His Tiny Sun

Chapter 18 - Big Hairy Spiders

CHAPTER 18

Big Hairy Spiders

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” Jonah hissed at his bedroom ceiling as he let himself collapse on top of his bed. He rubbed his hands across his face, then squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hair. He groaned as he tugged harder, welcoming the burning sensation growing across his scalp. It allowed him to ignore the emotions he would rather not feel and the thoughts he would rather not hear, but only momentarily. The relief ended much too soon.

I can’t do this.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

I’ll hurt him.

I’ll break him.

I’ll mislead him.

Eric was right—

—No!

Jonah couldn’t let Eric win—if he did, then who would protect Alan from his toxic, manipulative roommate? There was no way Jonah would allow Eric to have free rein to control Alan.

Jonah snatched his phone and opened his email app, then pulled up the draft he’d written a while ago, but had failed to send.

From: Jonah Delamare To: F. Miller Subject: Psychotherapy

Hello Dr. Miller, My name is Jonah Delamare. You may not remember me, but we had a few sessions together, five years ago, after one of my close friends died. I’m reaching out to you today because I’m wondering if it would be possible for me to book an appointment with you in the next few weeks .

I’m still struggling to let people in my life. Recently, my anxiety and nightmares have come back in full force, and the barest thing makes me lose my temper. I find myself slipping again. I think I need help.

I can make myself available any time of the day, any day of the week. If you don’t have any spots open, I would appreciate it if you could recommend someone else.

Thank you, Jonah Delamare

Jonah pressed send before he changed his mind again, then opened the Lovable Dorks group chat. Telling his friends about it would ensure he didn’t chicken out once he heard back from Dr. Miller.

? Jonah: I reached out to a therapist

? Isabel: I’m proud of you!

? Sean: will u tell him about ur obsession with ur friends poop

Jonah had apparently reached that level of exhaustion where everything became a lot funnier than it should because he burst out laughing. Or perhaps it was an effect of his sheer relief at getting confirmation that Sean wasn’t holding a grudge against him.

? Isabel: Sean!!

Jonah reminisced about all the times he and his friends stayed up late when they were fourteen. They always ended up rolling on the floor laughing at their never-ending stream of stupid jokes. Their cheeks and abs would be sore for days afterward, but it felt good—freeing, in a way. Sean definitely wasn’t the best at offering emotional support, but they could always count on him to make them laugh at the most unexpected—and inopportune—moments.

Perhaps they could have a sleepover sometime soon; build a gigantic blanket fort, like they did the night after Sean and Isabel got the keys to their very first apartment; forget they’re adults for a few hours.

Jonah wouldn’t be bringing crudités this time. He would eat all of the greasy, salty, sugary crap, and be bloated for days. It would be well worth it.

? Jonah: That’s just how I flirt

? Jonah: Tell me about your bowel movements, daddy ?

? Isabel: Don’t encourage him!

? Sean: is that a long hard turd or are u happy to see me ?

? Isabel: Ewwww! I’m eating!!

Jonah grinned from ear to ear.

? Jonah: I’ll put some fiber in you, baby ?

? Sean: my love for u is like diarrhea, i cant hold it in ?

? Jonah: I just did a number 2, but you’re my number1 ?

? Sean: did u just come out of my butt because ur hot as shit ?

? Isabel: That’s it. I’m muting this chat until you two grow up.

Jonah smiled like an idiot at his screen, then frowned as a concerning notification came in. He tapped it to read the message he’d just received from Alan.

? Alan: I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I should have been able to handle the situation on my own. You told me you needed to take things slow and I didn’t respect your boundaries. I’ve asked too much of you too soon. I’m sorry. I’m very grateful for everything you did for me, but I’ll understand if you need space.

Jonah sighed. Of course, Alan thought he was responsible for Jonah’s sudden mood change. Was there anything he didn’t believe was his fault?

Jonah started typing, erasing, then typing again. He added new words, reordered his sentences, reread once, twice, then erased everything with a frustrated groan. He gave up; he was simply unable to formulate a response that didn’t make him sound like a heartless asshole. So instead, he pressed the call icon.

“Hello? ”

“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it,” Jonah began. “Could you have handled the situation on your own? Sure. But that doesn’t mean you had to. I don’t need space. It’s true, things between us evolved much faster than I’d anticipated, but it has nothing to do with you.” He huffed a laugh. “Let’s face it, I’m the one who’s at fault. I asked you if you wanted to meet my mom, like, come on—not that I regret it—she loved you, by the way.” Jonah sighed. “I want to be with you, alright? I’m just dealing with a lot. Please don’t take it personally. Trust me, if you did or said something that upset me, you’d know . Have you seen my temper?”

