Page 29

C hapter 29

Naya

The rain patters softly against the fabric-covered roof above me, and I can’t help but feel a sense of tranquility at the sound, despite the uncomfortable situation I’ve found myself in.

After my breakdown last week, Draven decided he would allow me to have at-home visits with the psychologist, which goes for Grey, too, as he had his first session here two days ago. It feels comforting to be in an environment that doesn’t remind me of Dankworth Institute—somewhere private where I can find the peace I need without feeling pressured.

That’s not to say I’m not anxious, because I am. Dread churns inside me like a thunderclap, and I can feel the impending strike of lightning.

I sit outside with a blanket wrapped around me as the rain falls around their large terrace. Before me sits a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back in a bun, taking in the nature before us. Her name is Camila Wilson, an acquaintance of Draven’s and the psychiatrist he initially talked about when suggesting therapy—not the other man at the clinic, Dr. Miller.

This is our first meeting, and Camila is taking it easy, not pressuring me for anything, even when I’m all fidgety and unable to sit still. My hands tightly clutch the blanket, though it does little to ease my growing anxiety.

“How are you feeling about being here today?” Camila asks, her kind eyes focused on me, curious yet not prodding.

I swallow, struggling to find my voice. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know,” I tell her, not sure where to look. Looking at her feels too intimidating.

“It’s normal to feel uncertain during first sessions. But I promise you we’ll go slow and at your own pace. You don’t tell me anything you’re not ready to talk about, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling a weight lifting off my shoulders.

“You decide whatever pace we go.”

I nod, licking my lips, relieved at her words. Silence fills the space around us, except for the soft patter of rain mixed with snow against the tent-like pergola overhead, and the bushes and branches nearby.

“I’ve gotten the basics from Draven about what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you so I can guide you in the best way possible. From what I understand, you were heavily traumatized at a human trafficking ring before you were sent to Dankworth Institute, where you met Grey. Then there was the dollhouse, which you escaped from. You’ve been through a lot,” she begins.

Her words bring the memories rushing back, my throat closing as my lungs lose the capability to breathe.

“That’s correct,” I whisper, feeling the trees swirling around us as dizziness settles in.

“Do you feel comfortable telling me about your parents?”

My mouth opens, but closes just as quickly, absorbing her question. The truth about my parents is too messy and raw, something sacred that I can’t share with anyone except for Grey. It’s a brutal truth that makes up who I am, and how it all started. Yet, at the same time, isn’t that what she needs to hear to understand and guide me? Don’t I want that help?

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stave off the pressure building inside me. Meanwhile, Camila remains silent, not pushing me to answer. She’s merely waiting, yet somehow, that feels even worse, forcing me to be the one to break the silence.

I can’t stand the pressure bubbling up like an erupting volcano that will explode any second—a deadly disease spreading inside me. Without even thinking about it, I drag my heel up to my knees, sitting in a tailored position, and start picking at the skin on my feet, alternating between picking and scratching my arm until I’m all red. Her perceptive gaze makes me feel even more nervous, my hands shaking violently.

“M-my mother killed my f-father when I was seven,” I whisper.

The surroundings quieten, as if even the trees heard my revelation and dare not make a sound.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been, especially at such a young age,” she pauses, and I feel the first tear trickling down my cheek that I quickly wipe away, somehow feeling embarrassed that she’s seeing me like this. “I want you to know that we don’t have to go any further unless you’re ready. But we will need to address it eventually, whether it be today or in a future session. Healing from trauma involves revisiting it and developing new, healthy coping mechanisms to support your daily life.”

My heart constricts, and I feel myself spiraling, continuing to hastily pick at my heel and wishing I could be anywhere but here.

“I don’t want to talk more,” I say, my voice steady, yet feel like it’s quivering.

She hums softly, folding her hands in front of her. “That’s perfectly okay. Would you like to talk about your self-harm?”

“My w-what?” I stutter, eyes growing twice the size.

She pointedly looks at my foot, and I quickly drag it under the blanket, hiding it from her view, once again ashamed.

“What you’re doing is a way to cope with your mental pain by creating physical pain. It’s not a healthy strategy,” she explains, her tone compassionate yet firm.

I shrink away from her watchful gaze, refusing to meet her eyes.

“How about, instead of picking at your skin, you try to squeeze a soft ball to keep your hands busy? See if it works instead,” she suggests, offering a small ball that I hesitantly take.

