Free Not After Everything by Michelle Levy

she’s not normally like this. Then she leaves. The movie’s not even over.
    And now I feel even lonelier than I did before.

NINE
    â€œI broke up with Sheila,” I say to Dr. Dave as soon as he takes his seat.
    â€œThis is a good thing?”
    â€œI feel pretty freaking good. I met this chick last week at my new job and she, uh,
consoled
me last night.”
    Dr. Dave flips open his notebook and writes as he talks. “You got a new job?”
    â€œYeah. With this cool mountain-man photographer.”
    â€œThis is good, Tyler.”
    â€œThe only problem is this chick from school works there. We sort of used to be friends. And then she moved away after sixth grade and gothed out and now she hates me because I didn’t recognize her.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œJordyn.” I crane my neck to see what he’s writing in his little notepad. “
Y
-
N,
” I correct him.
    He adjusts the notepad so I can’t see it and then grins at me. “Consoled, huh?”
    I shrug like it’s no big deal.
    â€œShow-off.”
    â€œYou’re just jealous,” I say.
    â€œYou’re not wrong. I would have killed for that when I was your age.” He laughs. “So you think it’s okay to shit where you eat?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHow long before you get fired for having sex with this Jordyn?”
    â€œOh, god. No. It wasn’t with Jordyn.” I cringe. “The girl was a client.”
    He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. I assumed.”
    â€œJesus.”
    â€œThis reaction is a bit extreme, no?” He’s laughing at me.
    â€œPlease change the subject,” I beg.
    â€œFine.” He flips the page in his notebook. “Let’s talk about your dad.”
    â€œNice try.” I laugh now. I’ve told him that my dad’s an asshole and that’s all there is to say, but he’s always trying to get me to “explore my anger toward my father.”
    â€œLet’s talk about football then.”
    â€œYou’re a real piece of work, Doc.”
    We settle on the subject of Sheila. He’s proud of me for finally letting her off the hook. He thinks I was being a prick to her. And I guess I kind of was.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Jordyn shows up to the studio a minute after me wearing a particularly terrifying scowl, and, of course, that goddamn leather jacket. When she passes me to unlock the door, I see the origin of her extremely bad mood. The word
slut
is written across her back in giant white letters. That totally sucks. She probably even paid for that jacket herself, unlike most of the privileged assholes we go to school with.
    She lets the door slam on me. I don’t take it personally. I’d be that pissed if someone did that to something I obviously love.
    She checks the voicemail, scribbling the messages so hard, the pen goes through the paper a few times, and then she growls because she has to listen to the message again. When she’s finally done, she slams the headset down—it’s probably broken. I mentally map out the nearest office supply store because I will surely be tasked with finding a replacement.
    I kind of hover nearby but keep my distance. I’m afraid to step into the circular counter area for fear she’ll, like, hit me or something.
    Plus I feel completely useless when she’s here. She doesn’t let me do anything. She’s made it abundantly clear that she knows I’ll just mess things up and she’ll have more work to do.
    I head to the kitchen and clean a coffee mug. It’s literally the only task I can find.
    When I return to the front, I decide to brave the counter area. I need to check the schedule so I can anticipate what furniture Henry will want moved.
    I go to the computer I’m allowed to use—the one Jordyn doesn’t—and see that we don’t have anyone scheduled until two p.m. Why did