If Fire Was A Lover

December 13th, 2022

"You still love him, don't you?" My therapist said.

I looked up from the floor to meet her gaze. "What?" She was wrong. "No, I hate him. That's what I'm trying to tell you," I said.

"You still love him." She repeated herself calmly. I took a deep breath. I guess it made sense. That would explain the sleepless nights, the constant feeling of emptiness, the way I have to drive past his house twice a week just to see if maybe he's outside, waiting for me. He never is.

"It's been almost three years. And it only lasted a few months. I don't love him. At least not all the time. Sometimes I hate him, sometimes I miss him, sometimes I just want to kill him. He's so unaffected by it all, it makes me feel like it never happened. Maybe I just made the whole thing up." I told her.

"How often do you see him?" She asked me.

"A few times a week. Usually at school. I had a class with him last semester. I skipped everyday though, and failed." I said. She nodded and started typing on her computer. "Sometimes he's at Wendy's when I go there. When my cousin died," I started, and suddenly I was back there.

It was August. I was sitting on the couch in Wendy's basement, I couldn't bear to look at anyone upstairs. We had just heard the news that morning. Issac's older brother had shot himself. Wendy was beside herself, the whole family was. None of us had any idea that he needed help. He was always very shy and quiet, none of us thought it strange that he'd been isolating himself. When I walked into Wendy's house, the entire family was there. Nobody spoke a word. We all sat in silence, trying to hold in sobs, afraid of what we might say if we opened our mouths. I escaped to the downstairs living room because I could no longer compose myself. I was breathing heavily and shaking, Logan came down the stairs and sat next to me.

"I'm so sorry Liz," he whispered. He was crying too. He pulled me in for a hug and I laid my head on his lap, unable to speak. He played with my hair until I fell asleep. When I woke up he was gone and it was dark outside.

"Elizabeth?" My therapist said, bringing me back to the present.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Don't apologize, it's alright. Where were you?" She asked.

"Laying on Logan, right after we'd gotten the news. He cried and held me until I was able to sleep, and then he left." I told her. She nodded her head again.

"Do you think about that memory a lot?" She asked me.

"Yes. It was the last time we spoke to each other." I said.

"How does that memory make you feel? Good or bad?" She asked me.

"Helpless. He knew I craved him, he knew that I was hurt and vulnerable, and that I wanted to hand myself over to him. When he touched me I felt sick, I also missed him. And he didn't do anything. He just let me sleep." I admitted.

"You miss him." She said, I nodded. "And is that okay?" She asked.

"I think so. I'm still learning, I'm still healing. Missing him is just part of the journey." I said.

She smiled. "Yes it is, girl. And you're doing great. And you're not crazy. You always tell me that you feel crazy. Why do you feel that way? Who told you that you were crazy?" She asked.

"I just know that the things I do aren't normal. I drive past his house all the time. When I stay at Wendy's, I sit in the downstairs bathroom and try to remember the moments I spent there after coming home from him. At night I'll walk past his house and watch his window. I can see his lights on and I see shadows. His wall is what gets me to stare, it's still purple. I had to gather up all of my clothes that he touched and light them on fire. I scream in my sleep. Normal people don't do that." I said.

"Normal people don't exist," my therapist said, smiling. "We're all just people. You are just a person trying to heal from an abusive relationship. It takes time. It's going to look different for you than it will for other people. What you experienced was not love, and it's going to take some time for you to understand that. And is that okay?" She asked.

"Yes, it's okay." I smiled.

"Great session, kiddo. Have a good day okay," she said.

"Thank you," I told her and left. My mom was waiting for me in the parking lot.

"How was it?" She asked me.

"Really great, I think I finally found a therapist who works for me." I told her.

"That's great, sweetheart. Do you want coffee?"

"If you insist," I smiled. She laughed and we went to get drinks. It was always such a weird feeling coming out of therapy. Everything just went on outside while I sat in a chair and talked about why I wasn't myself and never would be, and then I came out and joined the real world, and it's like I had never even been to therapy at all. I just felt so disconnected from it all, from life. Mom and I were getting along really well, we were best friends again. I was relieved to have passed the phase where she was too worried about me to really spend time with me. Dad hadn't gotten better though, if anything he'd become a bit worse. Some days he just didn't talk to me. I didn't mind when he ignored me, it was better than arguing.

Logan hadn't spoken to me in almost a year. He said he was sorry at the funeral, and I just nodded and looked down so that he wouldn't see me cry. I was sick of him seeing me cry. It feels so long ago, everything with him. I was just a baby, a freshman. Now I'm about to be a senior. I wish that time healed the wounds that he left, but I've had to heal them myself. Therapy had helped a little, and I was on several medications. One for depression, one for anxiety, one for PTSD, and one for bi-polar disorder. My dad liked to bring up these illnesses of mine every time we argued. I would call him out for something and he'd tell me I was just having a manic episode.

I was trying to prepare myself for January, it was always a difficult month to survive. New Years specifically, because all I could think of was how angry I was with myself for texting Logan back on New Year's Eve. Every year when the first snow fell I took a day off of school. I laid in my bed listening to soft music and grieved the girl I once was. I had a routine now; I'd wake up, drink a whole pot of coffee, get dressed, paint my face to look more alive, and I'd go to school. I'd pretend not to notice Logan when he bumped into me in the hall. I'd sit with my friends at lunch and try my best to seem normal. Lauren had become my whole world. She spent almost every weekend at my house, and I talked to her about Logan sometimes. She always listened carefully with genuine concern and interest. She made me feel like I had a shot at being okay again. I called her when mom and I got home and asked her to come over.