"Look, I know you're just doing your job and trying to help.But I feel like I've had enough for today."
I'm already reaching for my bag, my movements jerky and desperate.Dr.Henshaw nods knowingly, but doesn't move to end the session.
"Hold on, before we end this session.I just want to make sure I have the facts right from where I'm sitting.Can you hear me out for just a moment?Then you can leave."
I pause, my bag halfway to my shoulder.
"Fine."
"You know who was driving that night, but the person you're protecting doesn’t.From your body language and the way you speak about them, I'd say this isn't just friendship, which complicates everything."
I nod because that's all I can offer her at this moment.
"What's your relationship to the person you're protecting?"
How do I even begin to explain what Nate and I are?
What wewere?
The labels never seemed to fit what we had—too intense for friendship, too complicated for love, too broken to be anything real.
"It's complicated."
"Love usually is."She pauses, studying my face with practiced empathy."You know, when someone carries both a romantic heart and a mature mind, it creates its own kind of suffering.The heart doesn't understand logic, while the mind is always guided by reason.Your heart yearns to feel everything fully, while your mind wants to be responsible, to avoid the pain that comes with unrealistic hopes."
I listen, feeling every word land like a small truth I've been avoiding.
"The heart tries to take control when it encounters even a spark of hope, focusing on those rare, beautiful moments.Meanwhile, your logical mind examines every angle, preferring safety and control.And as they battle for dominance, your body suffers—constantly torn between what you feel and what you think you should do.Add to this the physical trauma from your accident, and the processing becomes even more complex.”She says with a warm smile.
“Healing takes time, especially when you're grieving something while your body is still recovering from violence."
“What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Start by asking yourself: who are you really protecting?And what's the cost of that protection—not just to them, but to you."
Dr Henshaw’swords follow me out of the office, sticking to my skin like the humidity outside.I carry them with me through the tube ride, through the elevator up to the twelfth floor, through hours of pretending to be composed while the question keeps circling like a low-grade hum I can’t shut off.
By the time the workday ends, the weight of it has settled behind my ribs—uncomfortable, persistent, demanding.
I'm packing up my things when Liam appears at my desk, his usual stack of manuscripts tucked under his arm.
"Heading out?"
"It's been a day."I zip up my bag, trying to avoid eye contact.Ever since he started pushing about my manuscript, our conversations have felt heavier.
"You okay?I missed you this morning for our early coffee."
"Yeah," I turn to face him, managing a tired smile."I've got a lot on my plate with the internship and everything."
His face falls slightly, and I can see him processing my tone."I'm being pushy, aren't I?"
"A little."
He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely contrite."Fuck, I'm sorry.My enthusiasm sometimes gets the better of me.Let me make it up to you—dinner?For being an absolute bellend?"
"I can't.I'm meeting my friend at some bar."I hesitate, watching his genuinely apologetic expression."You could come along if you want?I think a bunch of her work colleagues will be there too."
His face brightens immediately."Are you sure?I don't want to intrude."