Alan chuckled. “Message received.”

“Good. Remember it.”

“I will…thank you.”

———

“Mr. Delamare?”

Jonah jerked his head up and froze for a second as he recognized the lonely-looking tea drinker from the café. What were the odds? “Yes,” he confirmed, standing up from the waiting room chair.

“I’m Dr. Gruger 5 . This way.”

No smile. No handshake. The man could probably win a ‘shittiest first impression’ competition. It was hard to believe this was the psychologist Dr. Miller had so enthusiastically recommended. Could there be two Dr. Grugers working here, and Jonah accidentally contacted the wrong one?

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t overbooked , Jonah figured. At any rate, Jonah could just get this session over with, never contact the psychologist again, and wait until Dr. Miller came back from maternity leave to book an appointment with her instead.

As Jonah followed Dr. Gruger down the corridor, he studied the man’s body language. He was strikingly short—even more so than Alan—and eerily silent, like he was hovering above the ground rather than walking on it. Jonah wondered if he’d gotten bullied as a kid because of his height, inadvertently teaching him how not to attract attention to himself.

“You may sit in the blue chair.”

The first thing Jonah noticed when he walked through the door was the scent of cleaner, mixed with a hint of green tea. Next, he took in his surroundings. The room was minimally furnished and decorated—apart from the impressive number of diplomas hanging on the walls.

Every single object in sight was perfectly aligned with the one right next to it, making Jonah feel as though he’d just set foot into a room that only existed for show, like on the set of a movie. Jonah had to resist the urge to look at the ceiling searching for a hidden camera.

The blue chair happened to be very comfortable—to Jonah’s lower back’s satisfaction. Next to him, on a narrow end table, a bottle of water and a box of tissues were patiently waiting to make themselves useful. There was a similar piece of furniture on the other side as well, on which were coloring pencils, a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper, and a basket of what looked like fidget toys.

Dr. Gruger closed the door, then sat across from Jonah. The two chairs were positioned at a slight angle, making it so they weren’t exactly facing each other, but still gave them a clear view of each other’s faces. It didn’t make the man any less intimidating with his piercing eyes, bushy eyebrows, and jet-black hair that made him look like a samurai. “Everything within your reach has been sanitized and is at your disposal,” he said.

Jonah cast a skeptical glance at the coloring pencils and fidget toys, before saying, “Thank you.”

Perhaps the man dealt with kids a lot. Although, he didn’t seem like the type of therapist who wouldn’t give them nightmares, with his emotionless stare and absolute absence of a smile. Not that Jonah didn’t have a resting bitch face himself, but his only experience with psychotherapy had been with a warm, bubbly woman, so he’d been expecting…well, not this.

“What made you decide to seek help?” the psychologist asked, crossing one leg over the other.

“Aren’t you uh…going to take notes?” Jonah asked, for some reason. Why was he so nervous? The man was a psychologist, not a killer—and a bite-sized one at that. Jonah could probably win a fight against him with one hand tied behind his back .

“I don’t need to.”

Okay…

There went Jonah’s chance at delaying the inevitable by a few seconds. This was the part he hated the most back then: deciding what to talk about. “I don’t…really know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you start with today?”

“Today?”

“Yes. What made you decide to show up?”

Jonah let out a nervous chuckle. “I had an appointment.”

Dr. Gruger held his gaze in silence for a moment, joining his hands over his thigh with a slow, seemingly deliberate motion. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t show up for their first appointment.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But this is about you, not about them. Why did you decide to show up today?”

“I uh…” Jonah scratched the back of his neck. “…met someone…”

“Mm-hmm.”

“…and…” Jonah studied the multitude of diplomas hanging on the walls while he racked his brain to find something not too nonsensical to say.

Ian Gruger

The email address Dr. Miller shared with him indeed started with an ‘I’, so Jonah had contacted the right person. Jonah hoped she had a good reason to recommend him—other than he was the only therapist available at the moment.

‘Dr. Gruger specializes in trauma and grief counseling, anxiety management, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder.’

“Tell me about him.”

Jonah opened his mouth, then blinked a few times as he tried to recall if he’d mentioned Alan was a man. He hadn’t, which meant Ian had noticed them at the café and remembered. That, or Jonah looked gayer than he thought. “He’s…like…like a tiny sun.”

What the hell? How did Jonah have tears pricking his eyes already?

Ian nodded. “A tiny sun…?”

