SEVENTEEN
Kaylan
“You said last time that you feel responsible,” Dr. Gabriella Mendoza said, her tone gentle but direct. The therapy room was quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. I sat stiffly on the couch, hands clasped in my lap. “For what happened to you. For what happened to Logan. Let’s start there.”
Not pulling punches, I see.
I let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t just feel responsible. I am responsible. If I had been stronger, smarter—if I had fought harder, maybe we could’ve escaped sooner.”
Gabriella tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “Kaylan, think about where that belief comes from. You were in a situation where everything was designed to make you feel powerless, to make you feel like it was your fault. But that doesn’t make it true.”
“You don’t get it. If I had done more, Logan wouldn’t have suffered for that long. I wouldn’t have suffered for that long.”
“Or… maybe the guilt you feel is manufactured. Think of it this way,” she adjusted in her seat, “if you had escaped at any other time, before or after, the Blackthorn team might not have been there to help you. Something else could’ve gone wrong and you’d feel guilty over that instead.”
Or we would’ve, most definitely died, and I wouldn’t be feeling guilty over anything.
But I didn’t say anything. The silence grew heavier until she spoke again.
“How’s your training going?” she asked.
“Fine,” I replied automatically. “I’m keeping up.”
Her brow lifted slightly. “That’s not very convincing.”
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s fine,” I repeated. “I take Advil for the abdominal pain, and it helps.”
“Abdominal pain?” she asked. “When did that start?”
I shrugged. “A while ago. After I was taken. It’s… it’s nothing.”
“Try, Kaylan,” she gently pressed. “Tell me more.”
I hesitated, my hands tightening into fists. “There was a pregnancy,” I said finally, my voice brittle. “Two, actually. And then abortions. They weren’t… hygienic. Death would’ve been merciful after what they did to me. So… yeah. I have an infection that requires me on a few medications.”
Her eyes softened, but she didn’t speak, giving me space to continue.
“I thought Garret would kill me, you know?” I said, my voice cracking. “When I first arrived there and they killed Riley and Kyle, I thought I’d be next. But I wasn’t.”
“Why not?” Gabriella asked gently.
“Because I was useful,” I said bitterly. “I was a combat medic. So I became a whore and a doctor for them.”
The words hung in the air, cold and sharp. Gabriella didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.
“I was fine for two months,” I said quietly. “I did what I had to do. I survived. And then… I don’t know. I wanted to get the hell out of there.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied quickly, too quickly. “I just… I couldn’t stay anymore.”
Gabriella leaned forward slightly. “What happened at the two-month mark? Can you think back to that time?”
I frowned, the memories slipping through my mind like shards of broken glass. “I kept seeing Logan,” I said finally. “Seeing what they were doing to him. It was… unbearable. He didn’t deserve any of it. I wanted to get him out. I needed to get us out.”
Gabriella nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe that’s why you started wanting to escape,” she said softly. “Because of Logan.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightened as I stared at her, my mind racing. “I… I guess,” I whispered.
“What did you feel when you first saw Logan?”
“Confused,” I said after a moment. “Shocked, too. I couldn’t believe he was there.”
Her pen hovered over the notepad, but she didn’t write anything, her attention fully on me. “What else?”
I swallowed hard, my voice faltering. “Hopeful. I felt hopeful. Like maybe everything wasn’t lost. And then… I was happy.” I bit my lip, the admission feeling strange, almost selfish. “But I hated myself for that. For being happy while we were both stuck in that hell.”
Gabriella’s expression softened, her voice gentle. “Why did you hate yourself for being happy?”
“Because it felt wrong,” I said quietly. “He was suffering. And I was standing there, thinking how good it was to see someone familiar. Someone who reminded me of what I used to be. I wanted to ask him about Squad Two—about Pedro and Brewer. I wanted to know if they were okay.”
Her voice was steady, even as she pushed further. “And did you ask him?”
“No,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “The first time he saw me, he hated me. I could see it in his eyes. He looked at me like he was…” I trailed off, the word catching in my throat. “Disgusted.”
Blinking back the sting of tears, I continued. “Like I was part of it. Like I was one of them.”
