Free Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian): A Happy Crazy Love Novel by Melanie Harlow Page B

not the person I thought I was.” I braced myself, waited for her to say You’re not the person I thought you were either, so I’m getting the fuck out of here.
    “That’s awful,” she said softly. “Have you always felt like that?”
    “It started when I was about eight, but I didn’t really get diagnosed until my mid-teens. And all the stuff I used to do, that I still sometimes do, the counting and all that, the obsessions with certain numbers—somehow my brain thinks that helps. It relieves the anxiety for the time being and makes me feel safe, makes me feel other people are safe.”
    She nodded slowly, taking it all in. “And the…germ thing? The hand washing?”
    So she does remember that. “That’s related too. Those are visible, compulsive aspects of OCD, the ones people tend to focus on, but for me, at least at this point in my life, the worst are the obsessive thoughts. I’m usually able to manage the other stuff.”
    “Can’t you just…” She flipped a hand in the air. “Shove them out of your mind? Like, think about something else? That’s what I do.”
    I shook my head. “I wish I could, but not only is that impossible for me, the more I try to do that, the worse it gets.”
    “God, Sebastian, I had no idea. That must be so hard to live with.”
    “It is.” It felt surprisingly easy to open up to her. The only other person I’d talked to like this in the last few years were therapists. I sure as hell hadn’t ever talked to a woman on a date this way. But it felt good. “You know that voice in your head that knows all your deepest fears and apprehensions, the one that knows exactly how to make you doubt yourself, the one that refuses to leave you alone until you feel so on edge that you can’t even function?”
    “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I hate that voice.”
    I regarded her a moment. “What does yours say?”
    She sighed. “That I’m stupid. That I’m a failure. That I’m never going to be as successful as my sisters and I should just stop trying.”
    Her candor surprised me, as did her doubts about herself. On the outside, Skylar Nixon appeared to have everything going for her. But I knew better than anyone that you can never tell what demons someone is fighting. “And you know that’s not true. But it’s hard to ignore, isn’t it? For me, it’s impossible. I have to learn to accept it as part of me without being its victim, without sacrificing my entire life to it.” Or worse, someone else’s , I thought, hearing the sound of Diana’s anguished sobs behind a locked bedroom door.
    She tilted her head, her expression curious. “How do you do it? Medication?”
    I refocused on the woman in front of me. “That’s part of it, but the meds don’t cure it. I think the bigger help, for me anyway, is the therapy.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I have good days and bad. Today is good.”
    She smiled. “I think so too.”
    • • •
    It might have been a good day, but walking into a restaurant with Skylar still made me edgy. We were seated at a four-top table, and she sat adjacent to me, which put her closer than if she’d sat in the chair across from mine. People were staring at us, and they were probably wondering what a girl like her was doing with an eccentric like me. I wasn’t stupid—I knew rumors had gone around after I’d returned from New York, especially since one of my sisters-in-law has a big mouth, but I was used to not caring what people thought. Skylar, though, kept her head down, her hair hanging in her face. Was she ashamed to be seen with me? If so, then why had she suggested a drink? This was a mistake.
    “Are you OK?” she asked, her eyes concerned. “I’m sorry people are staring at us,” she said. “It’s my fault, and it’s probably making you feel weird.”
    “Your fault? I think it’s my fault.”
    Her eyes went wide. “Your fault? Why would it be your fault? I’m the one who made an ass of myself on national TV. My