be a bit much, but typically, when I set my sights on making someone my friend, I succeed.
The room falls quiet when the person beside Caspian finishes and it’s his turn to go. He doesn’t. Instead, he says nothing at all. Hands clasped in his lap, his left thumb nail digs into the bed of his right. The silence is stifling, and it seems to go on forever.
“Caspian,” Dr. Kevin Keller prompts. “It’s your turn to introduce yourself. Share a little with the group.” His tone is light and friendly, but it has to be annoying for him to have someone show up late and then refuse to participate. When he still doesn’t budge, Dr. KK continues. “Caspian, it is only fair we all participate. It helps everyone feel safer and more comfortable. You don’t have to share much. A few sentences.”
“No.” The single word is nothing more than a grunt, voice rough like it’s the first time he’s used it this morning.
“I promise, it won’t be so—”
Dr. KK is cut off when Caspian’s head whips up, gaze presumably colliding with his. “I said no,” he barks. “I’m not going to sit here and play fucking happy circle with a bunch of people I couldn’t care less about, and who couldn’t care less about me. No fucking way.”
He doesn’t give the therapist a chance to respond, because he raises from his chair with such force, it tips over behind him, the sound of it clanking on the hard floor startling me. Caspian leaves through the same double doors he came through, without so much as a backward glance.
Damn.
The rest of the session goes by smoothly. I introduce myself before the rest of the circle does the same. Nobody addresses the elephant that left the room, but it’s on my mind the entire time. Once we’re excused, I make my way out into the hall, stopping at the front desk. The woman sitting behind the computer isn’t the same one that was working the night I arrived. I haven’t seen Katlyn since that night.
This one’s wearing a name tag that saysCeleste—her parents were hippies, no doubt—and she has strawberry blonde hair woven into a thick braid over her right shoulder. A few strands frame her face, and she has a septum piercing and one through her eyebrow. I’ve noticed her here the last few mornings, and I know this is quite stereotypical, but I get the vibe she could help me.
Her eyes lift from the monitor when she sees me, a small smile tugging on her lips. “Hey. Can I help you?”