“Your road to recovery will be long and painful. It might even feel impossible at times, but it’s not. I’ll be here to guide you every step of the way, using cognitive-behavioral therapy and other methods.”

I listen, nodding absentmindedly, lost in my own thoughts and the nightmares taking root there.

“I think it’s best if we continue this discussion with Grey. I need to talk to you both regarding something,” Camila says gently as she waits for my approval.

Uncertainty fills me, but I follow her into the kitchen, where Draven and Everlee are making lunch together. Watching them with each other fills my heart with warmth, yet I can’t help but feel ashamed that they know I’m seeing a psychiatrist. I don’t think it ever will be easier—that raw vulnerability while baring your soul open for someone else to prod and inspect.

“We’ll be in your office,” Camila informs Draven before calling for Grey.

We enter Draven’s office, which is as dark as the rest of the house, including the furniture. Grey immediately pulls me into his embrace, his eyes asking if I’m okay. I give him a faint nod before settling into the leather armchair in front of the desk. Camila sits down across from me, while Grey takes a seat beside me.

“You’ve both endured more than any person should, violations of your human rights. With that in mind, I have a proposal for you that I believe you should consider very seriously.”

The look in her eyes tells me that whatever she’s about to say will impact everything, as if she’ll drop a bomb over the room that will shatter everything—including its inhabitants.

The urge to rip off my sock and pick at the skin beneath it is overwhelming—a voice in my head begging me to obey. Instead, I dig my nails as hard as I can into my palms, desperately trying to focus on something else. Without drawing too much attention to myself, I grab the ball I got from Camila, squeezing it tightly. My toes fidget, yearning for the physical pain that the ball can’t quite give. It’s milder, but it’s at least something—healthier, yes.

“Both your childhoods and the start of adulthood have affected you deeply,” Camila says. “And I know you feel as if you have lost the sense of what is real and what isn’t. At Rosewood Psychiatry, we are fully equipped to guide you toward recovery.”

“Wait, what are you saying?” I ask out loud, but it’s as if no one in the room can hear me.

Adrenaline shoots through my body, causing my bones to grind together as confusion washes over me. I look at Grey for support, but his gaze is fixed on Camila, asking questions that neither of us has the answers to.

“How do you know it will work?” His tone is full of disbelief, fists clenched hard—he’s not happy about her suggestion, either.

A piercing ringing takes hold deep in my eardrums, evolving into a high-pitched whine that refuses to shut up. Cold sweat breaks out on my forehead as I struggle to breathe and maintain my composure.

“I once had a patient who was so traumatized by his past that he lost control of himself,” Camila explains. “He tried to fight against it on his own without seeking help, but things only worsened. He ended up hurting the people he loved, even if that was the last thing he wanted to. He stayed in my care for two years, and today, he’s finally able to live a normal life, managing his emotions. If he can do it, so can you.”

A hopeful look crosses her expression, her eyes nearly shining with the belief that healing is possible.

Yet, in my eyes, she looks like a perpetrator, poised to ruin our lives and never let us out.

“What’s going on?” I quip, a shiver rolling through my body as I wrestle with the onslaught of emotions. The ringing persists, only increasing, but I focus on steadying my breath.

Camila keeps her hands folded, elbows resting on the desk for support, as she leans her chin against them, looking at me when she speaks.

“I want you to stay at Rosewood Psychiatry in the women’s ward. You’ve had difficult relationships with men over the years, and we will help you learn to cope and heal from that.”

I turn to Grey, whose eyes meet mine, though his face has taken on an ashen hue. “Does that imply me as well?” he asks Camila, his voice trembling slightly, making it deeper, more hesitant.

Camila shifts her gaze from me to Grey, eyes softened at the edge. “Not at this moment. You and I will continue our sessions here. Naya’s situation is different—”

I can’t hear the rest of her sentence as the room spins out of control, blurring the lines between what’s real and what isn’t. All I can do is stare at Camila with an open mouth as she patiently waits for my response, the unsettling hope in her eyes shining through like the sun on a warm summer day. The urge to sink into the armchair and hide forever makes my nails dig into my palms once again—screw the ball, it can’t satisfy the itching need inside me.

“Y-you want to strip me of my freedom,” I say, my voice as dead as I feel on the inside with the panic surfacing.

