Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
He smirks before setting his laptop beside him. “You know me a little too well, Ev.”
The way he says it, it’s like he appreciates how I get him…the way we get each other more than other people get us…or ever could.
“What is it?” I ask. “Talk to me, Frankie.” He’s never like this. Usually, he tells me exactly what’s on his mind. Frankie and I are always so open about everything with each other—aside from when I was weirded out about puppy play and kept that from him for a little bit.
I crawl across the bed and sit like I would in puppy space beside him, my hands pressed down on the mattress.
There’s something strange—something different about my movements, and I know it has to do with these little sessions we’ve been having. It’s almost like Pup Runt is coming through in this moment, maybe because Pup Runt is really just an extension of myself—a more authentic version than what I typically feel like on a day-to-day basis.
I notice the tension in his expression ease up like it did when he saw me coming at him in my pup gear.
“Remember that first time we met? When I told you about what happened with my mom and dad…that night…”
“Of course. I wouldn’t ever forget something like that.”
“The anniversary of that night is this week.” He sounds like he has to strain even to get that much out, and seeing him like this, I can’t fight this impulse that rises within me. I move close, hook an arm around him, and rest my head on his shoulder.
I want to be here for him, the way he’s always here for me.
Sometimes I feel like Frankie just wants to take on all my issues. He wants to be here for me and protect me, but it’s a two-way street. And sometimes, I have to push to be here for him too.
“Talk to me,” I press.
“It’s nothing. It just rattles me. It all reminds me of that night and how powerless I was when he was beating the shit out of my mom.”
“You were just a kid, Frankie.”
“I know, but it feels like I should have been able to do something. I should have been able to protect my mom.”
“You did. You called for help. That’s all you could have done.”
“I know that intellectually, but feeling it’s another thing, isn’t it?”
I pull away, returning to my kneeling position, and he turns to me.
“Yes, it is. How is your mom about the anniversary coming up?”
“She seemed okay. She tries to minimize it, but I know it still shakes her up too. I mean hell, you can’t have that kind of relationship and not be affected by it for the rest of your life, can you?”
“I’m sure it’s gotten better with time and having an amazing son like you in her corner.”
“Well, I am a pretty amazing son—that’s true.”
“That’s the cocky Frankie I know and love,” I say before leaning forward and offering a soft kiss on his forehead.
A sensation races through my lips, across my face—a familiar feeling I’ve had every time I’ve kissed him like this since we exchanged that one after my session. Something about the fire we ignited that night lingers within me. It’s like my body craves that sensation all over again. As I pull back, I say, “I’m sorry that you’re feeling bad.”
“It’ll pass. It always does.”
“I get that. My therapist always told me if a depressive episode ever came on, there wasn’t much I could do. Said it was like a storm that would lift…and it always did, so I’d just keep telling myself that over and over again when things got really bad.”
His jaw tightens, which catches me off guard.
“What’d I do? Did I say something wrong? I was trying to help.”
“I just don’t like the thought of you having an episode, feeling so alone and powerless.”
“You only think that because you know what it feels like,” I say.
This is one of the many things about us that we just understand about one another in a way others can’t. He had to go through that shit when he was younger, and even though I’ve had to deal with it more recently, we both understand that what we experienced was more than just a couple of bad days—how low we could get…how much of a struggle depression really could be to live with. Even on those days when things are okay, when we’ve worked on it and are feeling good, there’s always the possibility that it will return.
“I guess we should be glad we’re both in a much better place now,” Frankie says.
“Thank God for fifty milligrams of Zoloft, right?” I tease, trying to make light of our convo. “For me, at least.”
He cracks a smile.
“Anyway,” I continue. “I just meant that when it gets better, at least you know you have like the most amazing best friend in the world…and a really great mom.”