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This book contains mature themes, explicit language, and scenes of a sexual nature intended for adult audiences only. It is rated R and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.
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This book also includes depictions o...
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Onika Maraj Manhattan Wellness Center
May 16, 2025
Dr. Bennett leaned back in his chair, taking off his glasses with a sigh.
"Onika, this is your second session, and you haven't said much. I get that this is hard, but you've gotta give me something here. You have to talk to me."
I avoided his eyes, staring out the window as my mind raced. I bit my lip, feeling the tears threatening to spill over, but I didn't want to break down.
He noticed and quietly pushed a box of tissues toward me.
"Here, just in case," he said, his tone soft, no pressure.
I didn't take the tissue, just kept staring out the window like it had all the answers I didn't have.
"Onika," he tried again, his voice a little softer, "I'm not here to push you, but I can't help if you don't talk. This is your space. Say whatever's on your mind."
I let out a sad, broken chuckle, shaking my head slightly.
"What can I even say?" My voice cracked, and I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand before the tears could fall.
"Anything," Dr. Bennett said gently. "Start with what's eating at you the most. There's no wrong way to begin."
I glanced at him, still unsure, but his calmness made it hard to keep holding back. "I don't even know where to start. Everything is just... fucked up."
"Okay," he said, nodding, "so let's talk about 'fucked up.' What's weighing on you the heaviest right now?"
I took a deep breath, trying to keep it together. "I'm a domestic violence survivor, five months pregnant... and my girlfriend has been missing for three months. They're ready to say she's..." My voice cracked, and the tears started falling before I could stop them. I quickly wiped my eyes, feeling overwhelmed. "I'm sorry," I whispered, barely able to get the words out.
Dr. Bennett stayed calm, his voice soft but steady. "You don't have to apologize, Onika. This is a lot for anyone to carry."
He handed me a tissue, and I took it, dabbing my eyes, still trying to keep it together.
"You're in a safe space here," he reminded me gently. "Let's take it one step at a time. You were saying... they're ready to say she's what?"
I hesitated, the words stuck in my throat, but Dr. Bennett kept his tone calm, guiding me through it.
"It's okay to let it out. You don't have to hold back here."
I took a shaky breath, feeling the tears start up again. "They think she's gone," I finally whispered. "They think she's dead, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to accept that."
