The rest of the week passed quietly, or at least as quietly as it could in my head. I hadn't seen Aiden in any of my classes, but that wasn't unusual. We didn't share many lectures, and with everything that had happened lately, I hadn't even thought to reach out. A part of me wondered if he'd noticed my absence—or cared—but I quickly pushed that thought aside. I had enough to deal with without overthinking my friendships.
Instead, my focus shifted between the lingering unease of my visit to my family's house and the unexpected lightness Elias seemed to bring every time we talked. Even now, sitting under the warm glow of the library's lights, I find myself replaying what happened at the beach.
I sighed, tapping my pen against the edge of my notebook. The group project was done, and for the first time in weeks, I had a rare moment of having nothing to do. It should have felt freeing, but instead, the silence pressed against me, bringing with it the same restless thoughts I'd been avoiding all week.
Before I could spiral too far, my phone buzzed against the table, the pop-up text lighting up with his name finally flashing across my phone.
Elias: Got a minute?
I hesitated before replying.
Me: Sure. What's up?
My phone buzzed almost immediately.
Elias: Not a fan of texting. Can I call?
Before I could reply, my phone vibrated again—this time with an incoming call from him. I sighed and answered, pressing the phone to my ear.
"What's wrong with texting?" I asked instead of a greeting.
His laugh was soft, but it held that familiar teasing edge. "Where's the fun in that? I prefer hearing your voice."
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see it. "What do you want, Elias?"
"Well, good afternoon to you too," he said, his tone mock-offended.
"Elias."
"Fine, fine," he said with a dramatic sigh. "I wanted to check in. Have you had your first therapy session yet?"
The question caught me off guard. I hadn't forgotten about his and Mr. Farrow's offer to arrange therapy for me, but I hadn't expected him to bring it up again so soon.
"No," I said firmly. "And I don't plan to."
"Raven—"
"I don't need therapy," I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended.
There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again, his tone gentler this time. "It's not about needing it. It's about giving yourself a chance to remember. You've been through a lot, and your memory is too hazy to find details."
"I'm fine," I said stubbornly.
"No, you're not," he said, and the quiet certainty in his voice made my chest tighten. "And that's okay. You don't have to be lying about this all the time."
I closed my eyes, willing myself to stay calm. "I appreciate the concern, but—"
"Raven," he said, cutting me off this time. "What about James? Or Lily?"
My breath hitched.
"They need you," he continued softly. "And you're already doing everything you can for them. But what happens if you stop halfway? If you're not okay, how can you fight for them?"
His words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I opened my mouth to argue but found that I couldn't.
"I'm not saying it'll fix everything," he said after a moment. "But it might help. Just… think about it, okay?"
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Why do you care so much?"
There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "Because I want to unless you don't want my help."
Something in his tone made my chest ache, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond.
"Fine," I muttered finally. "I'll think about it."
"Good," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "That's all I'm asking."
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "You're not supposed to be mature right now, you know that?"
"I've been told," he said cheerfully.
"No Aiden sightings?" he asked, his tone teasing.
I shook my head. "Not this week. He's probably buried in work."
"Hmm, lucky guy, getting to share classes with you."
I rolled my eyes. "We don't share that many."
"Still, I'm jealous."
Despite myself, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch upward.
The rest of the call with Elias was lighter after that. His teasing eventually coaxed a laugh out of me, though I refused to let him see how much his words had affected me. When we hung up, I stared at my phone for a long moment, the weight of his advice sinking in. He wasn't wrong—about any of it.
That night, I stayed up far too late reading through the email forwarded by Mr. Farrow about the therapist they'd chosen. Dr. Victoria Hayes. The name was professional but warm, and as I skimmed through her profile, I couldn't deny the knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. Therapy wasn't something I'd ever imagined for myself. It felt too… vulnerable, too raw. But Elias' voice lingered in my mind: If you're not okay, how can you fight for them?
By the time I fell asleep, the decision had already taken root, though I refused to fully acknowledge it just yet.
The next day, after my first two morning lectures, I finally worked up the nerve to call Dr. Hayes' office. The receptionist was friendly and understanding when I mumbled my way through the reason for my call, and before I knew it, I had an appointment set for the following afternoon.
I sat staring at my phone for a long moment after the call ended, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified. The thought of opening up to another stranger, someone who'd probably want to dissect every dark corner of my life, made my skin crawl. But this wasn't just for me—it was for James and Lily.
And, maybe, for the tiny part of me that still hoped things would get better.
The next day, I made my way to the address listed in the email, feeling increasingly out of place with every step. The office was in a small, well-kept building on the quieter side of town, surrounded by a few trees that still held onto their last leaves of autumn. The crisp air bit at my face as I approached the door, my stomach twisting into knots.
