In the following three days, I learn the entire playlist by heart. I listen to it in its correct order, then on shuffle, then a specific song on loop, until I feel like I understand what it's trying to express. Making playlists is Aaron's love language, and so that's how I treat it; a new language to learn, with lyrics that spell out his feelings and rhythms that echo his heartbeat. It's Aaron taking my hand, pointing it here and here and here, this is what you mean to me, this is what I'm too scared to say.

Every song is one piece of the story; our story, one of friendship that turned into lingering touches and too-long glances, heavy silences and lying awake recalling every detail of the day spent together. Combined, they form a confession, one that feels impossible but grows more and more insistent with every listen.

The thing that Aaron lays open feels too fragile in my hands, still shaky from everything that has happened. I don't want to fuck it up the way I did before, don't want to drop it and have to pick up the shards again. So, instead of running to his house right away, I text him: my face is okay. can we meet on Sunday?

He responds: i'd like that.

+++

One of the reasons I want to wait until the end of the week is that I have therapy on Thursday. This time, I don't just go there, I go there extra early, and bearing a gift; a little plant for Melissa's office in a bright red, polka-dotted flower pot.

My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop it when she appears in the doorway and calls me inside.

"Here," I blurt instead of a greeting, extending the flower to her. "For you."

Her eyes widen a little. "That really wasn't necessary, but thank you, Felipe! It's lovely."

I nod, my hands fidgeting at my sides now that they have nothing to hold onto.

"Come inside!" Melissa steps aside to let me through.

I silently walk past her and over to the bright yellow couch, where I sit with my hands folded in my lap, watching as she walks over to the windowsill where the rest of her plants are.

"Let's find a nice spot for you... There, perfect," she murmurs as she sets it down. Then, she turns around and walks over to her armchair.

I stay quiet as she sits and pulls up her notes on her laptop, almost jumping when she meets my eyes again. "Relax, Felipe." She smiles. "I'm not angry at you for skipping the last sessions. Worried, yes, but never angry. And I'm very happy to see you again."

"Me too," I say, my shoulders loosening almost imperceptibly at that.

"So, how was the bus ri-"

"I want to do this for real from now on," I blurt before she can finish her sentence. "I mean... Last time, you told me that in order for this to work, I need to open up more. I'm ready to do that now, I think."

Melissa sits up a little straighter at that. "That's amazing! Would you like to tell me about what happened in the last few weeks?"

I swallow, plucking at a loose thread in the bright orange pillow next to me. Finally, I meet her eyes again and quietly say, "I don't know if Aaron told you about it when you saw him, but... There was this thing at the party I told you about. We... we kissed."

She gives me an encouraging nod, the smile on her face never wavering.

"After that, I kind of panicked. Like, I had an anxiety attack, or something, where I threw up and everything and then..." I shrug helplessly, my throat tightening a little as I replay everything in my head. "The last few weeks were kind of rough. I was really anxious and I isolated myself from everyone, which wasn't very good for me, I think, and then I got into a fight with this guy named Bryce- I don't know, it was a lot. But even before that, things were kind of going to shit- sorry for swearing," I quickly say, but she only chuckles. "Uhm... I also brought this."

Carefully, I hand her the first thought log I tried to write the night I went to Aaron's house. Last night, I spent at least twenty minutes painstakingly collecting all the pieces that were strewn across my desk and taping them back together into something half-way legible.

"Thank you for trusting me with this, Felipe," Melissa says, gingerly placing it on the coffee table in front of her. "We can get into everything you've written down in our next sessions. For now, let's take it step by step, okay?"

"Okay."

"I would like to do an exercise called laddering with you, if you feel up for it. We will look back at the evening of the party, and we will examine the thoughts that came to your mind in that situation. In doing so, we will hopefully end up finding one or several of your core beliefs. Do you know what those are?"

I shake my head.

"Core beliefs are the beliefs we hold about ourselves and our surroundings which determine how we interpret the world around us. You know, objectively, all situations are neutral. It is our core beliefs that determine how we perceive them and our reactions. Does that make sense?"

"I... I think so."

