Light in the Shadows

typical,” I said under my breath.  Though not softly enough as became apparent by Clay’s frown. 
                    “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked in confusion.  I threw my hands up in the air.
                    “This is so stereotypically Clay Reed!  So predictable.  You track me down after practice; because you had to see me.  We have this little moment, you stare into my eyes, make some lame point to touch me.  And just when we’re getting somewhere, you turn around and leave. Because it’s all so difficult for you. Whatever, Clay!   I rode that rollercoaster once.  And I want a fucking refund!  If you’re going to be living here, fine!  But don’t yank me around.  I don’t have the time or patience to go another round of will-he-won’t-he with you.” My voice petered out and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to kiss his stupid, perfect lips or throw my water bottle at his head. 
                    Clay’s face went pale.  “I never meant…no you’re right, Maggie.  You didn’t deserve it then, and you sure as hell don’t deserve it now.  But I’m trying, I swear.  I’m working really hard to pull it together.  I wish you could trust that.”  Trust.  There was no way I was giftwrapping that and handing it over to him anytime soon.  It would take more than puppy dog eyes and a velvet tongue, that’s for sure.
                    “I guess only time will tell, Clay,” I said, getting into my car.  I didn’t wait for his response.  I started the engine and left before I ended up making a fool of myself by chucking in all of my self-respect for a momentary taste of Clayton Reed heaven.
                    When I got home, compelled by motives I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to identify, I dug the butterfly necklace out from the bottom of my jewelry box.  I hadn’t worn it since I had taken it off in the wake of Clay’s kiss off letter. 
                    But here I was, carefully clasping the delicate chain around my neck, letting the thin silver butterfly lie hidden beneath my shirt. 
                    It rested cold against my skin but I felt the truth of why I was wearing it again burn through me.  Clay was in my heart and in my head.  It was exhausting continually pushing him out.
                    But was I ready to let him in? 

C HAPTER F IFTEEN   
      - C LAY-
     
     
     
    I had started seeing my new therapist a few weeks ago.  Shaemus Laughtry was about as different from Dr. Todd as you could get.  Whereas my Grayson therapist was calm and collected, Shaemus was energetic and fervent.  He was a likable guy, I’d give him that, but I was still on the fence as to whether he would be a good fit for me.
                    Our sessions had included teleconferencing with Dr. Todd, in order to “ease my transition.”  Shaemus had me sign a new no-harm contract and we went over what I wanted to get out therapy.  It was hard for me to open up to someone new, but I was determined to give it the good ol’ college try. 
                    As it currently stood, I met with Shaemus two times a week.  Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I would go to his office in Staunton right after school and stayed until six.  So in all I was meeting with my new shrink four hours a week.  This was significantly less than what I was getting at Grayson, but it was still a lot of time to be spending in counseling every week.  I was bitter.  Of course I was bitter.  What eighteen year old guy wanted to be stuck talking to a balding, middle aged dude that smelled like stale coffee and cigarettes instead of doing, oh I don’t know, anything else?
                  I felt like a freak, needing to spend that much time talking about my feelings.  How does that make you feel?  Lets process that.  Draw a picture of your happiest memory.  Fucking hell, what a pain in the ass!  I could have blown it off; conveniently forgotten to show up.  But then where would that leave me?  And the truth was I was too scared to find out. 
                    Things at home with Ruby weren’t getting any better.  It was like Night of the Living Dead around there.  And not in the cool George Romero kind of way.  More like the crappy remake. 
                    She barely spoke to me and I felt like I was taking care