His Shortcake

Chapter 24

(A/N: Short chapter ahead.)

Tamara Ramirez

The familiar citrus scent of the room hit me as soon as I stepped inside.

My eyes wandered around the space, which was just as I remembered: clean and spacious. The walls were painted a subtle eggshell white, and across from the door, degrees and certificates of Dr. Emilia Rose were displayed. A large desk was positioned on the right side of the room, leaving ample space for a conversation area suitable for three people. A single brown armchair was placed diagonally from a two-seater brown couch. In between them, a round coffee table held a bowl of candies. A clock, conveniently located behind the patient's couch, ticked softly in the background.

"She'll be with you in a moment," Melba announced, offering a smile before closing the door behind her.

In this oddly quiet room amidst the bustling city, the window across from my seat was large enough to offer a view of the setting sun framed by towering buildings. The distant hum of traffic below was barely audible.

When the door opened again, Dr. Rose entered with a smile on her face and a glass of water in her hand. She gracefully set the glass down in front of me before picking up her pen and notepad from her desk. "Hello, Tamara," she greeted as she took a seat in the brown armchair. Her dark brown eyes regarded me with kindness.

Despite my familiarity with the place and the doctor, my heart pounded twice as fast as usual. My palms were sweaty, and a chill ran through me as I stared at the wooden floor.

The setup of the conversation area was oddly convenient for someone like me. I could choose to look away from her, avoiding her gaze if I wished. Or I could meet her eyes if I felt like it. It was entirely up to me, unlike the other places Alec and I had visited.

"How was your day?" Dr. Rose began, her tone unwavering despite my silence.

I wanted to say it was uneventful. My days have been boring yet exhausting, both mentally and physically. Since that night of my breakdown, I've been constantly on edge, watching those around me with suspicion. The memories of what happened replay endlessly in my mind, a relentless loop of torment that haunts me whether I'm asleep or awake.

Artemis and Apollo have noticed my lack of sleep. They've been considerate, letting me take naps between classes that I share with them. Apollo, particularly worried about my well-being, has taken to deliberately taking the longer route to his building just to accompany me to mine. Even Artemis, ever cheerful, has gone out of her way to make me smile from time to time.

I doubt Dustyn has gotten much sleep this past week. Whenever I woke from my nightmares, he was always there, his eyes wide with concern as he watched my fear-stricken face. He was always ready to comfort me, staying by my side to help me get back to sleep. Each morning, he greeted me with a smile despite the bags under his eyes and his constant yawning during breakfast.

I sneaked a glance at Dr. Rose. She sat patiently with her legs crossed, her pen resting neatly on the paper she had taken from her desk. Noticing my gaze, she offered a warm smile and leaned over to take a candy from the bowl on the coffee table.

"Would you like some?" she asked, holding out a piece of candy on the palm of her hand.

I took the candy without a word.

Dr. Rose has always been like this—friendly and laid-back. She doesn't pressure anyone to talk. In fact, I often spend more time thinking in her office than speaking. Before we wrap up each session, she asks how I'm doing, but it's up to me whether I choose to answer or not.

Just like now, Dr. Rose would wait, no matter how long it took, for me to feel comfortable enough to talk.

I don't think comfort is the issue right now. It's more about the endless questions and the what-ifs—wondering whether talking would actually help. I've been in this exact room, facing this same predicament before. I left here once thinking I was finally better, believing that the hours spent with Dr. Rose had somehow stopped the awful memories from haunting me.

Yes, the memories haven't been erased. Yes, I've had breakdowns from time to time, but never to this extent.

That night, everything felt unbearably real. I could feel the blows, the rough grip on my chin as he turned my face toward him. I felt his fingers trailing up my legs, taunting me to react as he whispered vile things in my ear. It felt more real than it ever had, and that scared me the most.

I was so disoriented that my reality and my nightmares began to blur together, making it impossible to distinguish what was real. I said such horrible things to Alec that he started blaming himself for what happened. I made my brother cry because I was too lost in my turmoil.

Maybe therapy hasn't worked for me. Perhaps I was deceived by the illusion of progress, convincing myself that I was okay when I wasn't. Maybe I was never meant to forget those things, and maybe I never truly did.

The memories seemed to lurk beneath all the happy moments I've experienced over the years, waiting for the right time to resurface. As time has passed, my occasional mild breakdowns have been reminders of those memories. Now, it feels as if the venom of those memories is more toxic than ever.

Every night, I hope and pray to make it through. I wish I wouldn't wake up sweating, trembling, and screaming in fear and desperation. I long for the day when the only thing that awakens me is the bright light of the sun streaming through the window, not the sight of Dustyn's worried, distraught face.

I hate it. I hate the way I'm handling it. I hate that it has such a firm grip on me that I can never escape. I hate that it affects not just me, but those around me. I hate that I seem to be getting worse no matter how hard I try not to think about it.

But then I remember Dustyn's smile before I came into this room. I think of the countless times he's comforted me, the ways he makes me feel loved and cared for, and the solace he provides. Those thoughts make me reconsider my decisions. They remind me that Alec isn't the only one looking out for me.

Maybe I should try harder—for myself and for the people who continue to watch over me. Maybe I owe it to myself to be motivated enough to talk to Dr. Rose like I used to. Maybe I just need that extra push that Alec always gives me and the understanding that Dustyn provides each time.

With a deep sigh, I met Dr. Rose's dark brown eyes. "I had an attack. A breakdown, whatever you call it."