"Most of the time, we aren't aware of these beliefs. They are deeply rooted in pretty much everyone and, even without any evidence, feel very real to us," she explains. "So if we picture it like an iceberg, our actions and thoughts are the very tip; the part that's submerged, the one we often don't even realize is there, are our core beliefs."

"Okay, I think I got it," I murmur.

"Good! Do you feel you're ready to get into this exercise?"

"Yeah," I say, shifting slightly in my seat.

"Perfect. We can stop at any point if it gets too much, alright? This is our first time doing this together, so we'll go as slow as you need."

"Okay," I murmur.

"Let's go back to the night of the party, then. What was your first thought after you and Aaron kissed?"

Hearing the words from her mouth makes me cringe a little, but I pull myself together and force my thoughts back to that moment, until I can almost smell the smoke again and hear Aaron's breathing echoing from the walls of the little wooden house. Quietly, I say, "I... I thought that I ruined our friendship."

"Mh. Why is that?"

I gulp. "Because I thought he didn't like me back."

"I see," Melissa says, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "What would that say about you? If he didn't like you back?"

"That I'm not good enough for him," I whisper.

Melissa looks up at me at that, her eyes softening. "Do you think you can tell me reasons for why you wouldn't be good enough for him?"

The awful thing is that I don't even have to think about it, my mind immediately rattling off a list. "Maybe because... because of my anxiety. Sometimes I feel like a burden, like he'd have more fun if he didn't have to constantly make sure I'm not panicking," I murmur. "And also because... I don't know, I know that being gay isn't... bad, but sometimes I still feel so guilty. Like I'm a horrible person for wanting to kiss Aaron and not any of the girls I know. Most of that comes from my family being really religious, I think."

I trail off, staring down at my hands. My heart is racing, palms sweaty; this is by far the most I have ever spoken in a session and it feels amazing and terrifying both at the same time.

"I see," Melissa murmurs. "Hypothetically speaking... What would it mean if that were true? If you truly were a bad person?"

"I don't know," I rasp. "I... I think it means that I don't deserve to be loved."

"There we are." Melissa looks up from her laptop with a smile. "Just by talking right now, we've already identified two of your core beliefs; I'm a bad person and I'm undeserving of love. They're intertwined with each other, and they tinge every single one of your interactions. Does that feel accurate?"

I gulp. "Yeah."

"Very good. It's not often that we identify a core belief that quickly. You did so well, Felipe." Her reassuring tone is enough to calm the jittery feeling in my stomach a little, make me feel less like an open wound. "Like I said earlier; these beliefs are things that feel real to us, but most of the times they couldn't be further from the truth. In our next step, I want you to try and rationalize this feeling. I want you to think of three pieces of evidence that contradict the beliefs I'm undeserving of love and I'm a bad person."

"Like... r-right now?"

Nodding, she hands me a piece of paper and a pencil. "Yes. Our session has only just started, so you have all the time in the world to think of something. Just tell me when you're ready."

With that, she goes back to typing notes into her laptop.

I watch her for a few seconds before I stare down at the blank page and try to think. Now that I've said the two core beliefs out loud, I wonder how I didn't notice them sooner. They're like white noise that constantly whirs in the back of my head, only growing louder as I try to think of rational thoughts that contradict them, trying to drown them out.

In the silence of Melissa's office, I close my eyes and try my best to hear what's lying under the static buzz. The first thing my mind to, as always, is Aaron. One fact I know for sure: Aaron is a good person, probably the best person I know. Another fact: Aaron and I have been best friends for as long as I can think. If Aaron is a good person and he's my best friend, then I can't be a bad person, right?

Same goes for my mom. She's also a good person, and I can still feel her arms around me, her lips dropping a kiss into my hair when I came out to her. She loves me unconditionally, so much so that she's willing to cut all ties with dad. She thinks I deserve love, and never in a million years would she think that I'm anything less than good. Flawed, maybe, but not beyond repair.

Lastly, I think of Elena. She's seen me glaring and vomiting and with my face bashed in. She's seen the worst of me, but she still worries about me and fixes me up time and time again. She wouldn't do that if she thought I was a bad person, I don't think.

