Those weren't Russell's words.
They were mine.
"I specialize in trauma-induced disorders," she said calmly. "I work with patients who've survived prolonged emotional or physical harm. What I hear follows a pattern."
My fingers dug into my palms.
"A pattern of what?" I asked.
"Escape," she replied. "When reality becomes unbearable, the mind looks for somewhere else to exist."
I shook my head. "So you think I'm delusional?"
"No." She said it immediately. "I think you're intelligent. I think you're imaginative. And I think you're deeply traumatized."
So all this….the diary, the body, the life that wasn't mine, wasn't the universe choosing me.
It was Russell needing help.
Then why me?
Why pull me into this?
Dr. Morris set her clipboard aside. The small gesture made the room feel more serious.
"Russell…" She smiled softly. "Your fixation on other dimensions may be your mind's way of coping."
My chest tightened.
This means no one will ever believe me.
