Two more chapters until this is finished! Don't forget to review!

"Your anxiety has been better?"

"Loads better."

"Will you agree to take medicine yet?"

"Nope," I say, drawing out the "P."

"How much do you count now?"

"Every day. But sometimes I don't count all my steps, I count other things. It's getting better."

"You're taking control of things?"

"Yep, I asked for the black pen instead of the blue one my teacher was handing to me."

He makes a noise of understanding, nodding his head. I twirl around in his seat, watching the ceiling. He let me sit in his chair today and I've been taking as much advantage of it that I can. Dr. Rolph is reviewing his notes, leisurely flipping between pages. He seems just as at home on the guest chair as he would be at his desk.

"Do you still have trouble speaking to people?" he asks.

"Sometimes I don't know what to say so I don't say anything at all and I feel all awkward and everything," I shrug out.

"But… you never felt that way when talking to kids on the digs right? At least you never mentioned it."

I'm surprised to realize that he's right. I was never awkward around them. We couldn't even understand each other but we were never awkward.

"Do you find that unusual?" he continues.

"Yeah, I mean wouldn't it make more sense to feel more comfortable around people that speak the same language as me?"

"For some," he admits. "But they weren't raised like you. The answer, I think, is simple. There are no expectations." I stop my twirling to stare at him.

"No expectations?" I repeat, not understanding.

"Yes, it's hard for people to expect anything out of you when you can't understand each other. It's a simple relationship with one that you cannot understand, clear rules. Words can over complicate things, and that makes you nervous."

So maybe my therapist isn't completely useless. He's figured out things about me that I never would have caught on to. The session ends shortly after, and this is the first one that I stayed the whole entire time for.

"The school called saying you missed three classes one day," my dad mutters under his breath when we get to the car. "I'll have to call and tell them that it was a mistake."

I turn my face to him, startled. I know exactly what he's talking about. I didn't think they would call home. "Uh. Dad? I skipped school one day." His face turns to one of shock, his jaw dropping and his eyes comically wide. I would laugh in any other situation. He closes his mouth, and his eyes race back and forth as if unsure what to do. "Do you want me on punishment?" I suggest.

He turns slightly towards me. "Is that what parents do? I never got in trouble when I was younger and your mother always handled stuff like this."

"Yeah, dad. They put kids on punishment, like no phone or TV or stuff."

"But you don't use those things anyways."

He's right.

"Then grounded in my room? For two weeks?"

"Deal," he agrees, glad to have that over with. He clears his throat, glancing to me. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Me and Seth are kinda sorta dating?" I say immediately. I'm not sure what we are anymore. We're not exactly friends, but we're not dating either.

"Well Ara, there's no sorta about dating. You either are or you aren't." His eyes stay on the road. He's always been a careful driver, never speeding or going over the speed limit. My mother was the same way.

"Then we're not dating?" I say sheepishly.

He sighs, appearing tired by the conversation. "I suppose I should do the dad talk with him."

"What do you tell him during the dad talk?"

"I don't know, things like treat my daughter right and take care of her."

I think about it. "Shouldn't he know to do that already? No dad wants their kids hurt."

"It's a tradition," he says simply. "All dad's do it."

A tradition? I think I saw it on TV once, some man bullying a boy that his daughter was dating. "Are you going to be mean to him?"

"Should I?" He cocks an eyebrow at me and wiggles it, making me laugh.

"Do you even know how to be mean?"

"Good point, I'll try my hardest." A look of determination falls across his face.

"Maybe stern. Try stern dad, you'll never look mean."

"How is this for stern?" He tries out an expression, his brows furrowing into a "V" and his mouth tilted more down than up.

"You look sad dad."

"I give up," he grumbles. "I'll just use some snazzy words and hope for the best."

I giggle at him, grabbing his arm and hugging it. "I love you dad."

"I love you too Ara."

The next day at school I decide to straighten out exactly what Seth and I are. Dad is right. I can't be stuck in an in between, and now that he's pointed it out it's all I think about.

"Seth, what are we?" I ask hesitantly.

"We're whatever you want to be," he answers immediately. "I told you before Ara that whenever you're ready for something more to tell me and I'll be here."

I had forgotten about that. It seems so long ago.

What do I want? It feel obvious at first. I want to be with Seth. But just the thought of being with Seth makes me nervous and sick to my stomach. I can't go back and forth on him, jumping in and out of a relationship because I'm afraid to be with him. But I'm not scared of him, more like what would change when we start dating. I like what we are now. There are no questions, and I know what is expected of me. I don't know how much of that would change with a relationship. Seth deserves more than me tugging him back and forth as I figure out what I want.

With my decision made I reach over and grip his hand in mine, holding it tight.

"Seth, I want to be in a relationship with you. But not yet. How can I be in a relationship when I can't even control myself? When I am able to control my anxiety I'll be with you. I know you want more, but I know I'll only hurt you at this point. You're important to me, and I don't want to hurt you."

He nods as if he could accept this, but I could tell he was unhappy with my verdict.

It could take years for me to get better. He knew this. I knew this. But it was something I had to do. I couldn't just give him all my pretty parts and expect him to make sense of them. The jagged pieces are part of me too. And until I could heal them; wrapping them with duct tape, gluing the fragments, and polishing them until they shined; we couldn't be together.

It didn't mean that I would ever be perfect. My mirror would always have scratches and lines and chips in it.

But it could be whole.