Lines We Cross

Chapter 38

The office was quiet—too quiet, really. YN's foot tapped impatiently against the polished hardwood floor as she glanced around the space, taking in the serene paintings, the subtle scent of lavender, and the bookshelf stacked with titles on coping strategies, self-care, and emotional intelligence. It felt wrong. Sterlings didn't do therapy; they were too busy keeping everything in line, maintaining control. Therapy was for people who needed help, and she didn't need help.

Yet here she was, barely three months since that day with her father—since she'd left Lizzie and started living on autopilot, meeting her father's expectations, becoming exactly what was expected of her. She could feel it draining her, and no matter how many parties, how much work, or how many mindless social events she went to, none of it made her feel better.

The flash of Nina's face, worried and uncertain, flickered in her mind. She remembered it clearly—three nights ago. YN had felt her breathing pick up, felt the walls of her bedroom closing in. Her hands had been clammy, her chest tight, and as she tried to calm herself down, she realized she couldn't. She'd been hyperventilating, and before she knew it, Nina and Maya had been by her side, rubbing her back and talking her down, their concerned whispers cutting through the haze.

She'd tried to brush it off, but they hadn't let her. Nina had stayed with her, refusing to leave until YN agreed to consider seeing a therapist. She hadn't wanted to—she'd even fought it, pushed them away with every excuse she could think of. But Nina and Maya had seen through it, had gently insisted, and eventually, YN found herself here, in Dr. Hansen's office, simply because she didn't want to keep hurting the people who cared about her.

The door opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped in, clipboard in hand, a warm but professional smile on her face. "YN Sterling? I'm Dr. Hansen. Come on in."

YN hesitated, then stood, her hand running through her hair as she forced herself to follow. She kept her expression neutral, hoping the walls she'd built up would be enough. As she settled into the couch across from Dr. Hansen, she crossed her arms defensively, giving the woman a tight nod.

Dr. Hansen regarded her with a calm expression, settling into the armchair across from her. "So, YN, I understand this is your first session?"

"Yes." Short, to the point.

Dr. Hansen nodded, unbothered by her abruptness. "And you're here because...?"

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because I was convinced I needed it," she replied, bitterness clear in her voice.

"Convinced?" Dr. Hansen's eyebrows raised slightly, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "By whom?"

"Friends. Maya and Nina," she muttered, barely meeting the therapist's eyes. "They think I was...'acting out,' whatever that means."

Dr. Hansen just nodded, giving YN the space to continue. The silence stretched, and YN felt an uncomfortable prickling at the base of her spine. She was used to talking, sure, but never about herself like this. Especially not with a stranger.

After a long pause, Dr. Hansen prompted gently, "Would you agree with them?"

YN huffed a laugh, leaning back. "Define 'acting out.'" She smirked, hoping to deflect the question.

But Dr. Hansen didn't look away. "In this case, let's define it as doing things that you know, deep down, aren't in your best interest."

YN's smirk faded. She looked away, clenching her jaw. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Maybe," Dr. Hansen repeated, unfazed. "And what kind of things are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Everything I'm supposed to," YN shot back defensively, shrugging. "Going to class. Showing up to board meetings. Doing everything right."

Dr. Hansen's gaze was steady, giving nothing away. "That sounds exhausting."

For a moment, YN's defenses faltered. She looked down, fingers twisting around themselves. Exhausting didn't begin to cover it. It was as if everything she used to care about, everything she'd once been so passionate about, was fading to gray, leaving nothing but...obligations.

"You're not wrong," YN murmured, barely audible.

Dr. Hansen gave her a small, understanding nod. "Tell me, YN—what's something you actually want?"

That question took her off guard. What did she want? Lizzie's face flickered in her mind for a moment before she shoved it aside. "I don't know," she said flatly.

Dr. Hansen just nodded, letting the silence stretch out again. It was uncomfortable, the way she just...waited. No pressure, no judgment—just waiting, leaving space for YN to fill if she wanted.

She clenched her fists, her thoughts spiraling back to the nights spent out with Maya and Nina, the desperate attempts to forget—to let go of Lizzie, to numb herself to the ache she couldn't shake. She didn't need therapy. She didn't need anyone poking around in her life, trying to analyze her.

"Look, I agreed to come here because my friends wouldn't let it go. They think I'm...unhappy." She scoffed, the word bitter on her tongue. "And maybe I am. But talking about it? That's not going to fix anything."

"I understand why you'd feel that way," Dr. Hansen said calmly. "A lot of people feel that therapy can't change their reality. But sometimes, it can help you see your reality in a different way."

YN shook her head, irritated. "Right. Because looking at everything differently is supposed to fix what's broken?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Hansen replied softly. "But it can help you make sense of things that feel confusing, give you tools to manage what might feel overwhelming."

"Manage," YN echoed, her tone mocking. She pushed herself up from the couch. "I'm done here." She gave a tight, forced smile. "Thanks for the...advice."

Dr. Hansen didn't try to stop her. She simply watched as YN left the room, her expression calm, understanding. As YN reached the door, Dr. Hansen's voice reached her, soft and steady. "Sometimes, the hardest part is showing up. You did that today. Just think about that."

The words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her as she left the building. It felt like Dr. Hansen had seen something in her that YN wasn't ready to admit to herself.

———

The next morning, YN was at home, the therapist's words still nagging at the back of her mind. The conversation had been pointless, a waste of time—but somehow, it left her feeling raw, exposed in a way she couldn't quite shake. She'd been managing just fine, hadn't she? Her father was finally pleased, her friends were supportive, even if they worried. But the cost felt like it was eating her from the inside out, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn't deny it.

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