Chapter 2

RHEA

I look up at the student union building, slightly surprised that this is where the grief support session is being held, even if it makes total sense. I think I'm more used to coming here for social events or to buy textbooks at extortionate prices from the campus bookstore.

Rattle slithers down onto my shoulder and lets out a soft hiss.

"I don't know if I'm going in," I answer him. "I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about this."

My other snake comes to join him on my other shoulder.

I sigh. "Seriously, guys? Are you really ganging up on me right now?" I know that isn't really possible, but they certainly act like it sometimes.

Both of them hiss in unison. I don't really know what they're saying, but sometimes it helps me to pretend that they're urging me to do things. Especially things I'd rather avoid.

Like facing the feelings I'm having about Granny.

I take a deep breath. "All right, you win. I'll go in now, but I'm not promising that I'll go every week."

Rattle seems satisfied by my agreement and makes his way to nestle back in the bun of braids at the top of my head. At least he's out of the way there and isn't proclaiming my status as a gorgon to everyone in sight. Though my glasses probably do that to anyone in the know.

I make my way up the steps and head inside, following the directions from the email I got about the session until I come to a room I swear I didn't know existed. Uncertain what to do, I knock a couple of times and push it open.

Half a dozen people sit in the room, most of them fellow students, but one is older and has a staff lanyard around her neck.

"Welcome," she says. "You must be Rhea."

"How did you know?"

She gives me a friendly smile. "Your student ID profile was attached to your request to join us."

"Oh. Right." I step inside. "Yes, I'm Rhea."

"I'm Bobbi, the councillor. Why don't you take a seat?"

I nod and search the room, spotting one next to a tall dark-haired guy. I make my way over and slip my bag off my shoulder and onto the floor.

"I'm Jack," he says as I get myself settled.

"Rhea," I respond.

"I'd say it's good to meet you, but considering where we are, I'm not sure that's accurate."

I manage a small laugh. "Yeah, fair point. I don't even know if I'm ready to be here."

"I felt that way the first time I came too," he admits. "But Bobbi doesn't make anyone talk if they don't want to. You can just listen."

I nod. "That's...nice? I don't know how to talk about any of this stuff."

"No one does. And I think it is nice. Kind of." He sighs. "It's also all really horrible."

"Yeah, it is that." I look down at my hands.

Bobbi comes over and leans on the desk next to me. "Do you want to introduce yourself to the group, or do you want to stick to a one-on-one conversation?" she asks me.

"Erm..." I look at Jack. I don't know him, but considering he knows how this works better than I do, I kind of like the idea of guidance.

"I was thinking I might prefer a one-on-one today," he says. "If Rhea doesn't mind?"

I nod. "Yes, that maybe?"

Bobbi gives me a reassuring smile. "Of course. It's up to you. The important thing is that you take it at your speed. Let me know if either of you need anything." She gets up and heads over to talk to one of the others.

I stare after her, unsure what just happened. "Does she usually just give up so easily?"

Jack shrugs. "What's she giving up on? She's here to help, sometimes that means monologuing, and sometimes it means talking to one person who might understand what you're going through."

"I guess I thought it was going to be more of an AA thing where everyone has to tell their stories."

"Nah, no one really does that."

"That's oddly reassuring." I sink back into my chair. "What do we do now?"

"Up to you," he replies. "We could talk about who brought you here, or we can talk about what your favourite rock is."

I raise an eyebrow. "My favourite rock?"

"You're a gorgon, right? You must have one."

I reach up and touch my hair, but both of my snakes are neatly tucked away. "How..."

"The glasses. I've met enough gorgons to recognise them, they've always got a slight hint of pink to the lenses."

"Huh, I've never noticed."

"So? Which is it?"

"Marble, I guess. But I've never given it much thought."

"Mine's slate." His tone is completely serious, as if he's given it a lot of thought.

"Slate?"

"Yes. It's the way it feels, and the way it breaks, there's something satisfying about it."

"Just how much thought have you put into your favourite rock?"

"Oh, a lot. You're not the only being with stoney magic," he says.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're not a gorgon."

"Gargoyle."

"Oh."

"So rocks feel like a good subject to start on, unless you don't like that?" he checks.

"No, I'm sorry, I was just kind of intrigued about that being your go-to alternative subject."

He chuckles. "What would you have gone with?"

"I don't know, maybe I'd have asked what you study?"

