Page 40 of Letters From A Stalker

“What are you noticing in your body right now?”

“My hands are cold.”

“Can you feel the chair underneath you?”

I try to move my fingers but they don’t feel like mine.

“Kinda.”

He stays where he is. Deliberately.

“That’s okay. Keep your eyes on me if you can.”

There’s something on his face I haven’t seen before. Concern. Not the soft, sympathetic kind I hate. Something sharper. Almost angry.

“I’m fine.” The words barely sound like mine.

Kai’s jaw tightens. I want to smile. Nothing happens.

“Julia, we’re done talking about your mother for today.”

I nod even though I’m not sure I understand why. My eyes drift toward the window. There’s sunlight against the glass. Or maybe there isn’t. I can’t tell whether I’m looking at it or remembering looking at it.

Kai says my name again. He asks me something about the room. The lamp. The rug. He asks me to tell him what color something is, and I answer because answering seems easier than understanding why he’s asking.

Gray-green. Brown. Black. His voice keeps finding me every time everything else starts slipping farther away.

By the time the clock says the appointment should have ended, I know where I am again. At least I think I do. My purse is beside my chair. My phone is next to my thigh. My hands are still cold. And Kai is watching me like he’s trying very hard not to show how worried he is.

“I should go.”

“I’d rather you stay for a few more minutes.”

“I’m okay.” The words come automatically. This time neither of us pretends not to notice.

I reach for my purse and miss the strap the first time. Kai sees that too.

“I just need to go home.”

There’s something almost desperate about the need once I say it aloud. I need my house. My couch. My blankets. My silence. I need to be somewhere nobody is looking at me while I try to figure out why talking about my mother somehow did what talking about my dead father couldn’t.

Kai studies me for several seconds. I can see the argument happening behind his eyes. Eventually he stands. So do I. The floor feels strangely distant beneath my feet. He doesn’t touch me. He walks with me toward the door, close enough that he could catch me if I stumbled but far enough that I don’t feel crowded.

My hand closes around the handle.

“Julia.”

I look back. His expression is controlled again, but only just.

“Text or call someone when you get home. Tessa, your grandmother, whoever feels safe. I don’t want you sitting with this alone tonight.”

I nod because agreeing gets me closer to leaving. “I will.”

“And take a few minutes before you drive.”

“Okay.” I’m already opening the door.

Mara looks up when I step into reception. Her smile starts automatically, then disappears. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me. Whatever it is, she doesn’t make a joke. And somehow that’s how I know I must look worse than I feel.