Chapter Two

I sit in front of my computer.  I have my first appointment with Dr. Weirdo tonight.  What do I tell him?  Where do I start?

I’ll Google a few things.  That’s a start.

Codependency (or codependence, co-narcissism or inverted narcissism) is unhealthy love and a tendency to behave in overly passive or excessively caretaking ways that harm one's relationships and quality of life. It also often involves placing a lower priority on one's own needs, while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others.^[1] Codependency can occur in any type of relationship, including family, work, friendship, and also romantic, peer or community relationships.^[1] Codependency may also be characterized by denial, low self-esteem, excessive compliance, or control patterns.^[1] Narcissists are considered to be natural magnets for the codependent.

Shit.  I was done at unhealthy love.  Shit.  I think of him.  Shhhhh.  I say to myself.  Calm, Tarah, calm. 

How will I tell him where it started?  Where did it start?  I drift off into a daydream staring out into the sunlight.

I rush for the elevator.  My hair, wet and sticking to my head.  I jump in, he’s there.  Just he and I.  Fuck.  “Morning Ms. Cammett,” he says quietly, calmly with an inquisitive stare, looking me up and down.  “Morning,” I say to the Iceman housing the corner office. 

He’s tall.  He’s wide.  He’s 6’4” of confusion.  Mystery.  He isn’t modern. He is dated but still powerful in his tone.  He wears Ralph Lauren shirts firmly pressed and has Fred Flintstone hair but there is something about him that makes me tingle with familiarity.  I don’t know him but I feel an aching energy that connects me to him.  As if perhaps, I’ve known him for a thousand lifetimes before. He makes me itchy. 

I stare in silence as the elevator brings us up, trying to think of something witty to say.  We’re close to our floor and there it is, “Tarah, that problem that you talked about, well, I’d like to help you with it….” he says, OHMYFUCKINGGOD.  I swallow a stone.  Milliseconds become hours.  He heard.

The evening before we had all gone out for drinks after work.  People were in town.  It was a reason to drink.  He came.  The Iceman.  I had too many drinks and I was rambling on to a coworker about my dilapidated marriage, over before it began.  But more importantly, I was rambling on and on about the fact that I hadn’t had sex in over six months and I was horny as hell.  He was there.  Observing.  Listening.  He always does that. 

Holy shit.  That’s what he’s referring to.  He?  Me?  I mean, he’s like older and powerful and I’m just me?  Did he really just say that?  He did.  I guess he can, cause he’s him and all powerful and shit and I’m so confused.  I’m staring straight ahead.  I can’t make eye contact.  Palms sweating.  Parts tingling.  The elevator doors open, without a thought, without one look, I take one step out, still staring straight ahead and unconsciously say, “Just name the time and place.”  And walk away.  I feel his smirk burning through my back. 

“What’s up gorgeous?” flits through the air and I’m instantly snapped back from my memory.  A sideways grin happens across my face.  “You say that to all the girls,” I snap back looking up at his sandy blonde hair, dancing blue eyes and mischievous grin.  “Nooooooo….” He retorts, leaning over my desk with an okay-so-I-totally-do look on his face.  I love this boy.  My Quinn.  Over the couple of years we’ve worked together he’s become such a close friend.  Always saving me from myself, reminding me that I’m still young and that there’s still hope.  He’s the only one here that knows.  He’s my lifeline. 

“Come to the city tonight.  Get trashed with me and the water polo boys.”  I roll my eyes at him.  He’s always trying to get me away from ‘him’.  “I can’t – I have a ‘thing’,” thinking about Dr. Weirdo and making quotations in the air.  “You always have a ‘thing’,” he snaps back mimicking me.  I mouth the words, Therapy while using my thumb and index finger to form a gun shooting at my temple.  Good he mouths back.  He knows how much I need it.  “How about this weekend then?  Come and crash for the weekend.  We’ll see some music, I’ll find you a hottie, be your wingman.  C’mon!”  He’s pretty hard to resist.  He always makes life seem so easy.  He’s always trying to show me a different way.  “I think I’m running away this weekend.  I need my ocean."  He nods approvingly.  He prefers me to be far away from ‘him’.  He sighs with resignation.  “Fine.   Lunch then?  Diner at noon?”  “Yes.” 

I love our time at the diner.  It’s my only escape from that place from the torture.

We order the same thing every time.  I scoff down a cup of chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese; he gets breakfast and chocolate milk.  He’s such a boy.  It’s the most I eat these days so I let myself indulge.  I look at him.  “You look like shit,” I grumble.  He grins.  “It’s the stripper.  She stopped by after work, which was 4AM.  I haven’t had much sleep.”  Ugh.  I hate the Stripper.  He’s so smart.  So witty.  So deserving of someone with a brain cell and not bubbles popping out of their mouth when they speak.  But he’s recently divorced and this is his coming out party so I give him a minimal eye roll, stare and pray internally this pattern won’t last forever as interesting as it makes for lunch fodder.  “Have you seen him?” I whisper looking down at my plate.  “No.”  I shrink.  Where the fuck is he?  “Has he reached out to you?” he asks.  “No.” I shrink again.  Quinn gives me that, he's-an-asshole-but-you-already-know-that look.  I look away.

This is the longest he’s gone.  I haven’t seen him, I haven’t heard from him, he’s avoided the office.  My stomach wrenches and I fight every urge to run to the bathroom and vomit.  I can’t unravel myself.  It’s all around me.  

I glance at the waiter and do the universal check please look.  Lunch is over.