Page 42 of Desire or Defense

When I walk inside the neat office, I notice Dr. Curtis is already seated in an armchair waiting for me. I hang my coat on a hook by the door and take a seat across from him. He smiles in that serene way he always does, and I hate that it’s actually soothing somehow. Like black magic or something.

“How are you, Mitch?” he asks.

I grunt in answer, then remember Noah’s advice during our training sesh… if you don’t talk about stuff, it’ll stay trapped in your head forever and you’ll go crazy.

Reluctantly, I speak real words following the grunt. “I’m doing… okay.” I can practically hear Noah cheering me on inside my thick skull.

Dr. Curtis’s eyes widen so slightly that I think I may have imagined it. But he corrects his expression quickly, going back to that cool and unaffected expression he always keeps in place. “I’d love to hear how the coaching is going, if you want to talk about it.”

I take a deep breath. “At first, I hated it.”

Dr. Curtis smiles. “And now?”

“There’s this kid,” I start, but then feel weird talking and absently bring my hand up to scratch the back of my neck. “He reminds me of myself. When I was a kid. And, even now, sort of.”

Dr. Curtis nods subtly, like if he makes a sudden movement I’ll clam up and stop talking… and honestly, I might. “How does he remind you of yourself?”

“He gets angry and makes stupid decisions,” I admit.

“Ah, a miniature Mitch ‘The Machine,’ then?” Dr. Curtis teases, relaxing in his chair.

I smile, thinking how annoyed Noah would be if he heard someone say that. “He’s a good kid, though. And a talented skater.”

Dr. Curtis nods, his expression relaxed as he listens. Probably relieved I’m actually speaking, for once.

“He lost his parents,” I continue. “Not even a year ago. So, I know hockey is the only thing he has… besides his sister. Who’s great.” I clear my throat, I hadn’t meant to say anything about Andie.

“And that’s how you feel? Like all you have is hockey?” Dr. Curtis frowns.

I huff out a humorless laugh. “I know it sounds stupid. Poor professional athlete, woe is me—”

Dr. Curtis cuts me off. “Don’t make your struggles seem small. Our careers are important, of course, but humans are meant to have deep, personal relationships. Without that piece of the puzzle, anyone would struggle.”

My throat feels thick as I soak in his words. The more I think about them, the more my nose burns. I will not cry in therapy. I will not cry in therapy.

I think of Noah’s words again… it’s okay if you cry. I won’t make fun of you.

“I’ve pretty much been alone since I was eighteen. My mom left when I was eight, but she was never around much to begin with. Then my dad self-medicated after she left. Which escalated into more, and he managed to land himself in prison shortly after I turned ten.” I swallow the lump in my throat not wanting to go down. “I think I could’ve been alright, if my granddad hadn’t passed right after I graduated highschool.” My eyes blur with tears, but I choke them back. “He was all I had left… and then he was just gone. And I had nothing.”

Dr. Curtis is silent for a moment, like he’s allowing me time to process my own words. “I’m sorry you had to face so much loss, Mitch.”

I do the fancy breathing thing, in for seven, out for eleven, to calm my racing heart.

“Is it your Grandfather’s passing that makes you feel the most anger?” He asks softly.

“I think it’s just what tipped the iceberg, so to speak. Like I could hold it together… until the last thing I had was ripped away just like everything else.”

He nods. “Often, when we face hardships, we feel angry. But anger is a surface-level emotion. Usually, it’s just covering up another, much deeper, emotion. We have to ask ourselves, what's happening deep down that’s causing us to feel angry?”

I rub one hand down my beard, pondering his words. I never thought it could be so challenging to identify emotions, to know what I'm feeling. But it’s hard to label.

Dr. Curtis makes a few notes on the tablet he’s holding then looks back up at me. His brown eyes study mine, there’s no judgment in his expression… but maybe, empathy? When I don’t say anything, he continues. “Do you think your experiences have made you avoid building relationships?”

I breath out a quiet laugh. “Um, yeah.”

He smiles slightly, since we both know the answer to the question he’s about to ask. “Why’s that?”

“I lose everyone I love.”