The room felt warm in a way I hadn't realized I needed. Soft afternoon light spilled through the curtains, casting everything in gold. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and something I couldn't quite place—maybe sandalwood. It wasn't overpowering, just enough to settle in the background. The couch was comfortable, the kind you could sink into without feeling like you were being swallowed. There was a blanket draped over one of the arms, worn and soft-looking, and the bookshelves were filled with more than just clinical texts—there were novels, poetry, books that felt lived with.

"I can lend you one or two. You look like you love reading." Her soft voice reached my ears and I smiled, nodding quickly.

"I do, yes."

"Is it just your hobby or do you find some comfort in it?"

"Maybe both?" I respond, unsure of my answer. "I don't know, I usually read to escape reality."

"That's very understandable. Sometimes you just want to sink in the pages huh?" She chuckled, sitting down on her chair and gesturing for me to take a seat in front of her.

I smiled faintly, nodding. "Would be much easier if I could just live in my favorite book." I took a seat, sighing quietly.

It wasn't the first nice room I had been in. Mrs. Ava's office had been beautiful too, with all muted colors and carefully placed decor. But there had always been something distant about it, like everything was arranged just to keep people at arm's length. This room felt different. Warmer. More human.

Mrs. Mary listened. Not like she was waiting for me to say something wrong or overdramatic, not like she was quietly deciding which parts of my feelings weren't valid. She didn't make me second-guess myself. When I spoke—when I finally let myself be honest—she just nodded, like I made sense. Like I wasn't too much.

I sat there, fingers brushing the edge of that soft blanket, and for the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

"Do you want to talk about it this time?" Her voice is careful, like she's trying her best not to upset me.

I tense up, clenching my jaw and looking down at my fidgeting fingers. "I don't—" I exhaled shakily, looking at her again. "I don't know."

"Look, it's okay to feel scared. I'm not here to force you to tell me, you know? But you've said before that your past is holding you back from living your life to the fullest. I'm sure you understand that if you won't talk about it, you might never be able to heal from it."

Her voice was gentle, soothing me in a way my mother never did. I nodded, gathering all the strength I could find inside me to try and talk about it.

"Well, I was—" I paused, trying to swallow a big lump that had already formed in my throat. "I was fifteen when my friend, Kallias, outed me to the whole school. He was mad at me for some reason — I don't even remember why. But the news spread so quickly."

She nodded, writing something down quickly before glancing at me again. "It's okay Newt. Go on."

"It got to my father before I could even realize what was happening in my life. He — he beat me. Hard." I swallowed again, continuously fidgeting with my fingers.

I no longer had the courage to look at her. My gaze was fixed on my hands and I didn't dare to look up.

"He threatened that he would send me away in here, London. My grandma lives here."

"Is she nice?" Her voice was quiet, gentle.

I nodded, still not looking up. "She loves me. I lived at her house before going to college. But that's not where he sent me."

It took me another two minutes to try and prepare myself for reliving the worst night of my life.

"There was this camp he found. A troubled teen's camp. Somewhere far away from our house." I exhaled shakily, closing my eyes before opening them again and looking at her to see her expression.

She nodded, reassuring me that it was okay to continue. It made me feel safe, in a really good way. However, it still didn't take away the panic that was slowly building up in me when I thought of it all.

"They came into my bedroom at three in the morning. I begged my father not to let them take me, but he didn't listen. He just stood there. Honestly, that was expected — he never listened to what I had to say, not really." My chest tightened, the air felt like it was being sucked out of my lungs as that night flooded back into my mind.

Her expression shifted, like the realization of what kind of camp was I talking about had finally hit her.

"They... they dragged me away, and I ended up in a whole different world I never even knew existed. We traveled there by train." My voice wavered, the memory twisting like a knife in my chest. "When I arrived at the camp, it seemed good at first." My voice cracked, and I felt the sting of tears welling in my eyes. I wiped them away roughly with my sleeve, trying to keep myself together.

She handed me the box of tissues, giving me a reassuring smile that was also a smile of pity. It didn't annoy me though, I couldn't really blame her for it.

"It turned out to be pure torture. Every. Single. Day. They wouldn't let me eat more than once, and some days, I didn't get a meal at all — because I was being too... too difficult, apparently. Sometimes months would go by without being allowed to have a simple shower, because apparently we were wasting too much water." I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat nearly choking me.

I looked down again, not having enough strength to look at her. "Once I tried so hard to behave so I'd deserve the privilege of one phone call. I called my grandma, told her everything that was happening but they — they dragged me out of the room and manipulated her into believing that I was just trying to cause some trouble."

Then, surprisingly, a faint, sad smile crossed my face. "I made a friend there, though. Maliah." My voice caught again, and this time, the tears finally spilled over, streaming down my face. "She didn't make it. She died, because—" I couldn't finish. My voice broke completely, my body trembling as a sob escaped me. "Because her body just couldn't take it anymore. Everything they put us through, it killed her." I sniffled hard, trying to regain control, but the grief was too heavy, too raw. "I miss her. I miss her so damn much." I mumbled, crying out silently.

I was exhausted from all the emotions I had released, but I still found some strength to look at her. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she couldn't manage to put on a reassuring smile.

It hit me. Harder than it normally should've. I never thought that what I went through was normal, but I never thought it would make a therapist cry either. I felt a complete horror as I realized the severity of what I had endured for three years.

But the tiniest part of me, which barely even existed, felt better. Relieved. Comforted that I had talked about it for the first time after it had happened.

It was a big burden I was carrying with me, that suddenly felt not as heavy as before. Still heavy, but not as suffocating as before.

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Hey again!

Wow, two chapters in a day. I've never done it before:,) this one is a bit emotional, though I hope it was still enjoyable.

Give feedback if you'd like<3

Take care!