The Neighbor

Chapter 71

The Next Day

The waiting room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the heating system and the occasional shuffle of someone behind the front desk. You sit in one of the cushioned chairs, your leg bouncing nervously, the slight thud against the floor giving away your anxiety. Every movement sends a ripple of pain through your body, a sharp reminder of everything you've been through.

You're still covered in bruises. The dark, purple marks trace along your arms, disappearing under the long sleeves of the sweater you've chosen to wear today. The pain is duller now, but it's still there—deep in your ribs, in your chest, every breath reminding you that the physical wounds are still healing. The wheeze from your bruised lung catches your breath every now and then, but you try to control it, not wanting to worry Wanda any more than she already is.

You glance down at your lap, your fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the edge of your sweater. It's one of Wanda's, the soft material oversized on your smaller frame. The scent of her still clings to it—fresh and comforting, like the lavender she loves so much. You tug it closer to your chest, seeking comfort in the familiarity of it.

Your mind races, flashing between memories of what you've been through and the uncertainty of what you'll have to face in your therapy session. Scarlett has been your therapist since college, someone who knows you better than most. She's always been there for you, but now, the weight of everything you've been through feels too heavy to even begin unpacking.

Your leg bounces faster, the tension building in your chest.

Without a word, Wanda reaches over, her hand resting gently on your knee, her touch soft but grounding. Her fingers intertwine with yours, and she brings your hand up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. The gesture is tender, full of love and reassurance, and you can't help but exhale a shaky breath.

"Hey," she whispers, her voice soothing as her thumb traces slow circles over your hand. "You're okay, my love."

You glance over at her, Wanda's gaze locked on you with that fierce protectiveness that you've grown so used to. Her green eyes are full of worry, but they're also steady, a constant source of comfort. She's dressed in her signature style—a fitted leather jacket, dark jeans that hug her legs perfectly, and a pair of black heels that click softly against the floor when she moves. Even though she's trying to remain calm for you, the tension in her shoulders betrays her.

Wanda has always been your protector. And now, sitting next to you, her posture slightly stiff, you can tell she's holding back from doing more.

She wants to fix everything, to take all your pain away, but even with all her powers, this is something you have to face together, step by step.

"Scarlett will help," she says, as if trying to convince both of you. "you won't be alone, baby."

You nod, though your anxiety doesn't fully ease. The waiting room feels small, and the clock on the wall ticks a little too loudly, each second dragging on as you wait for Scarlett to call you in.

You're dressed simply, in leggings and a soft sweater, trying to prioritize comfort over anything else. Your body is still sore from the beatings, the lashings that left marks deep under your skin. Your ribs ache every time you shift, and the tightness in your chest makes every breath feel like a struggle. Even now, as you sit here, you have to remind yourself to breathe slowly, to keep your anxiety from spiking.

You glance down at your phone, trying to distract yourself from the anxiety swirling in your chest. Wanda's thumb strokes the back of your hand, her touch grounding you, but the tightness in your lungs lingers. Your leg continues to bounce, the movement agitating the dull ache in your ribs, but you can't stop yourself.