REMINISCENT

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: Aiden Meets Charlie (FINAL EDIT)

🚨Important A/N🚨
Again. I'm no medical professional, please seize from taking everything I put in the chapter as gospel truth. It's all mere research and I don't intend to mislead anyone.
Enjoy

Aiden's POV
I had gone home and told my parents about how I've been feeling—how I haven't been sleeping, how the nightmares keep coming, and how the attacks leave me gasping for air.

They were both in shock. I didn't go into detail, but I got the feeling they already knew more than they let on. I didn't question them for now, but I decided I would later. I was so tired of secrets.

"Kairah, Joshua," the man greeted warmly as we entered.

"Charlie," Dad returned, then added, "Josh is just fine with me."

"Thank you for having us so suddenly. I know this is normally your group therapy hour, but we got a recommendation that said you were the best," Mom said nervously, twisting her hands in her lap.

"The person must have exaggerated, but I'll take the compliment," Charlie joked. "Please, have a seat."

I sized him up silently. He looked younger than I expected—too young to be as good as the reviews claimed.

"So," he began, folding open a notebook. "How may I help you?" He glanced at his watch before meeting our eyes again.

Mom cleared her throat. "Well... Aiden mentioned wanting therapy. What he said made us realize he needs to talk to someone. To... determine what's wrong."

Charlie's brow twitched, the smallest flicker of curiosity, before his gaze landed on me with a reassuring smile.

"So, Aiden," he said, pen poised, "why don't you start from the beginning? Tell me what's going on and why you think you need therapy. Don't worry about the notebook—it's just for reference so I don't mix patients up." He gave a small grin. "Everything you say here is protected. Is that okay with you?"

I nodded. We all did.

"It started with a dream..."

And I told him everything. For the first time, I spoke it all aloud with my parents listening—every detail I'd bottled up. I described the woman's bones piercing through her skin, the man's shirt stained in blood, the driver's lifeless eyes, the screams that clawed at me, and the helplessness that suffocated me every single night.

Mom broke down beside me, sobbing like she could see it too, like she was standing there in the nightmare. Dad stayed quiet, but I didn't dare glance at him. Something about Charlie's presence made me keep talking. Maybe it was the way he listened without flinching. Maybe it was my own desperation for answers.

I stopped short of mentioning Ashley. For some reason, the words never left my lips. Maybe I was afraid my parents would force her to talk to me. Maybe I was afraid they would  force her to speak to me and she'd hate me more. Either way, it wasn't the time.

"I thought maybe therapy could help with the nightmares," I admitted finally. "I don't know what they mean. And I feel like I'm forgetting something... like a memory."

Charlie nodded thoughtfully, then passed Mom tissues and a bottle of water before speaking.

"Judging by your reaction," he said gently, "you didn't know any of this?"

Both my parents shook their heads.

A knot tightened in my stomach. I suddenly felt guilty for not telling them sooner.

"Do you know what subconscious trauma is?" Charlie asked, looking at me.

I shook my head.

"It's when certain patterns—habits, reactions, even illnesses—are developed as a response to a traumatic event the person may not consciously recognize or remember."