Handcuffs And Kisses (Series #1)

Chapter 1

Present Day-
Lilian Carson POV

There are days I wish I were a fictional character, someone bound by ink and imagination, where pain is scripted and happiness is inevitable. In stories, even suffering has purpose, a neatly woven arc that leads to resolution. But reality? Reality is cruel, unscripted, and indifferent. It takes from you without remorse, leaving you with wounds that never truly heal. 

Dreams are dangerous in the real world. They require sacrifices, sleepless nights, and relentless battles against a fate that doesn’t give a damn about what you want. And for what? In the end, we all turn to ash. 

Yet, here I am, still trying to outrun the past. 

A voice pulled me back from the abyss of my thoughts. 

"What do you consider fiction?"

Dr. Joseph Cooper, my therapist, adjusted his glasses and studied me, pen poised above his worn-out notebook. His shirt was crisp, his tie neatly knotted, but I could see the exhaustion behind his eyes. I exhaled slowly, centering myself enough to look him in the eye. 

“Fiction is an escape,” I said finally, my voice even. “A world built from imagination, untouched by the weight of reality.”

He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t write it down. 

“That’s a textbook answer,” he said, tilting his head. “Now, tell me what it really means to you.”

I clenched my jaw. He was good, too good. His patience chipped away at my carefully built defenses, making me feel exposed. 

“It’s the only place where I have control,” I admitted, my voice quieter this time. “Where I don’t have to wake up wondering if I’ll make it through the day without breaking.”

His pen scratched against paper. 

“And what is it you’re trying to escape from, Lilian?”

I knew the answer instantly. But the words felt too heavy, like they would solidify the past into something permanent if I spoke them aloud. 

My father. 

The man who had molded me with cruelty and called it love. A man who saw me as a transaction, a pawn in his pursuit of power. 

Memories clawed at the edges of my mind, the locked room, the suffocating darkness, the hunger, the betrayal. He had no remorse. Not once did he try to explain himself, but at least he fed me during that time. That counted as something, right? 

I forced my face into a blank mask. “Nothing.” 

Dr. Cooper didn’t buy it. 

“Fear isn’t weakness,” he said. “It’s a response. A survival instinct. What are you afraid of, Lilian?”

I exhaled sharply. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

He wrote something down before glancing back at me. “Do you sleep well at night?” 

I hesitated. “No.” 

“Why?”

I swallowed. “Because I feel like someone is watching me.”

He nodded as if he had expected that answer. “Paranoia, insomnia, depression.” His voice was clinical, detached, as if diagnosing a patient he’d seen a hundred times before. 

I stared at the clock on the wall. Thirteen o’clock. Time moved too fast, never pausing for anyone. 

“Who do you love most?”