Page 87 of Wrong For Me

His expression, the hurt in his eyes, breaks my heart. It’s so obvious this is painful for him to talk about. It’s also obvious he has a great amount of guilt associated with his pain. Like he’s afraid to betray the mother he loves by admitting it.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he says softly. “She just didn’t have the right help.”

“Is that why you went into psychology? So you could make sure other people get the right help?”

“Partially. It’s why I want to do research. I want to help people understand it better, you know? I think the hardest part, and one of the biggest reasons she didn’t get treatment for so long, is all the runaround she got from her doctors. Arguing about the diagnosis and the treatment options. Putting her on meds that made her feel like shit, then changing to something else with a whole new set of side effects. No one really knowing what was going on with her. It caused a lot of distrust for her.”

“I can understand that.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I went into psychology for me, too. I want to…” he sighs. “There’s this voice in my head. A voice that sounds a hell of a lot like hers. Warning me about people. Always reminding me to be on my guard, not to trust anyone or anything.” He gives me a wry smile. “And you don’t need to try and diagnosethat. I’m not talking about voices in the sense of a hallucination, or a delusion. It’s more like…an echo. An echo of all the shit I heard growing up.”

“I think we all have that, to some degree.” I certainly do. Aren’t I every bit as shaped by my mother’s experiences as Leo is, albeit in different ways?

He gives his head a little shake, like he’s clearing it, and turns to me with a smile. A smile I can’t help thinking looks forced. “So that’s my sob story. Why did you choose psychology?”

I think of all the answers that I could give him. That I feel a deep drive to help people, that I enjoy thinking about the human brain and the way our emotions affect us. Those answers wouldn’t be false, but they also wouldn’t be entirely accurate. And somehow, anything but the absolute truth feels wrong right now. He was honest with me when it was obviously hard for him. I think I owe him the same.

“Coincidentally, it has a lot to do with my mom, too.”

His eyebrows go up. “Yeah?”

“She had a tough time when she was a teenager.” I shoot him a quick glance, wondering if this is a mistake. This is pretty damn personal, what I’m about to tell him. But there’s nothing except understanding in Leo’s eyes, and I find that more soothing than I probably should.

“Tough in what way?”

I take a deep breath. It’s not like it’s a secret. A quick google search on my parents would tell him everything. “My mom and my dad met when they were five. They were inseparable their entire lives. Until he went away on his first real tour, and she stayed behind. She… a guy she dated took pictures of her when they were…intimate. Shared them around school. Posted them online.” I swallow hard, the mere thought of this painful. “She was bullied relentlessly. Online and in person. It got really bad for her and she… she attempted suicide.”

It’s silent between us for a moment, the noise of the crowded bar suddenly louder. Or maybe that’s just the rushing in my ears. I find I can’t look at Leo—so I’m surprised when his hand suddenly covers mine.

“I’m so sorry that happened to her.”

My throat suddenly feels tight, so I nod in response. When he squeezes my hand, the lump in my throat grows.

“She’s so strong,” I finally manage. “The strongest person I know. I wish I was more like her.”

He sounds surprised. “You don’t think you’re strong?”

I shrug. “I try to be. But I didn’t always do a good job.” I swallow hard, knowing I’m dancing dangerously close to a line I don’t want to cross.

“Is that why you don’t tell your parents about the way people harass you? You’re trying to be strong?”

Well, damn. There’s no way to answer honestly without jumping straight over that line.

“There was this guy I dated, in my undergrad. I thought…” I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what I thought. What matters is how stupid I was. “He ended up talking to a tabloid.”

Leo goes still. “He talked to a tabloid about you?”

My laugh is bitter. “About me. About our sex life. About things I’d told him in confidence.” I make an effort to unclench my hands, knowing my nails have left marks in my palm. “I hear he made some pretty good money from it, so that’s nice for him.”

“Jesus,” Leo mutters. “What anasshole. Please tell me your dad kicked his ass.”

I’m pretty sure my dad used his money and connections to ruin Brian’s life in much more lasting ways than a beat down, but I’ve never asked. I don’t really want to know.

“You know what the worst part about all of that was?” I ask. “It wasn’t the photographers following me around or the fact that a bunch of other guys came out of the woodwork to sell their stories—most of which were completely made up by the way. It wasn’t even that strangers—guys especially—try to talk to me about really personal shit.” I take a deep breath, hating the way it shudders at the end. “The worst part was the look on my mom’s face when she found out. It was all so similar to what had happened to her.”

The lump is back in my throat, thicker this time, making it nearly impossible to talk. “To watch her realize that, to realize that she couldn’t protect her kid from the same things she went through…to see that guilt in her eyes. It completely broke her heart.”

I shake my head. There are no words for how that felt. To hurt my mom the way I had. “I won’t do that to her again.”