Blinking down at the sheet of paper, my throat feels tight again, but this time not from holding back tears, but because my heart feels like it's swelling up to twice its size. Three of the best people I know love me; through that lens, all my jagged edges somehow seem to soften, the cracks I've spent so much time poring over less noticeable.

"I think I'm done," I quietly say, sliding the paper over to Melissa again.

She reads it over with a smile. "This is amazing, Felipe. I'm glad you can see how much the people around you care about you. Sometimes it's in the little things and might not be that noticeable, but when you consciously try to look for it, you will see how much the people around you truly love you, hm?"

I nod, my heart still feeling to big for my chest, hurting in the best way as the images flash in my mind.

Abuela making menudo for me and taking me to the attic because she saw, even without me talking about it, what was going on.

Elena reminding me to take my meds and helping me change out of my clothes after I threw up and wiping the blood off my face, so gently.

Mom telling dad to leave and getting me to cook dinner with her and asking if I wanted to come to church with them, not because she wanted to force me, but because she wanted to remind me that there was a place for me there.

And then Aaron, who went on late night drives with me instead of sleeping, who pretended like my anxious phone call didn't wake him up, who pulled Bryce away and handed me my meds, who sent me a playlist even though he's just as fucking terrified as I am.

Their love is quiet, a lot of the time, but now that I look back at the last few weeks, all my memories are singing with it.

"Alright," Melissa softly says. "That was just the beginning. I'm sure there are more core beliefs we can uncover and tons of things we can talk about in our next sessions, and I also think it would be a good idea to change your prescription. For now, why don't you tell me about your day?"

"Okay." I hesitate for a moment before I ask, "Can... can I get a glass of water first?"

At that, Melissa's entire face lights up.

+++

On Sunday, I look at myself in the mirror and, for the first time in weeks, don't feel repulsed.

After eating several full meals this week, my eyes aren't as sunken in and my cheeks have more colour, the bruises and scabs finally gone. The summer has left its mark on me; I didn't notice before, but my hair has grown longer than it has been in a while, brown curls falling into my eyes and over my temples, freckles splattered across bronze skin.

I look better than I did a few days ago, I think, more like myself instead of the half-cracked porcelain boy who used to stare back at me.

Earlier today, I consciously picked out an outfit, one that's clean and well-pressed; jeans that actually fit and a white dress shirt. One reason is that I'm going to meet Aaron later, but before that, there's something else I need to do.

"Ready?" Elena asks. She's leaning in the doorway, wearing her light blue dress and butterfly hair clips again, curls similar to mine spilling onto her shoulders.

I take a deep breath. "Yeah."

"Look at you," mom softly says when I make it downstairs, reaching out to brush a curl out of my eyes. "My handsome boy."

With a flustered chuckle, I bat her hand away and say, "Shouldn't we get going? It's almost six."

Smiling, she gives a nod and turns around. Together we pile into mom's huge car, Andrea and Isabel babbling excitedly all throughout the five-minute drive, until finally the church comes into view.

It's a small, ancient building made from sandstone and stained glass. When we get out of the car, a stream of people is already making their way through the double doors, most of them abuela's age, but also some families like us.

A nervous flutter settles in my stomach as we get in line behind them and inch towards the entrance. Between the men with their shiny Sunday shoes and the women with their cross necklaces glinting in the scorching afternoon sun, I suddenly feel terribly out of place. But then abuela links arms with mine on one side and Isabel's tiny hand grabs onto mine on the other, beaming up at me while she almost stumbles over her own two feet, and I can't help but smile.

A moment later, we step through the tall double-doors and I'm enveloped in hushed silence, the only sounds some quiet rustling as people settle into the pews and the clicking of heels against the stone floor. The air in here is cooler, heavy with the scent of incense.

In front of me, abuela walks up to the holy water font before gesturing for me to do the same. My fingers tremble slightly as I dip my fingers into the basin and sign the cross, the movement easy, automatic.

Elena gives me a light nudge and I start walking again, leading Isabel with me to the pew where abuela is already sitting. It feels like everyone around me is staring at me, so I keep my eyes on the ground as I sit down next to her, my fingers clasped in my lap.

