Broken Hands

7. Talking...

Grayson wrapped his hands around the teacup, its warmth seeping into his palms, calming him as he focused on the small details—the gentle rise of steam curling out of the ginger-scented tea, the comforting weight of the cup itself. For a moment, he let the outside world blur, grounding himself in this simple, quiet ritual. He wished he'd brought Stray along; she always had a way of knowing when he needed her and could have nestled beside him, making everything feel a little more bearable.

Aunt Lauren's voice softly broke through his thoughts. "Grayson, do you want to go home, dear?"

He looked up, meeting her warm eyes. "No, I feel better now," he said, though his voice came out rough, and the way his shoulders stayed tense gave him away. Aunt Lauren noticed, as always.

She leaned forward, taking her own cup in hand, sipping as though to bridge the quiet with something gentle. "Is this the first time this week?" she asked, her tone as soft as the leaves rustling in the garden.

Grayson set his cup down, looking around at their favorite spot—a cozy nook beneath a delicately designed, umbrella-like canopy. Here, surrounded by her lush garden, Aunt Lauren seemed to have created her own little paradise.

"It's the first time in a long time," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aunt Lauren nodded, her eyes shining with quiet pride. "You took it well, Grayson." Her words hung in the air, almost like a warm breeze wrapping around him. For a moment, he let her compliment settle in, like a gentle weight that steadied him.

"Have you been talking to your therapist about this?" she asked.

Grayson shrugged, glancing away. "She knows. I just don't talk about it much. It helps keep it away."

Aunt Lauren nodded, understanding his need for space without pressing him. "It's alright, Grayson. You've been so strong, finding ways to keep moving forward," she said, her voice full of pride. "I'm really impressed by how much you've grown."

He felt a flicker of warmth at her words, muttering a quiet, "Thanks."

Aunt Lauren smiled, her gaze distant for a moment as she remembered something. "Your grandfather would be proud too. I met with him just a few days ago—he couldn't stop asking about you and your cousins. Wanted pictures, updates... He's retired now, spends his days lost in books. He's always loved books, even when we were kids."

Grayson's face shifted, and he held back his feelings, his gaze dropping to the ground. His grandfather, with his wealth and power, had left his mother without support, leading her into Charlie's grip. It was a pain he couldn't set down, a wound too deep to ignore.

He stood up slowly, meeting Aunt Lauren's gentle gaze one last time. "I think I'll go rest for a bit. Thanks for... everything," he said, meaning it.

Aunt Lauren nodded, her smile understanding. She watched him go, and as he stepped back into the house, he let the warmth of her words carry him forward, looking for a quiet place where, even just for a while, he could forget everything.

******

Grayson sat in front of his laptop, the faint glow casting a blue tint over his face as he glanced at Mrs. Denis's kind expression on the screen. He shifted in his chair, keeping his arms crossed, eyes dodging hers when she spoke.

"So, Grayson, let's talk a bit about last week," she began, her voice as gentle as ever, probing but never pressing too hard. "How have you been managing things?"

He shrugged, looking at a spot somewhere above her head. "Fine, I guess."

Mrs. Denis leaned forward slightly, watching him with her usual patience. "And those... moments, where you feel trapped or unsettled? Have they been more frequent lately?"

Grayson's jaw tensed. He knew what she was hinting at, the past memories she hoped he'd finally open up about. But the thought of stepping back into the shadows of those memories made his skin crawl. He muttered, "I don't think about it much. Try not to."

A moment of silence hung between them before Mrs. Denis nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. But soon, Grayson, we'll be starting a new approach in therapy—Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, or EMDR. Have you heard of it?"

He looked up, his brow creasing slightly. "No. What's that?"

"EMDR is a way of helping your brain process difficult memories so they don't feel as intense. And with that, we'll combine Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, or CBT, to help you find new ways of coping with them."

"Process... memories?" he echoed, a faint edge of dread creeping into his voice. He dropped his gaze again, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "So... I'd have to talk about everything that happened?"

Mrs. Denis nodded, her expression empathetic. "It won't be easy, and I understand if it sounds overwhelming. But it'll give you some distance from those memories. They won't hurt as much. You'll feel in control, not them."

Grayson's lips pressed into a thin line, doubt thick in his gaze. "I don't know... it feels like digging up everything just makes it worse."

"I understand. But the idea is to make peace with the past rather than bury it." She gave him a reassuring smile. "And you won't be alone in this. We'll go at a pace that works for you."

He didn't respond, only nodded, his silence saying more than his words. Mrs. Denis asked a few more questions, each one answered in clipped phrases until finally, the session ended. He closed his laptop with a sigh, pushing away the faint feeling of weariness clinging to him.

*************

Outside, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the yard as Grayson wandered through the garden. He didn't hear Russell approach until he was close, his footsteps quiet on the gravel.

"How was therapy?" Russell asked, his tone casual but laced with concern.

"Fine," Grayson muttered, kicking a small stone off the path.

Russell fell into step beside him. "You know, someday... it's gonna get better."

Grayson scoffed, glancing sideways. "I can't picture that," he murmured. "The more I think about it, the worse it feels. I just have to keep my mind blank, keep everything locked up, or else it just... drags me back."

Russell gave a slow nod, frowning. "I get that. I mean, I don't get all of it, but... it'd be nice if you could just wipe out all those memories, leave just the good stuff, right?"

A faint chuckle escaped Grayson. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't be... me." He looked down at his hands, voice softer. "Maybe that'd be better."

Russell stopped, turning to face him. "Maybe, but you wouldn't be *you*, Grayson. And the you I know..." He gave a small smile, reaching out to place a firm hand on Grayson's shoulder. "I wouldn't trade you for anything. You need to let them help you, Gray. Not for anyone else, just for you. And maybe a little for us, too."

Grayson swallowed hard, nodding, though his gaze stayed fixed on the ground. He didn't trust himself to speak. Russell's encouragement felt like a warm weight pressing into him, steadying his heart.

Russell smiled proudly, but then his expression shifted, his eyes sparking with mischief as he took a small step back, a smirk curling at his lips. "Oh, by the way," he said, holding up Grayson's phone, "I have your phone. And I'm about to text Savanna saying, 'Hi, Sav, I think I like you.'"

Grayson's eyes widened. "No, you won't."

"Oh, yes, I will." Russell's grin grew as he took another step back, waggling his eyebrows. "And you can't stop me, Gray."

Without another word, Russell took off running, his laughter echoing through the garden. For a split second, Grayson hesitated, but then he took off after him, shouting, "Russell! I swear, if you send that text...!"

Their laughter filled the garden, Russell's voice echoing as he sprinted ahead, with Grayson right on his heels, his chest lighter than it had felt all day.

A/N

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