“Yeah. He’s…full of life and warmth…playful, and caring. And he brightens my day.”

Ugh, that sounded stupid.

“That’s very evocative. What about you?”

“Hm?”

“What are you, in relation to the tiny sun?”

Jonah’s gaze fell to his knees. The answer was obvious—it came to him right away—but he didn’t want to say it. He couldn’t just stay silent, though; he was paying this man one hundred and forty dollars. He had to make every minute count. “I’m dark clouds. Always on the verge of breaking into a storm and hurting him.”

“Have you hurt him?”

“Yeah…b-but not physically, though!” Unlike Eric. “I hurt his feelings…and pushed him away.”

“Do you often find yourself pushing people away?”

Jonah nodded. Silence fell in the room as Ian waited for him to elaborate, but no other words came out. Jonah’s head felt empty and heavy; it would be a long hour.

“What emotions do you feel when it happens?”

Fury. Disgust. Guilt. Dread. Despair. Loneliness.

“Anger.”

“What does it taste like?”

The hell? How am I supposed to answer that?

“Give it a try,” Ian said, as though he’d read his mind.

“It tastes…” Jonah sighed, rubbing his forehead as he attempted to come up with an acceptable answer to an impossible question. To his surprise, the sensations came to him naturally. “Burnt. Bitter. It tastes…like blood.”

Fuck. He’s gonna think I’m a psycho.

“Have you harmed people?”

Myself.

“No. Never.”

“Have you fantasized about harming people?”

“N—”

Eric.

“—y…eah.” Jonah grimaced. “There’s this one guy. I just…” He groaned and balled his hands into tight fists. “…wanna punch him. But he deserves it. He’s a fucking asshole. ”

“How would you define your relationship with this one guy?”

“We hooked up a few times.” Jonah curled his lip in annoyance. “That’s it. We have no relationship.”

“He seems to have a grip on you.”

“ What? ” Jonah snapped. “He doesn’t have a grip on me. He’s just a stupid moron who gets a kick out of driving me up the wall. I couldn’t care less about him! I’m just forced to see his stupid ugly face because I fell in lo—” Jonah froze, his nails digging into his palms at the word that once again almost came out of his lips.

“You’re forced to see his stupid ugly face because…?”

Jonah couldn’t help chuckling a little at the therapist’s echo. He wondered how many times he could trick him into talking shit about Eric. Next time, he’d record their session on his phone and share the funniest bits with Sean.

Next time…?

Jonah gazed at the man sitting across from him, reassessing his first impression. Jonah had already warmed up to him, it seemed. He had no idea why, though; he still very much looked like a hostile grouch. “Alan, the man I…’m with. He’s Eric’s roommate, the guy I hooked up with.”

“I see. And how does the word you’re not allowing yourself to say make you feel?”

“It’s not that I’m not allowing myself to say it,” Jonah muttered, frustration building up. “It just makes no sense that I keep—that I want…” He sighed. “We’ve only been talking for like three weeks ! I barely know him, but he’s having this… effect on me that I can’t describe.”

“Give it a try.”

Jonah narrowed his eyes. “ Fine . He makes me want to keep him safe and to make him happy and to give him the fucking world .” He snatched one of the fidget toys and started repeatedly squeezing it. “And I want to be with him all the time, and I think about him all the time. And even though I told him I needed to take things slow, I’m the one who keeps rushing things! I asked him if he wanted to meet my mom, like, twelve hours after we first kissed!”

Jonah let out a humorless chuckle. “And then, not even a day later, I almost told him I lo—” He groaned as he used both hands to furiously squeeze the rubber thing, making its face all twisted and ugly. Maybe he could go buy one of these things later, and call it Eric. “I can’t lo…”—he swallowed around the painful lump in his throat—“…ve someone I barely know.”

“Whether it’s love or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re feeling it.”

“How is that helping?” Jonah thought out loud.

“Labels sometimes distort our perception.” Ian leaned forward and looked him in the eye, making Jonah feel as though he could see the most intimate parts of his soul. “Imagine I’m a five-year-old. It shouldn’t be too hard; we’re roughly of the same size.”

Jonah blinked awkwardly as he tried to decide whether he should laugh or not.

“And explain to me the way you feel when you think about him,” Ian said.

“I don’t know.”

Ian raised an eyebrow.

“ ‘Give it a try’ ,” Jonah mumbled. He fidgeted with the toy for a moment as he imagined himself lying in his bed, thinking of Alan. “I feel like…it’s Christmas, and there’s a big, sparkly present with my name on it under the tree. I’m excited because I haven’t received a gift in five years, but I can’t help being afraid it’s just…a box full of big, hairy spiders.”