Inside, the waiting room was cozy but minimal. Soft beige walls, a few abstract paintings, and a coffee table piled with magazines that no one ever actually read. I filled out the forms they handed me with shaky hands, trying to ignore the way my leg bounced nervously.
"Raven?"
I looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was in her mid-40s, with a warm, open face and curly dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. She didn't wear a lab coat or anything overly clinical—just a simple sweater and slacks that made her seem approachable but still professional.
I stood, clutching my bag tightly as I nodded.
"I'm Dr. Hayes," she said with a small smile. "It's nice to meet you. Come on in."
Her office was just as inviting as the waiting room—plush chairs, soft lighting, and a window that overlooked the street outside. I sat stiffly on one of the chairs as she took the one across from me, a notebook in her lap.
"You seemed nervous in your message," she started gently, her eyes meeting mine. "That's perfectly normal. Therapy can feel intimidating at first, but you're already doing something incredibly brave by being here."
I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.
"I usually like to start with something simple," she continued. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself? Whatever you feel comfortable sharing."
For a moment, I hesitated, my thoughts racing. Where could I even begin?
"Well… I'm Raven," I started, my voice quieter than I intended. "I'm nineteen. I go to university… I like to read. And… I don't really know what else to say."
Dr. Hayes nodded, her expression calm a nd encouraging. "That's okay. There's no rush. Sometimes, it helps to think about what brought you here today."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. "I didn't really choose to come," I admitted. "A… friend of mine thought it might help."
"A good friend, then," she said with a faint smile.
I gave a small, reluctant nod. "He thinks I need to… process some things. But I'm fine. Really."
"'Fine' can mean a lot of different things," she said lightly. "Sometimes we say we're fine because we don't know how to explain what we're really feeling. And sometimes… we say it because it's easier than admitting we're not."
Her words hit closer to home than I wanted to admit, and I found myself looking down at my hands.
"I don't even know where to start," I muttered.
"That's okay, too," she said. "We don't have to dive into anything heavy right away. Why don't we start with something small? Tell me about your friend—what made them think this might help you?"
For some reason, the question made my chest tighten. I thought of Elias; in his annoying way, he always seemed to know exactly what to say, even when I didn't want to hear it.
"He… cares a lot," I said finally. "More than he probably should. I think he worries about me."
"That sounds like someone who wants the best for you," Dr. Hayes said. "Do you think he's right to be worried?"
I hesitated, my throat tightening as I tried to find the words. "Maybe," I admitted quietly.
"And what about you, Raven?" she asked gently. "Are you worried about yourself?"
I didn't answer right away. The room felt too quiet, too heavy with the weight of the question.
"I don't know," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Hayes didn't push. She simply nodded, her expression soft but understanding. "That's okay. Sometimes, just being here, taking this first step, is the hardest part. We can take it one step at a time, Raven. You don't have to figure everything out all at once."
Her words settled over me like the warmth of a heavy blanket, but underneath, a prickly discomfort lingered. I wasn't sure if it was because of her gentle tone or the fact that, deep down, I knew she was right.
I offered a small nod, not trusting myself to say more, and she didn't press further. Instead, she stood, signaling the end of the session, and I followed her lead.
Outside the therapy office, the cold Massachusetts air hit me like a sharp reminder of where I was. The gray sky hung low, the sun hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds, and the streets were dusted with snow, though most of it had been trampled into slush by hurried footsteps. My boots crunched against the salted pavement as I walked down the steps, pulling my coat tighter around me to block the icy wind that stung my cheeks.
I glanced at my phone as I reached the sidewalk. One missed call.
The name on the screen made me pause: Mr. Farrow. My brows furrowed. He hadn't called me directly in a while. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen, but before I could decide what to do, my phone vibrated again.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice sharp against the quiet hum of cars passing in the distance.
"Raven," Mr. Farrow's voice was calm but deliberate. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
I glanced at the therapy building behind me, the weight of the session still clinging to my thoughts. "Not really. What's this about?"
"I was wondering if you could stop by my office this afternoon," he said. There was something in his tone—subtle but firm—that left little room for refusal. "There's something important I'd like to discuss."
I shifted on my feet, watching a group of bundled-up students rush by. "Is everything okay?"
"It's nothing alarming," he assured, though his tone didn't quite match the reassurance he offered. "I just think it's something you should hear in person."
I swallowed back the urge to ask more questions. With Mr. Farrow, I'd learned quickly that he wouldn't say more than he intended to over the phone. "Alright," I said, relenting. "I'll be there soon."
"Thank you, Raven. I'll see you shortly."
The line disconnected, leaving me standing there in the cold, staring down at my phone. I stuffed it back into my pocket, glancing around at the snow-speckled streets. Whatever this was, it didn't feel like something I could ignore.