The sleek bar was just over half a meter long, mounted horizontally on a tripod at eye level.
Once on, blue light started moving slowly from one side of the bar to the other. Eric tracked it for several moments before he started talking, once more recounting the memory of his wives’ deaths.
The light not only gave him something to focus on as he spoke but was apparently some sort of brain hack to help people deal with traumatic memories. It was called EMDR—Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.
When he was done talking about his wives’ deaths, he talked through the memory of finding Josephine’s decapitated head. The sick grief and rage of that was fresher, and several times, he started to close his eyes, sinking into not just the memory but the emotional black hole that came with it. Dr. Mata quietly redirected him to keep tracking the light.
“What’s your positive belief?” Dr. Mata said gently once they’d finished with the light.
“My love is a good thing, and does not harm people.”
It wasn’t the first, or even the fiftieth, time he’d said those words. Once they’d established the core belief that was the root of his trauma-based responses—that he was the reason thewomen he loved died—they’d come up with a positive belief to help reshape not just his feelings but his memories themselves.
When Eric told him that he blamed himself for Trina, Dahlia, and Josephine’s deaths, Dr. Mata hadn’t laughed, hadn’t tried to explain why he was wrong. He’d listened and then talked about how sometimes memories got misfiled in the brain. How some memories and emotions felt current even if they were in the past. And how there was a way to “refile” those memories.
“Your love—no matter what kind of love or degree of love—is a precious and worthy gift,” Dr. Mata said.
Eric nodded, and for the first time, the idea of loving someone didn’t fill him with fear.
“I have something else I’d like to talk about today. Normally I would space everything out, but since you’ve given yourself, and me, a very limited window of time, I’d like to broach a new topic now, even if we discuss it later.”
Eric knew that he could say he was tired—and he was. Or emotionally drained—another true statement—and Dr. Mata would end the session with no questions asked.
But that raw, tender feeling made him want to talk. He supposed it was like pressing on the burn to see if it still hurt. And to assure himself the nerves were still there, healing and alive.
Eric nodded his go-ahead.
“I know we touched on this with regard to Dahlia, but what do you think love looks like?”
“You mean being in love?”
“If you like, it can be romantic love, but as we know, that’s not the only kind of love.”
“I loved Josephine like a sister.”
Dr. Mata raised his hands, palms up as if physically raising the question. “How did you know what it felt like to love a sibling when you don’t have any biological siblings?”
Huh. “I…don’t know. But I never doubted it.”
“You never doubted your sisterly love for Josephine the way you doubted your romantic love for Dahlia.”
“I loved her. I wasn’t in love with her.” There was no pinch of guilt when he said it.
“The way you were with Trina?”
“Yes, but…”
Eric blinked in surprise at his own words. Why had he added “but”?
Dr. Mata’s gaze tracked him like a predator sighting prey. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking?”
Eric pushed to his feet, stalking to the leaded glass window. Instead of looking out over the sea, this window faced the large house where the Spartan Guard lived. One guard was in the castle with him at all times, but they did that in shifts, and the rest of the time, they lived in the sprawling two-story structure that had at one time been a large stone barn before it was remodeled and several wings added.
To his right was the tall stone wall that surrounded the estate.
Eric was sure there was something to be said about the fact that he now lived someplace with high, stone walls, but he wasn’t up to fun symbolism right now.
“I fell in love with Trina.” Eric didn’t turn as he started speaking. “I don’t doubt that.”
