Better Hide

by Alina May

“Jo…” I say. My throat feels clogged. “I’m fine.” Clearly, she isn’t. I want to tell her that I’m sorry. But I know words don’t mean anything. Change does. At least, that’s what my therapist tells me. All of us have been going to therapy. It’s been online with masks to protect our identity, but we’ve been going. Jo told us we had to go or she’d leave us. So I planted a tracker in her and made sure she understood she could never leave. But I still went to therapy. It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Most sessions, I sweat through my shirt, even though we don’t talk about anything meaningful. I’ve kept the therapist at arm’s length. She’s nice and all, but she scares me. Jo tries to shake me off. “I’m fine, Jayden. Really.” I hold her tighter. “I’ll make it better, Jo.” “Not your job,” she snaps. “Let me up.” “I’ll make me better,” I growl. I hadn’t meant to say it, but the moment the words are out, I feel relief.

My therapist says anger is a cover-up emotion. That it’s easier to feel angry than it is to feel other things like pain. Maybe she’s onto something. I shuffle Jo in my arms. I hate it when she’s like this. I hate it even more when it’s because of me. Maybe it’s time I opened up to my therapist. I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been. But for Jo, maybe I can stop running. No more hiding. I have to face this. For Jo.

so proudddd <3

I stand frozen. It’s…the cabin. The cabin they first took me to. I blink. No, it’s not the cabin. Things are different. All the windows are open, and warm air floods gently in. The bears and moose on the decor have traditional Mexican clothing stitched onto them. In addition, the kitchen is much more advanced. The most recent amenities are set up, and there’s a wooden sign that says ‘Lemon Drop’s kitchen.’