Page 147 of The Chaos She Brings

A shiver runs through me.

Oh god, I can’t do this.

Nope. No. No thank you.

Shaking my head I try to rip my hand from Carina’s grasp just as a woman, who looks to be in her mid-thirties, steps into the room. Her eyes lock onto me, then widen as she notices the pink hair beside me.

“Carina?” she gasps, hands over her mouth.

“Hi Doctor Morgan,” Carina whispers, looking at the floor in an uncharacteristic moment of bashfulness.

Doctor Morgan rolls her eyes, the corners of her lips curling upwards. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Emily?”

Carina stands, looking like she wants to rush over to the other woman, but she’s hesitating. Doctor Morgan steps closer, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor, until she’s in front of Carina.

The two women stand awkwardly for a beat before wrapping their arms around each other.

“I was scared you wouldn’t want to see me,” Carina mumbles.

Doctor Morgan shakes her head, breathing deeply as she steps back. “You know I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

She turns to me, smiling kindly. “Tess?”

I nod numbly, still internally freaking out.

She cocks her head at me as she says, “Come this way,” heels clicking once more as she walks towards the door she appeared from.

My eyes meet Carina’s, and she nods encouragingly.

Inhaling, I step forwards and follow after the Doctor.

The therapist office is neutrally coloured—all beiges and greys—save for the bright blue couch in the centre, next to the chair Doctor Morgan currently occupies.

I settle into the worn leather, the fabric creaking below me.

Picking at my nails I wait for her to speak.

“Why don’t you start by telling me why you’re here?” she coaxes, pushing her glasses up her nose.

She’s pretty. Brown shoulder length hair, wide honey-coloured eyes, and a heart-shaped face. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and blouse—professional, put together.

Meanwhile, I’m in jeans and one of Kai’s tops, knotted at the back to make it cropped. My hair is a mess, falling over my back in waves while hers is shiny and glossy, perfectly in place.

“Tess?”

I shake my head, clearing it.

“I don’t know how to start,” I say, pinching the skin of my wrists.

“Take your time.” Her smile is warm, her tone soothing, but my insides are still tangled in knots.

I stare up at the ceiling, looking at the crack in the paint before squeezing my eyes shut. Then my head swings down and I blurt, “I might be pregnant with my rapist's baby.”

Silence.

I force myself to look at her.

Doctor Morgan's expression remains composed, but her eyes soften with something I can’t quite name—understanding, maybe, or sorrow.