The Wendigo

7

"I'm irritated," said Clay. He had been stewing all night and all morning.

Chelsea tilted her head. Compassionate, but curious.

"I can sense that. What's going on?"

He decided to be honest, but the honest answer made him laugh. It was so ridiculous and petulant. But he wasn't paying for therapy to lie, even on a sliding scale.

"My mom and Tessa like Kenny."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"They don't... They had to meet him first. Up until this past week, they just... they tried to talk me out of this whole move and now... They think it's great. They think it's the best thing for me. But they don't trust me. They think I'm incapable of making decisions for myself. Even this, they just think I lucked into it. I know I should be happy that they like him..."

"How are things going with Kenny?"

"Amazing. Great. Too great."

He should have known better. Casual hyperbole and sarcastic self-effacing like that always ate up an extensive amount of his therapy session. The defense mechanism was Chelsea's specialty.

"Why do you say 'too great'?"

"It's the same old shit I've been talking about for two years here. You know, a few dates and then I move on before it gets serious."

"You've told me before, though, that since you met Kenny, you saw these other guys as placeholders."

"Yeah, but now it's real. There's somebody in my house. In my space. In my bed! In my... heart."

He stuck his tongue out with playful disgust at himself. Chelsea chuckled.

"And I wanted this so bad and now that he's here I'm terrified. What if everybody was right? What if I did this too fast? I'm happy when I'm with him... But then if I have time to think about it too hard..."

"And I know we talk about the commitment stuff. I have my issues, I get it, but that's not what this is," then, doubting the finality in his own tone, "I don't think. I don't know."

"I don't know," he said again, "Maybe my barometer for what's okay and what's not is just busted."

"After I came back from the hospital, it seemed like I was the same but everyone else was different. Like... This is a paranoid thought, I recognize that, but it was like, everyone had banded together while I was gone. And they were all... watching me. Making sure I didn't fuck up again. Making sure I didn't start another thing I couldn't finish."

"It makes me like a fucking kid. Like I'm incompetent. I'm just confused. Everyone's always trying to convince me that my fears are invalid. That I'm sick. And I know I'm sick. I know. But what if... I start to misread my instincts as paranoia? What if I ignore the real danger signs? Who's gonna save me?"

Chelsea's face was an affected pout of clinical compassion. She waited for him to continue. He didn't know what else to say.