Free The Believing Game by Eireann Corrigan Page B

Joshua and saw him watching me steadily.
    â€œNo. Not always?” It came out as a question.
    â€œMore often than not?” He asked it like the nurse at the doctor’s office would, filling out a questionnaire.
    And at first I went to answer yes. But that wasn’t true. It felt like a scab coming loose, to look at someone and confide, “No. I don’t think I’ve felt loved since I was little, really little.”
    Joshua nodded. His smiled faded, but it didn’t completely disappear. “Well, Elizabeth, then I’d say that you must have often gone to bed cold and hungry. Right?”
    â€œYou mean psychologically?”
    â€œI mean, your heart also needs to be warm and well fed.” I nodded. That made sense. “Do you normally sleep with the light on?”
    â€œYes.” I would have lied even if I didn’t. That light was going to stay on.
    â€œWhy?” After I shrugged, Joshua asked, “What are you afraid of?”
    â€œTonight?”
    Joshua chuckled. “How about any night?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œAre you going to be able to lay down with me and rest?”
    â€œYou’re not going to buy me dinner first or anything?” As soon as I cracked the joke, though, I wished I could take it back. Joshua noticed. He waited. “I’m sorry,” I told him. He kept waiting. “Sometimes I make fun of things because — well, because I’m not sure —”
    â€œMost jokes come from a place of fear.” I sat down on the bed next to him. It didn’t feel skeevy or anything like that. “Well then, Elizabeth. I’ve been here ten minutes. Look at how much we’ve already accomplished.”
    â€œMy therapeutic team should watch out. You’ll put them out of business.” We sat for a minute. “That came from a place of humor.”
    â€œAddison has told me how much you make him laugh. That was one of the first pieces of you he shared with me.” I knew Joshua was an expert on addiction. The health and well-being seminars I’d taken at McCracken were intramural sports compared to his junkie Olympics. Joshua could probably see the pleasure centers of my brain light up every time he passed along another detail about how Addison loved me.
    â€œBut he’s talked like that about other girls, right? Like Heather?” Heather was the girlfriend who’d left for college and stopped calling after Thanksgiving. She’d broken things off with a status update. Addison had said he was too drunk to care. “I think that was her name, right?” I pretended that I hadn’t googled her obsessively when I was supposed to be using library time to research the possible sentencing for theft and larceny convictions.
    â€œAh, Elizabeth.” Joshua said my name in such a kindly way I knew I was about to feel embarrassed. “You’re too good for that.” A shiver of shame stiffened my shoulders. I braced against it and then threw myself down on the bed. Lay on my side and tried to avoid scooting all the way against the wall. I kept my eyes from sliding to see how Joshua settled down on the twin cot. Back home, I had a full bed all to myself. That might have been more conducive to trust exercises. When Joshua murmured, “Let me assure you that I don’t forget those questions you avoid,” his breath brushed against my ear.
    It felt like a test. “You asked me what I was afraid of.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Aces.
    â€œNothing.” The room filled with heavy silence. It felt like I’d deliberately failed a test. Turned a quiz in blank or something. “I’m afraid of disappointing Addison.” The quiet stretched on. “I guess I’m afraid of losing him.” Still nothing. “Or something happening to him. An accident or even a relapse, you know?” Joshua still didn’t answer, so I turned toward him. “Is that crazy?”