I sat alone, breath shallow, watching the sky bleed its final light into the lake. The windshield fog faded, but the heat in my chest didn’t.
The flashback fades like fog lifting, I’m still sitting in Dr. Pembrooke’s office, staring at the same spot on the floor I’ve been looking at for the last thirty minutes.
She’s quiet, letting the silence breathe before leaning back in her chair. Then, with a faint grin, she says, “We’ll first off, that’s a good friend you have there. Also, it sounds like you did just about anything to see Maddison, even in the face of danger…fearless in the face of love, one could say.”
I glance up. Her eyes are bright, that mix of sharpness and warmth that’s hard to read, but strangely grounding.
A reluctant smile threatens to pull at my mouth, but I stop it before it gets too far.
“I haven’t thought about those days in a very long time…”
She studies me for a long moment, then nods, almost to herself. “You’re a very insightful person, Nathan. Maybe you’re being a little harder on yourself than you need to be.”
I give my head a light shake, not necessarily defensive, just not used to compliments when it comes to emotional availability and being insightful, especially after what happened. After all, it was my inability to read the room and read the situation, wasn’t it? “No. I don’t think I am.”
Her smile fades, replaced by a look of understanding.
“Do you still have the journal I gave you?” she asks.
“Yes, I do.”
“Good, I’d like you to try something.”
“Homework?”
She smiles faintly. “Not quite. Think of it as… somewhere to put things when your mind won’t.”
She taps the cover lightly. “Some of my patients use these journals to continue the work we’ve started in here. To write down the good memories when they surface. Or the bad ones, when they won’t stop.
“Trauma has a way of staying loud when it’s trapped in your head,” she continues gently. “Sometimes getting it out—onto paper—gives it edges. Limits. It makes it… smaller.”
The thought lingers like it might bite me.
“You don’t have to show it to me,” she adds. “You don’t have to show it to anyone. It’s just a place to put things that don’t have anywhere else to go.” She pauses. “Some people are surprised by what comes out when they let themselves write,” she says. “Others are surprised by what finally stops spinning.”
I swallow.
“Just try,” she says. “No rules. No pressure. If a memory comes—good or bad—put it there.”
I finally nod.
“Ok, yeah...I think I could do that.”
I stand and slide my hands into my jean pockets so she doesn’t see the shaking. “Thanks for today.”
She gives me a sharp nod. “Until next time.”
“Until next time,” I say.
Chapter 15
Nathan
The elevator dings softly; seconds later, I step into my penthouse and study my surroundings, decorated in whites and grays. It’s stark, empty, lifeless.
For a while, I just stand there, still half in the quiet of Dr. Pembrooke’s office. Her words haven’t left my head.
I walk through the dim light of the apartment, past the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city. It’s getting late. The streets below are alive… laughter, traffic, the sound of people moving on with their lives.
