Shameless (The Therapist #2)

could come over, I didn't do anything different from what I’d normally do. I told him he could come.
When I open the door, Brandon stands there in a white T-shirt and blue jeans. He’s comfortable, but he doesn't look happy to see me. He looks miserable, actually. Has he been stressing about how we got to this point the same way I have? I smile when I see him, but he doesn't return the gesture.
“Hi,” he says with a blank face.
“Hey. How have you been?” I ask.
“Can I come in? I feel like we should talk,” he replies, which is out of the norm. Usually, Brandon doesn't ask to come inside, he just does. He’s stayed over for a whole week without leaving before. He’s usually over so often, I feel like my apartment is our apartment. The change lets me know our discussion will be a serious one that involves just as much change as Brandon asking to come in.
I open the door and let Brandon glide past me. I can’t remember the last time I opened this door and we didn't greet each other with a kiss and a hug, but the changes keep coming as I follow him into my living room, where he sits on the loveseat across from my couch. I take a seat and grab a pillow for me to hold in anticipation of where this conversation will go.
“Listen,” Brandon begins. “I don't want this to take a long time. I don't want to drag it out, because I think we’ve done enough talking in that therapist’s office. We’ve done enough arguing and finger-pointing, and quite honestly, Tessa, I’m over it. Aren't you?”
In the back of my mind, I feel a tinge of relief. Maybe this conversation won't be as bad as I expected. Is he here to tell me he just wants to go back to how we used to be? Would I be happy about that? Is that what I want, or am I ready to conform to whatever he wants, and what everybody around me expects?
“Yes, I am,” I reply. “I’m tired of all the arguing and blaming each other. I know my mother is tired of me crying to her. She’s told me as much. It’s all been very exhausting.”
“Yeah, it has. That's a great word for it. Exhausting.” Brandon sighs and lowers his eyes to the floor, and the relief I felt vanishes, replaced by a heavy feeling in my gut. “Yes. I’m exhausted, Tessa. In fact, I’m completely drained. I’ve reached the end of my rope, and it’s your fault. You've been like a concrete block attached to my ankles while I try to swim to happiness and success. You're pulling me down with all your insecurities and self-doubt, and I don't want to be anchored to you any longer. I can't sit back and allow myself to drown because of you, Tessa.”
My heart plunges. My breathing stops. My head spins, and my mouth pinches shut. This is it. He’s about to deliver the final blow—the ultimate change.
“American Armpits just booked another show,” Brandon presses forward, his eyes finally rising to meet mine. His eyes are filled with confidence, mine with tears that haven't had the decency to fall, blurring my vision instead. “This show is in New York, and it’s all because of the song I produced for them. It’s going to be the first song on the demo they're about to record. Plus, they want me to produce another track on the demo. It’s all about to happen for them, and they want me to be their full-time manager and producer. It’s all happening with this group. The more exposure they get with the songs I’m working on, the more in demand I’ll be. I’m going to make it, and I don't have time to slow down and wait for you.”
“Wow,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “So, you're dumping me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but Brandon answers anyway.
“Yes, I am,” he says with a head nod. “I think it’s for the best, Tessa. You're in a weird spot internally right now, and the last thing I need is to have to deal with your resentment as I make my dreams come true, and you struggle to please your mother. So, I think we should go our separate ways.”
I feel torn inside. I’m being dumped by the guy I’ve been dating for two years, and not just that, I’m being insulted as well. I’m shocked that Brandon’s trash ass friends are actually booking shows here on the east coast. I’m in disbelief that the song Brandon played for me by American fucking Armpits is actually gaining traction. That song sucked! The band sucks! I feel like this is supposed to be a nightmare, but it’s more like a scary movie parody where I want to laugh when I’m supposed to be screaming. However, even with all of that coursing through my veins, I can’t stop myself from crying.
The tears in my eyes finally start to fall, and Brandon lets out his signature sigh—the one he goes to when he feels uncomfortable in the presence of a woman’s emotions. I stare at him, unsure of what to say, and he stares back. I can't find any words, so I just look at him and watch as Brandon’s face shifts into something more angry.
“You don't have anything to say?” he asks, and I know if I try to talk, I’ll just cry more. So, I give him nothing more than a shrug. “Wow. After two years, you've got nothing to say. I see how it is. Well, that tells me all I need to know, Tessa. Seriously, you've got nothing?”
I wrack my brain searching for the right thing to say. I know my mother would want me to plead with him, and my friends would expect me to. But how do I feel? What do I want? I’m not sure I've ever asked myself that question.