CHAPTER 1
AVA - VILLAIN IN OUR STORY
The problem with working in trauma counselling is that it makes you see patterns. You notice too much. You flinch at the right kind of silence. You start to feel the storm coming before the clouds even show up.
I had been told a time or two that I saw things that weren't there, saw the worst in people. I liked to see it as I saw the truth, regardless of how ugly, and I could feel things coming because I knew the patterns.
And today? I felt it. There was a storm coming, but I just didn't know why.
The clinic was quieter than usual. Not the good kind of quiet, not the calm after a long day or the hush before a breakthrough. No, this kind of quiet crept up your spine and made your instincts twitch in high alert. It felt like something was holding its breath. Like the universe was bracing.
Remi noticed it too.
She was across from me on the floor of my office, legs folded, munching on a half-stale granola bar, flipping through one of those dog-eared self-help books she swore she only kept around for clients. Her long, dark hair was down today, curling naturally around her shoulders. She looked off. Fidgety.
“It’s too still,” I murmured, more to myself than her.
She looked up, eyes narrowing. “You feel it too?”
I nodded. That was all it took. We trusted the same instincts. Different temperaments, but the same gut.
I rose, stretching until my spine cracked. “Who’s left on your schedule?”
“No one. I cleared the last slot to catch up on notes. You?”
“Sofia.”
Remi set the book aside. “Is she still doing, okay?”
I hesitated. “Better, since she moved in with her aunt. But her ex hasn’t stopped messaging. Threats. Guilt trips. Promises. Gaslighting. You know the type.”
Remi’s jaw tightened. “I hate that type.”
We both did.
We didn’t talk about it often, but it was always there. The undercurrent. The knowledge that this job we chose, this life, would keep asking for pieces of us. And we’d keep giving them. Not because we didn’t care, but because we cared too much. Because we knew what it felt like to scream into silence.
Every relationship, every moment in our lives, was touched by the work we did.
Whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses... that is what we wore.
Remi stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Brrrr... I’m getting tea. Want one? The usual?”
I smiled. “You better not be trying to bribe me to help with your notes.”
She winked. “That, and to keep you from spiralling over Sofia's file. Five minutes. Don’t move.”
I rolled my eyes but nodded. Watching her leave settled something in me for a breath. I could hear her struggling to get her sweater over her head. I laughed to myself and then turned toward my desk to check Sofia’s file, just to review one last note before her session.
I was lost in my notes when the front door chimed and the crisp, cold November air wrapped around me.
Remi was quick.
But then everything in me locked up. The footsteps were wrong. Too heavy. Too deliberate. Too sure of themselves. The kind that says,'I don’t care who I have to go through; I’m not leaving.'
I stepped into the hallway.
And there he was.