"But that's boring," he responds. "But if you must know, I'm studying law."

"Wow, that's intense."

"I've always loved it," he admits. "And you study...something fun?"

"Art history."

"Oh, then definitely not," he jokes.

"It's fascinating. My Granny got me into it..." My voice cracks.

Understanding dawns on his face. "And so we get to the reason we're here anyway."

"Everything leads me back here at the moment," I admit. "It feels like no matter what I do, my thoughts end up back on her."

"I know what you mean. But it gets better."

"Right, you lost someone too."

"My mum. Six months ago."

My heart aches for him. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

"It was three weeks ago for me. Her funeral was last week, and I think that really drove it home." Tears prick at my eyes and I almost blink them away before remembering why I'm here and that it's okay for me to show this kind of emotion. Though it still feels wrong to do as much.

"Funerals are hard. And grief is..."

"Like nothing I ever expected," I finish.

"Yes. When I lost Mum, I thought it was going to be a pit of despair and a lot of anger, but it was more peaceful than that."

"Did you get to say goodbye?"

"Kind of. I got to visit her while she was in the hospice. I don't know if she heard any of what I had to say, but I got to say it." A broken expression crosses his face.

"Isn't hearing the last thing to go? She'd have heard you."

"I hope so. If she could hear what everyone was saying then she left the world knowing how loved she was, which is the best I could ask for given the situation. But I think by the end I was relieved that she wasn't in pain anymore. She put on a brave face in front of people, but I could tell that it was taking its toll."

"That must have been hard on you."

"Yes. She'd have hated people seeing her in the hospice like that." He stares off into the room, and I don't know whether to say something or not. It's a conversation, but I also don't want to intrude on his grief and his processing.

"I'm sorry doesn't sound right," I say after the silence has stretched on a little too long.

"Nothing sounds right when talking about this," he responds. "So, what about you? Want to talk about your granny?"

"Yes and no."

"That's a good start."

"I didn't get to say goodbye," I whisper. "That's the bit that's hardest. She was admitted into hospital for a fall, and by the morning she was gone. I didn't even know about any of it until the next day. All I can think about is what might have happened if I'd been there."

"Probably exactly the same."

"I know. But I still feel guilty about it."

"I'm not Bobbi, but I suspect that might be survivor's guilt more than anything."

"Maybe. I just...don't understand how I'm still going about my days like normal when she's gone." I haven't said that out loud to anyone before, not even my sister when she called me.

"Because how can you not? Obviously, I don't know your granny, but I doubt she'd want you to stop living your life. My mum wouldn't have."

"Doesn't stop it being hard."

"No, it doesn't," he agrees. "If anything, it makes it harder."

I give him a weak smile. It's surprisingly easy to talk to him, especially considering I don't know him. Or maybe that's why it's easier to talk to him. I don't actually have to worry about what he's going to think of my emotions because he didn't know me before today. It's like a free pass to be honest that I don't feel I've had before.

"It gets easier to deal with," he promises. "Kind of. Maybe it's different is a better way to describe it."

"Like all of those memes that talk about how you grow around your grief?"

"Pretty much." He leans back in his chair and runs a hand over his face.

An alarm goes off from someone's phone, making me jump.

Jack lets out a sigh. "And now I have to get to a property law seminar. Just what I want to deal with right now."

"I'm..."

"Don't say it," he cuts me off. "It's not your fault the two are back-to-back."

"Maybe not, but I did make you talk about this."

He shrugs. "I don't come to grief support sessions to not talk about it," he points out. "I'm here because I want to be able to talk about it, even when it hurts."

"Right." It's still a strange concept to me, but I guess that's why I'm here too.

He grabs his bag from the floor. "Do you want to swap numbers?" he asks. "In case you want to talk and there isn't a session?"

"Yes." I grab my phone and pull up the screen that'll share my contact details with him. This isn't what I expected from today, but it is nice to be able to talk to someone who understands what I'm feeling, even if it's all surreal to me.

I hold out my phone and he scans it.

"Great, got it. I guess I'll see you next week unless I've scared you away."

"You haven't," I assure him. Which he's probably already aware of given the fact I gave him my number.

"Then I'll see you." He gives a half-wave and heads out of the door, leaving me a little confused about what I'm supposed to do with myself now.

Even after a short conversation, I feel drained, but I think I also feel a little bit better. I just hope this is going to continue and make this time worthwhile.