The hall has cleared out, leaving just the two of us at the locker bank. He’s closer now, leaning in, his hand cupping my cheek, and before I can react, he presses his lips to mine.
For a second, I let myself melt into him, let myself feel safe, feel wanted. But then reality crashes in, and I break the kiss.
“Don’t.” I shake my head, backing away. “I don’t deserve this.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean.” I bite my lip when it starts to quiver. “My father was a murderer. I’m…I’m stained. I’ll never be anything but his daughter to everyone. That’s all they’ll ever see.”
“Bullshit. That’s not what I see when I look at you.”
“But it’s whatIsee,” I snap. “All the time. I don’t know how to make it go away. And I don’t deserve…I don’t deserve to feel good. To have you.”
His jaw tightens. “No. You don’t get to decide that for me.” He reaches out, but I pull away again.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t give a shit what your father did. That doesn’t make you him. You’re strong, you’ve been through hell—and you’re still here. So don’t tell me what you don’t deserve, because you deserve so much fucking more than you think.”
I want so badly to believe him, but the shame holds me back. “Maybe one day I’ll believe that. But not right now.”
I slam my locker door and turn away, leaving him standing alone in the hall. Forcing myself not to look back as I hurry out of the school toward Maggie’s waiting SUV.
Dr.Wilmer was able to fit me in today only if we could make it there by five, and I swear my aunt breaks nearly every speed limit in her mission to deliver me to therapy on time.
“I’ll be waiting for you right here,” Maggie promises after Dr.Wilmer greets us in the outer office.
I nod gratefully. “Thanks.”
A minute later, I’m lowering myself into the armchair in Dr.Wilmer’s office, surrounded by those serenity-blue walls and the soft strains of meditation music.
As usual, Dr.Wilmer gets right to business. She settles in her recliner and watches me with that calm expression. “Let’s breathe,” she prompts. “Nice deep breaths, okay? Inhale through your nose…one…two…exhale through your mouth…three…four…”
We breathe together for several minutes, her voice a soothing drone that draws me into a state of relaxation.
“I want us to try to go deeper today, Ryan. Is that all right with you?”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, focusing on keeping my breathing steady.
“Good. I want you to picture a staircase. A staircase with exactly ten steps. We’re going to go down those steps. And with each step, the world around you is getting quieter and quieter. Let’s descend the steps, Ryan. Ten…nine…inhale through your nose…eight…seven…exhale through your mouth.”
I listen to her voice, picturing myself taking those steps, one at a time. My heartbeat seems to slow.
“…three…two…one.”
Stillness. It’s all around me. Everything is still and silent.
“Now I want you to close your eyes, let everything go black.”
I do what she says. Seeing nothing behind my eyelids.
“Breathe in…breathe out…And now…look. Where are you?”
“Daddy’s studio.”
Sunlight pricks my closed eyelids. It’s streaming in through the windows of the cabin. I glance down at my hands. They’re tiny. Stained with paint. Blue and red splotches.
“I’m painting a birdhouse,” I tell her.
