“When I say my parents were gone the majority of my childhood, I’m not being dramatic,” I mutter. “My father had a condo that he owned, or still probably owns, that’s near the production studio. Sure, we lived in Los Angeles, but with traffic and all that, it took a decent chunk of time to get from there to the studio, so when he was working on a movie, he’d stay at the condo. And he was working on movies frequently. Most months of the year, to be honest. Then my mom, before she retired, would travel all over the world for jobs. She’d be gone more than half the week, most weeks, and when she was home, and after she retired, she’d go stay with my dad at the condo. My nanny raised me.”
She nods, jotting down some more notes. I can’t even begin to imagine what she must think. Although, it’s probably nothing new to her, especially given the clientele she sees. “Can you recount any time when the three of you were all home together for any period of time longer than a few days?”
I don’t have to think too hard. A memory pops up right away. “One time, when I was about fifteen, my dad had to have emergency surgery to remove his appendix. I believe he was home for a week or so before going back to work—early, against doctors’ orders—and during that time, my mom was home with him.” Recalling the situation, I huff out a laugh that’s lacking any humor. “You know, despite both of their workaholic tendencies, their marriage was—and still is—solid. They love each other. It’s apparently just me that’s the issue.”
A smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes—one that I would categorize as sad, almost full of pity—plays on her lips. “We will come back to that comment, but first, can you describe what that time was like for you, having both of them home with you at the same time?”
“It was…” I brush a hand over the top of my head, the short strands standing straight up as a heaviness presses down on my chest at the memory. “Almost worse than when they were gone all the time, honestly.”
“How come?”
“Because at least when they were gone, I could pretend they wanted to be there,” I admit out loud for the first time ever. “I could make myself believe they loved me and wanted to be around me, but they were just too busy.” An unexpected tightness in my throat causes me to pause. “But when they were in the same house as me, and still making zero effort to include me, or pay me any attention, ask me anything about my life, my day, my feelings… there’s no lying to myself about that.”
“And so, circling back to your previous comment, why do you think you’re the issue, Rowan?”
“Well, like I mentioned before, their marriage is solid. They very clearly love each other. Even when they were working on opposite sides of the continent, they still managed to make time for one another. With me, it was like I was always an afterthought. On my birthdays, I’d get calls super late in the day, like they’d just remembered. When they were home, they’d forget all about me. I’d walk into a room they were in, and it was like I startled them. As if they thought they were alone.”
The pressure behind my eyes is uncomfortable, and when my vision blurs, I tilt my head back, staring up at the ceiling, refusing to let the moisture spill over. It’s been years since I let them get to me, and I’ll be damned if I let them now.
“I think I was an accident. Not that I’ll ever know for certain, but it’s my guess anyway. They were young when my mom got pregnant. At least, they were young as far as Hollywood goes. It was right in the prime of my mom’s Victoria Secret modeling days, and it was right when my dad’s career took off. I think they were so blinded by their love for each other and the idea of what a family could mean, that they kept me instead of aborting the pregnancy. And I think it’s a regret they’ve both had ever since.”
Something like sympathy crosses Dr. Weaver’s features as she adjusts the glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Have you ever expressed your feelings to either of your parents before?”
“I’m sure I did as a small kid. I don’t remember it, but I’m sure I did. As a teenager, no. Never. It would do no good. Who wants to beg for their parents to love them?” I snort out a laugh that dies among the silence in the room.
Suddenly, it feels too small, too hot in here. Sweat lines my forehead, more dripping down the back of my neck. I want out of here. I want out. My hands tremble in my lap, and no amount of clasping them together fixes it either. The feeling of being under a microscope is stifling.
My eyes drag to the clock on the wall to the right and, thankfully, our time is almost up. Dr. Weaver sighs, clearly not wanting to be done with this conversation. “Well, that looks like all we have time for today. Please continue with what we talked about at our first session. You’re making wonderful progress, and I know you can keep it up.”
I nod, rising from the couch.
“I’ll see you next week, Rowan.”
With an awkward half-wave, I leave like my ass is on fire.
The halls outside her office are bare, only feeding the loneliness blaring in my head right now. The emptiness I shove to the back of my mind most days, that I’ve become a pro at ignoring. The bleakness that, if I’m not careful, will overshadow every single emotion and feeling and thought in my mind.
As I make my way through the main building, and eventually outside, I have every intention of heading back to my room. A hot shower will surely get rid of all this. Maybe some food. Pulling open the glass door to the resident building, I meander on toward the elevator, pressing the button, and going up. There’re a few people walking by on my floor, but nobody I recognize.
Instead of going to my room, I stop a few feet ahead, knocking on my neighbor’s door. Don’t ask me why; my body is clearly in control of these decisions. I’m surprised that, after only a few moments, the door is pulled open, piercing gray eyes colliding with mine.
Images of the other morning flood my mind; me sucking him off, riding him, him flipping us and fucking me hard into the mattress. I’ve wanted a repeat of that morning every single day since. I don’t know if it’ll ever happen, but I sure as fuck hope so.
“What do you want?” he grunts, not bothering to step aside and let me in.
Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “Wanna hang out?”
Caspian’s face screws up before morphing into something bordering on amused. “Why?”
He acts like he hates me every single time I’m in his presence, like he didn’t just stick his dick in my ass a few days ago and fucking love every second of it.
“Because I’m bored.” It sounds so childish, but it’s the truth. This place is boring as fuck sometimes—most of the time.
“And that’s my problem, why?” he drawls, folding his arms over his broad chest. He’s wearing a ribbed black tank top, his tattoos on full display along his arms. He’s got a plethora.
“It’s not, but I’m sure you’re bored too.” I cock my head, eyebrow quirked. “Am I right?”
He stares at me blankly for a moment, and I start to think he’ll tell me to fuck off and slam the door in my face, but he eventually rolls his eyes and walks back into his room to grab his shoes and wristband before joining me in the hall.
