The Lost //✔️// [DEVON SEQUEL] BOOK 2 [DISCONTINUED]

• Epilogue From Devon •

"Listen, we all go through things during our lifetime that can impact us in the long term, but what you need to understand is that it's not what we go through... it's how we get through it-"

I tuned out the awful lilting voice of Louisa, apparently she's the only therapist within the some hundred miles of nowhere surrounding where we had been hiding out for the past four months.
Devon had made it clear that me getting a therapist wasn't something that was up for negotiation and despite my efforts, he still arranged the initial meeting and I still ended up going weekly.

Only to tune out all her "positivity" bullshit. Every. Single. Time.
Oh Aria, it's not about the fact that you saw your mother die right before your eyes, it's about how you get the fuck over it.
Call me negative, but that's exactly what she's trying to say - she's just saying it with a psychology degree under her belt.

"Now-" Louisa chirped loudly, bringing me out of my trance, "-I believe Mr Devon has set up our next meeting for..." she frowned at the paper, "...he hasn't yet set a follow up date but I am certain he will be in contact to arrange another session shortly." She smiled her butter-wouldn't-melt smile at me and I forced a small one in return.

"Okay, thank you Louisa." I said softly, I grabbed my bag and swung it over my shoulder. As I rose to my feet, she did what she usually does, which is engulf me in a big bear hug.
Louisa was a large woman, perfectly round, with long black hair that stopped at the base of her spine. She was beautiful, I envied her to some degree.
Then she opened her mouth. All my envy dissipated instantly.

Part of me feels as though Devon did it out of his bitterness. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that even after everything we witnessed that day - he still wasn't over our bust up at the restaurant.
Call me stubborn - but I had my reasons and I can't understand why he can't see that, whilst my plan was misguided, it wasn't developed in a ploy to hurt him.
Not at all.

I walked down the hall towards the reception after saying my eager goodbyes to Louisa and stood at the front desk awkwardly as all of Louisa's other patients stared me down.
One girl was chewing on her nails, bouncing her leg and shifting uncontrollably in her seat.
Another was a man who was wheelchair bound, his one leg half amputated. He wore, proudly, medals of honour from the government - he's a veteran, or by the looks of it, was a veteran.

It's seeing people in situations like that that makes me feel like I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be taking up someone else's spot, I don't need it that badly - I'm traumatised? maybe, but I definitely wasn't in desperate need of therapy to cope with it.

That's what I keep telling myself anyway.

The receptionist appeared suddenly from what looked like nowhere, I jumped back from the desk slightly but brushed it off with a laugh, "Sorry, I didn't see you." I breathed. The elderly lady chuckled and held out the sign-out sheet.
It was done to ensure that everyone attended their scheduled sessions and left safely. If not, they were flagged and monitored from then on. This place is serious.
No wonder Devon knew about it.

I walked outside and shut my eyes against the breeze, it always felt like leaving prison whenever I left Louisa's sessions. Dramatic, I know, but trust me - I mean it.

The familiar double beep of Devon's jeep echoed from down the street. I followed the noise until I reached his car and slipped into the passenger seat.
Devon pulled out into the traffic and started our long drive back.
It took at least 45 minutes to an hour to get back to our house, when I said we were in the middle of nowhere... I wasn't lying. Everything is far between, especially the cul-se-sac's where everyone lives.