Made For You by Natasha Madison

Author:Natasha Madison [Madison, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Natasha Madison

CHAPTER 20

XAVIER

“Maybe,” I tell her, “I just think that there should be more done for us. When you join the NHL, you think you are automatically king shit. There should be people there for you to talk to. People should be in place in case it gets to be too much. The whole thing needs to be more in your face. There should be so much more done for us.” I’ve never been this open about the struggle before. Sure, I told my therapist, but after her, I haven’t even told Miles. Actually, scratch that, Beatrice also knows because I’ve told her little bits here and there. When Vivienne asked me the question, I wasn’t sure I was ready or able to tell her. I didn’t think I would tell her everything, but something about sharing it with her made it better.

Knowing she could google me and come up with the half-truth, the only thing I wanted was her to know my side of the story. I wanted her to know my truth, the whole truth. Reliving it was a lot less hurtful than the first time I told my therapist, maybe because it wasn’t so raw. Maybe it was because I’ve grown past it. Perhaps it was because I knew, deep in my heart, I had done nothing wrong. At the end of the day, the system they preached about failed me. I can’t even imagine how many other people it failed.

“Maybe that person should be you,” she tells me, and I laugh. “Maybe after all of this.” She sits right in front of me, and I can feel her heat on me. “The only person who can do it any justice would be you.”

“You would be an amazing sponsor,” I inform her, and she looks at me, her face not smiling. “If the whole editing thing doesn’t work out for you.” I can see the change in her right away.

“I need you to ask me what I do for a living,” she tells me, and I can tell from her tone she’s serious, which also confuses me.

“I thought we already went over this.” I laugh at her, and her face doesn’t even crack a smile. “Fine.” I take a deep breath. “What do you do for a living?” I ask, knowing the answer she told me the other day.

“I’m an author,” she shares nervously, looking down at her hands. “As in I write books.”

“For other people?” I ask. “Like a ghostwriter?”

She shakes her head. “No, not like that.” I can tell she’s getting nervous because she looks down at her hands, and I can see she’s tapping her fingers together. “When I was in college, I was a loner.” She looks up. “Unlike the rest of my family, I didn’t have that big of a social calendar. If it was up to me, I would have gone to community college and lived at home. But the peer pressure was real.” I chuckle now, seeing how nervous she is.

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