“Ah, you must be Elior,” he said, voice calm, smile welcoming. “I’m Mark. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Elior shyly waved at him.
“Well, it’s just about time to start our session. Would you like to come back with me, Elior?”
Elior glanced back at me one last time, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for me.
I gave him a slow nod and a hopefully reassuring smile.You’re okay. Go.
“Okay,” he said softly to the therapist before joining him.
The door closed behind them with a click that sounded way louder than it should have.
And just like that, he was gone.
And I was stuck in a room with two annoyances for fifty minutes.
As I turned and walked over to a chair, I glared at Patel.
This was going to be a long fucking fifty minutes.
9
Elior
The room was smaller than I’d expected. Dimmer, too. No harsh lights like in the waiting room, just a warm lamp on a side table and some natural light coming in from a window. There were two sofa chairs facing each other, angled instead of straight on, and a couch pushed against the far wall.
It felt very different than the hospital. The room reminded me a little of our living room, which was a bit silly since I knew the therapist—Mark—didn’t live here. It was a comfortable space, something I was incredibly glad for since I’d been expecting, well, something similar to the hospital.
Mark closed the door and knelt down to press a button on a small circular machine. I watched him curiously as the thing started humming and buzzing.
As he stood, he caught my gaze and smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling. “It’s a white noise machine. It makes it hard for our voices to carry out into the hall.”
“Oh,” I answered as Mark took a seat in the chair to my left. “That’s nice.”
He chuckled, then said gently, “Before we start, I want you to know something.”
My brows furrowed. “Okay?”
“This space is yours,” he continued. “There are no right or wrong answers here. You don’t have to impress me, or protect anyone, or say things a certain way. If you don’t want to answer something, you can tell me. If you need a break, you can ask. And if all you can manage today is sitting quietly, that’s okay too. Therapy is all about small steps.”
“Okay,” I replied, feeling some of the weight looming over me start to lighten.
He smiled—not big, not forced. “Good.” He picked up a notebook from the small table beside his chair, but he didn’t open it; he just rested his hand on the cover. “First sessions can feel scary. A lot of people worry they’re going to say the wrong thing. Or that I’m going to look for something to diagnose or nitpick. But that’s not what this is.”
“We’ll go at your pace,” he went on. “I might ask questions, but you’re in control of what we talk about. Think of this as a conversation. One where my job is to listen.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“Do you want to tell me what made you decide to come today?” he asked.
For a second, my mind went blank.
Jace had told me I could say I felt safe. That I was supported. That I didn’t have to explain everything. I clung to those words like a script, even as my chest buzzed with nerves.
“The people at the hospital said I had to.”
Mark nodded, like that made perfect sense. “That may be true, but it was still a choice you made to actually come.”
