“I feel like I’m seeing my father again. Again and again.”
“Seth…”
“Clean yourself up, you look like a junkie. Get yourself together; you look like a faggot. And stop crying; nobody cares about your tears.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“What are you going to tell me next? When are you going to learn to be a man?”
Rowan takes off his glasses and puts them on the desk. He sighs, then looks at me again, this time less harshly.
“I’m just trying to do my job. The trial is in two days.”
“Don’t worry. I'll get to look right by then,” I mark the sentence with my fingers.
“Seth, let’s talk about this…”
“I’d rather go.”
“We haven’t even started yet.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Seth…”
“Please, let me go now.”
Rowan thinks for a moment, then nods.
“I’ll see you in court,” I say, miraculously showing no emotions. I leave his office and let them go on the walk home.
I don’t know why the thought of Rowan judging me hurts so much. He’s my lawyer. He’s doing his job, which he doesn’t even get paid for. I shouldn’t hold it against him, and I shouldn’t feel bad about it.
And yet I do. And a lot.
I didn’t think it could hurt any more.
And I didn’t think he could be the one to make me feel that way again.
I think that is my biggest problem.
Idealising.
I idealise people, gestures, and looks. Even my thoughts.
And I’m afraid I have done so on this occasion, too.
Rowan
“How are you doing?” Paul sits next to me on the wooden bench just outside the courtroom where the preliminary hearing is taking place.
“What are you doing here?”
He hands me a cup of coffee. I take it. “I thought I’d drop by.”
“You never come to my trials unless I need an assistant.”
“I thought a little backup would help.”
