That part.
That knife-edge truth I keep stepping around.
“She cried on me,” I say quietly.“And I didn’t move.Didn’t flinch.It wasn’t even a question—I was just there, holding her like my body knew what to do before my brain could catch up.I felt?—”
I stop, because the words feel dangerous.Too close to a confession of love that I don’t feel.
“I just don’t want to break anything,” I finish lamely.
“At some point,” he says, “you’ll have to choose whether the ache of losing is worse than the cost of never feeling at all.”
I huff out a breath that doesn’t feel like relief or humor—just resignation dressed up as sarcasm.“Sounds exhausting.It’d be easier if I leave.”
“Itiseasier,” he agrees.His voice is calm in that therapist way I pretend doesn’t get under my skin.“Remaining alone is easy too.Not wanting to be a better person is a piece of cake.And yet, here you are.More than a month ago, you came in terrified you’d end up lonely and die like your neighbor, unnoticed for days because you kept pushing everyone away.”
I stare at the rug for a long moment.
He’s right.I did say that.I walked in here with that exact fear lodged in my chest, imagining myself collapsing somewhere in my apartment and no one realizing I was missing.Just another silence in a building full of closed doors.
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly too aware of how quiet the room feels.“Okay, fine.I said that.”
“And something changed,” he says gently.“Enough that you’re sitting here worrying about what you might do to someone rather than assuming no one would ever get close in the first place.”
I don’t look at him, because if I do, I’ll see exactly what he’s getting at.Everything that’s been happening since she arrived.
I drag in a breath, slow enough to keep it from shaking.“Connections get messy.”
“And?”he prompts.
“And I don’t know if I can handle that,” I admit.My throat feels thick, as if the words drag old ghosts with them.“Every time I let someone close, something goes wrong.They leave.Or they get hurt.Or I ruin it without meaning to.”
He crosses one leg over the other.“And what if that’s not the ending this time?”
I laugh under my breath.“You’re betting on the wrong horse.”
“I’m not betting,” he says.“I’m observing.You’re already choosing them.Whether you admit it or not.”
A pulse kicks low in my gut—too honest, too revealing.“I don’t like that.”
“Is it dislike or fear?”
The truth slips out, with a rawness I’m not prepared.“I walk into their penthouse and I don’t feel ...alone.It’s loud and unpredictable, and Mila asks more questions than any human should, but it feels like—” I stop, shaking my head.“Doesn’t matter.”
Dr.Bennet lets a beat pass.“You don’t run from them.”
He’s right.
I don’t.
I move toward them like there’s a pull I can’t fight—like something in me recognizes them before I have time to overthink it.
The problem isn’t staying.
It’s how much I want to and how afraid I’m of not being able to protect them—even from me.
“What if I decide to stay?”I hear myself asking.
Dr.Bennet doesn’t flinch.“Then you do it right.No more dipping in and out.No more disappearing at the first sign of something real.”