Camila frowns, shaking her head. “That’s not it at all. This is a chance for you to properly heal from everything you have been through.”

My head won’t resonate with anything she says as I scramble out of my seat, backing toward the door. “You want to lock me up—just like they did at Grimhill Manor. Just like Dankworth Institute.” My voice comes out flat, emotionless.

Camila turns to protest, but I’m already out of the door, panic washing over me until I don’t know what to do anymore. All I know is that I need to get out of here before I’m locked up once again, stolen from life once more.

I don’t think—I only sprint up to the room Grey and I share before I grab our backpack, throwing all of my belongings inside of it. Survival instinct has taken over me, a desperate need to escape this house that’s slowly suffocating me.

“What are you doing?” Grey comes up from behind me, startling me. His skin has regained some color as he grabs my wrist in his stronger hands, looking down at me with a lethal look.

“I’m getting out of here,” I say, trying to wrench free from Grey. “Let go of me!” I scream at him in frustration, the walls slowly closing in on me.

Soon, I won’t be able to breathe at all.

“Not going to happen,” he hisses. His eyes burn with a seriousness that makes me unable to meet them.

I turn around, finally managing to wrench my wrist free from his grip as I look at him with despair swirling in my irises. I’m on the verge of crying, but I won’t allow myself to spill the tears that desperately want to fall. I’m much stronger now than I was before.

“They want to take me from you!” My voice is loud and clear, echoing through the wooden walls as if they are made of a bumpy material. “She wants to lock me up again, take away my freedom! I can’t just do nothing. I can’t fucking be trapped again. You, out of everyone, should know that.”

Rage simmers in his eyes before he manages to calm himself. He presses me closer to his muscular chest, the dark and earthly scent of his perfume washing over me soothingly as he holds me in his thick arms.

“I know, darling. I know,” he murmurs.

This time, I can’t help but let the tears fall down my cheeks, each one spilling like a brick from a collapsing house. Everything crumbles, and there’s nothing I can do to glue the house back.

“Please, Grey. Don’t let them take me.” My voice is nearly inaudible.

I clutch his shirt, letting the tears soak the fabric as his strong hands stroke my hair.

“I will never let anyone take you from me. It’s you and I ‘til the end, remember?” He continues stroking my hair until the sobs ease, the tears not falling as rapidly anymore. “There has to be another way.”

A voice from the doorway makes my body stiffen as Everlee enters the room, looking hesitant as she takes in my appearance.

“It sounds like you need a hug?” she asks, smiling at me, and I immediately walk into her embrace as she opens her arms.

Shortly thereafter, Grey leaves us two alone in the room, and Everlee eventually breaks the hug.

“That therapy shit is hard,” she laughs, looking at me with a gaze I cannot decipher. “You have a choice if you want to go to Rosewood or not. No one can force you. Okay?”

I nod, sniffing as I wipe away the tears from my cheeks. “What if they try?”

“I will make another proposal to Camila. She can treat you from here. I will talk with Draven and make sure he agrees on it.”

“Thank you, Everlee. I don’t know what I would have done if it weren’t for you.”

Her smile widens. “I’m the one who should thank you. You saved my sanity back at Grimhill.”

“I got your note. It helped me find peace at Dankworth,” I tell her truthfully, and the smile she gives me is beaming.

For a moment, we share a silent understanding, but then the tension thickens the air. There are still so many words left unspoken between us—how we move from here. “You know we can’t stay here forever,” I admit, my mood souring. “Eventually, the police will find us. I can’t drag you down with me when that happens. I think our only option is to leave the country.”

I brace myself for disappointment to cloud her features, but instead, she looks at me with a calm sense of clarity and pride, as though she’s proud of me.

“I know, and Draven and I will help you with everything. But stay a little longer, at least until you really have to go. Give yourself time to get better before you have to run again.”

Her words fill me with serenity, pulling me back from the edge of panic. She’s been through this; she knows how terrifying it is to confront your feelings in therapy because she has experienced the same kind of hell. Now, she wants me to heal, too.

With one last hug, she walks out the door, and Grey steps inside, immediately taking me into his embrace.

“It’s you and I against the world for all eternity, little doll. We do as Everlee said. We stay here to let us both recover before we can finally start the rest of our forever together.”

And as he kisses me, he does so with lips full of promises of our future. A love so toxic and poisonous that it takes me into the depths of hell, where I will gladly remain as long as I am with him.