Jonah looked at Ian, who gave him an encouraging nod. He continued, “I know there’s a chance it contains my favorite toy, and I’ll never find out unless I open it, but the thing is, every time I touch it, I picture all those spiders bursting out and crawling over me. So I let go and distance myself from it…and then I run back to it almost immediately because I can’t help it; I’m drawn to it like a powerful magnet.”

Jonah put the fidget toy away. “For brief moments, when I daydream about playing with my favorite toy, I sometimes forget that spiders exist.” Comparing Alan to a toy to play with felt so wrong, but he couldn’t find a better analogy. “But as soon as I get too close to the present, my fear comes back full force. I have no idea what my chances of getting something good are. For all I know, the box is empty.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “Or it’s a cruel prank, and as soon as I open it people will appear out of nowhere to mock me for having believed I deserved a gift in the first place.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a shrink,” Jonah muttered.

“Give it a try. ”

Jonah breathed a heavy sigh. There was no way those four words wouldn’t be echoing in his head for the rest of the week. “‘Cause I’m a coward.”

“Deep fears are often rooted in deep desires.”

Jonah crossed his arms and leaned back in the blue chair. “Imagine I’m five years old.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ian’s lips as he straightened back up. “The cooler the toy of your dream is, the scarier it gets to open the box. Even if it doesn’t contain big hairy spiders, there’s a big chance it’ll be disappointing in comparison. Like a pair of ugly socks hidden underneath a mountain of crumpled newspapers, for example.”

Jonah couldn’t help smiling a little, but his heart sank as Ian added, “When something matters a lot to you, it may feel proportionally dangerous to acknowledge that it does. Especially for someone who’s suffered a tragic loss.”

Jonah’s throat squeezed. “You know…” he said under his breath.

“I read your file.”

“Why are we not talking about that , then?”

“This is your space, Mr. Delamare. We can talk about anything you want. However, I believe it’s important for us to highlight the reasons that led you to seek help today . When I asked why you showed up, what did you say?”

“I said I met someone…” Jonah took a slow, deep breath as he willed his voice to remain steady. “But I barely know him. How could he matter so much?”

He’s not Elliot. He’ll never replace Elliot.

“That’s something for us to explore. But what we do know, so far, is that your relationship with him seems to be the catalyst that led you here. This”—Ian gestured at him—“wasn’t done on a whim; it required an effort on your part. You had to reach out, set an appointment, clear your schedule, wait three days, get into your car, drive all the way here, and sit in the waiting room for fifteen minutes. You’ve had countless occasions to change your mind, yet you didn’t.”

“Hm…”

“Do you believe that’s the behavior of a coward, Mr. Delamare?”

Jonah’s chest flooded with deep, overwhelming sadness. He bent down and buried his face into his hands as a loud hiccup escaped his lungs. Soon, Jonah found himself bawling like a little girl. Why was he crying so hard? Why did it hurt so much? Why did he feel so small all of a sudden?

Jonah lost track of time as a torrent of emotions broke out of him with painful sobs and nearly suffocated him. He eventually managed to get his breathing under control, but not before having expelled what felt like a whole ocean of tears. More than he’d shed in a very long time.

He slowly reconnected with the present. His racing heart.The scent of cleaner.The sharp pain where his nails dug into his forehead.The blue fabric of the chair. The immaculate white walls covered with impeccably dusted diplomas. The basket of colorful fidget toys. The silent, unexpectedly comforting presence of the stranger Jonah had reached out to for help.

“You’re a survivor,” Ian said.

Jonah sighed shakily as he straightened back up. He reached for the box of tissues and wiped the embarrassing amount of snot from his face, then blew his nose. “A survivor?” he asked hoarsely.

Ian nodded. “You chose life when life had let you down.”

“Right. You read my file,” Jonah muttered.

“I did.”

“A survivor,” Jonah whispered to himself, recalling the thoughts that crossed his mind when Alan fell asleep in his arms on the beach a few days ago.

Despite countless moments of contemplating joining Elliot in death, he’d consistently chosen life.

“Now, tell me,” Ian said with a hint of warmth in his voice. “Would you rather talk about your past, about the tiny sun, or about the fucking asshole with a stupid ugly face?”

Jonah chuckled as he wiped the moisture from his eyes and cheeks. Dr. Miller’s recommendation had been spot on, after all. Jonah should have known better than to let appearances fool him. “I’d like to talk…about everything that happened since I forgot my wallet in Eric’s room.”