It's only after Elena has sunk down next to me and Isabel has wiggled herself between me and abuela that I dare to lift my gaze. I fully expect to find a dozen eyes on me; instead, I find that no one is even looking at me, all eyes directed at the front of the church, where the priest is currently walking up the steps to the altar. In the sea of faces around me, there's barely one I don't recognize, their wrinkly features etched into my memory from all the hours I've spent here growing up.

I only jump when an older lady in a row ahead of us meets my gaze, but all she does is smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. After a second of shock, I tentatively smile back at her, something in my shoulders loosening.

A moment later, mass starts. I expected to be nervous all throughout it, but I'm not. It's so easy to sink into the familiarity of it all; when I'm not standing or kneeling along with the others, I'm sitting with my head tilted back and my eyes roaming around the familiar building, taking in the statues and the candles and the carvings in the wooden pillars. The scent of incense and the songs ringing from the walls feel like my childhood, so much so that, sitting there, I almost feel like a little boy again, and when the priest tells us to think about our sins and shortcomings in the past few weeks, I close my eyes and let my thoughts run free.

I think about how I punched Bryce, how I yelled at Chloe on the bus, how I snarled at Elena when she told mom I had gotten into fight, but I don't linger on any of them. The thoughts are like waves; I let them take a hold of me and then I let them pass, one after the other, washing me clean.

When the priest starts talking again, I open my eyes to find the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows warming my face. Blinking into the light, the guilt that has been pressing down on my chest for months now, is suddenly gone. I feel so light, like any moment I'm going to float up from the wooden bench and rise up to the ceiling and into the sky.

Next to me, mom reaches across Elena to give a light squeeze to my hand. I return it with a smile.

The rest of mass goes by surprisingly quickly. When I get to my feet, abuela threads her arm through mine again, but instead of walking towards the exit like everyone else, she leads me to a little table filled with candles in one of the alcoves.

"Aquí," she says, pressing a coin into the palm of my hand.

"You want me to light a candle?" I ask, blinking at her in surprise.

Dropping her own coin into the little tin next to the matches, she gives a solemn nod. "Sí. I lit one for you every Sunday. I knew one day you'd come here and do it yourself again."

I lower my gaze, feeling a soft smile tugging at my lips. The memory is one that I have to dig up from way down inside my head, buried there for so long I forgot it even existed; abuela giving me a coin after every service so I could light a candle, telling me to make a prayer. Back then, my prayers were more like wishes; God, please help Elena write an A in her exam so that Mrs. Smith doesn't yell at her. Please make mom and dad stop hating each other. Please make it so that the people at school stop calling Aaron a girl, he doesn't like it. Please let abuela win at bingo this week so that she buys us ice cream.

Now, I strike the match, my eyes fixed on the flame, and there isn't a wish I can come up with. Instead, the only thing I think as the candle crackles to life is Thank you thank you thank you.

"Okay?" abuela asks once I've carefully set it down next to the others.

I smile. "Yeah."

Together, we make our way towards the doors. By now, almost everyone is gone, but the priest is still standing near the exit, murmuring goodbyes and shaking hands. When I near him, his face unexpectedly lights up. "Felipe Rivera. It's been a while."

Swallowing, I come to a halt in front of him. "I know. Sorry."

"Oh, no need to apologize." He clasps my hand with both of his. "It's lovely to see you here again. Know that there is always a place here for you, as there is for everyone."

My eyes widen slightly in surprise. Quietly, I say, "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, either." He smiles again. "If you ever need to talk, get anything off your chest, you can also come to confession. One is later this evening, and another on Wednesday."

"Maybe I will," I say before I follow abuela outside, back into the dry Arizona heat.

+++

I don't go to confession because God is not the one I need to confess something to.

Instead, I hug my family goodbye and part in the opposite direction they're heading; with the sun spilling gold over the roofs of the houses and the warmth of the candle still flickering in my chest, I take the road that leads to Aaron's house.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm so sorry for not posting last week!! My very first uni semester started and it's kind of killing me rn rip

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter though!! A ton of research went into this (both about the therapy method at the beginning of the chapter and like,,, the Catholic church in the US), so I hope I portrayed everything somewhat accurately :)

Thank you all so much for reading and sorry for the cliff hanger whoops

Have a wonderful weekend!

xoxo