Gabriella gave me a moment before speaking again. “Let’s go back to the hope you felt. Why do you think seeing Logan gave you hope?”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly, but she didn’t let me off the hook. Her silence urged me to dig deeper.
“I guess… because he represented something real,” I said finally. “Something from outside that place. He wasn’t just another prisoner. He was Squad Six. He was… home .”
Gabriella nodded, her voice soft but firm. “And why did you want to ask him about Pedro and Brewer? What did knowing about them mean to you?”
“They were my team. My family. If they were alive… if they were okay… it meant some part of me hadn’t failed completely.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “So, Logan gave you that push to escape. He reminded you of what you were fighting for. Of the life you’d lost but still wanted to get back to.”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Gabriella studied me for a moment, then her tone shifted, pressing gently. “But why Logan? There were other prisoners, weren’t there? Why only escape with him?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Because…” I struggled for an answer. “Because he’s Squad Six.”
Her brow lifted slightly, and she tilted her head. “Just that? Because he’s Squad Six?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, frustration creeping into my voice. “I just… I felt like I had to. Like it was the only thing I could do that mattered.”
Gabriella leaned back slightly, her voice thoughtful. “Maybe it wasn’t just about Logan. Maybe it was about something deeper.”
I frowned, unsure of where she was going. “What do you mean?”
She set the notepad down on the armrest. “You lost Kyle and Riley. They were part of your squad, your family. And you couldn’t save them. That kind of guilt doesn’t just disappear. It finds a way to stay with you.”
My stomach twisted at her words, but I stayed silent, waiting.
“So when you saw Logan,” she continued, “he gave you an opportunity to act. To try to fix what you couldn’t with your own squad. Maybe saving him felt like a way to deal with the guilt of surviving when Kyle and Riley didn’t.”
The room felt too quiet. “You think I was trying to… make up for it?” I asked slowly, the realization dawning on me.
Gabriella nodded. “It’s possible. You’ve been carrying the weight of their deaths, Kaylan. Maybe saving Logan was your way of finding purpose in that guilt. A way of telling yourself that their loss—and your survival—could still mean something.”
I stared at the floor, my thoughts racing. The pieces were there, clicking into place one by one.
“I wanted to save him because I couldn’t save them,” I murmured, the truth settling heavily in my chest.
Gabriella didn’t say a word, her silence pressing in on me like a weight. The realization clawed its way to the surface, sharp and unforgiving. It wasn’t about survival—was it? It was guilt. Every decision, every desperate move… all of it fueled by the endless churn of guilt eating away at me.
My mental rap sheet of people who had died on my watch kept growing, each name a jagged wound that wouldn’t close. Kyle. Riley. My parents. Their faces flashed in my mind, unrelenting and accusatory.
By the time I got back to my room, the anger hit me.
I paced the floor, my fists clenched at my sides, the fire in my chest spreading with every thought. I’d been focusing on survival, hadn’t I? Commending myself for escaping, for saving Logan, for doing the right thing. But no. I’d had it all wrong.
I fought because I felt fucking guilty.
Guilty for being alive. Guilty for breathing while they didn’t. Guilty for not saving them, for not being stronger, for not stopping any of it. And now? Now I was supposed to keep going like that was enough?
I slammed my hand against the wall, the dull ache grounding me for a moment before the rage surged back. Survival wasn’t noble—it was a sentence. And guilt was the fucking executioner.
Logan
I was getting used to the restless nights, but I did realize that working out before heading to bed was proving to be helpful. So, I made my way to the gym as I had been for almost a week. As I neared, the sound of fists pounding a punching bag filtered through the silence.
Inside, Kaylan was intensely focused on the bag, dressed in shorts reminiscent of those she’d worn while trying to share her body warmth with me during captivity. She was so engrossed that she didn’t notice me approach.
It was only when I stood close that she sensed my presence and stopped, turning sharply to face me. Her eyes held a fierce glint of defiance.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ventured cautiously, mindful of not wanting to provoke her further after everything.
“Why? I don’t deserve to be sleep deprived?” She scoffed, “Having my parents murdered isn’t a reason good enough in your books?”
Fuck .
“I deserve that,” I whispered.
She gave a harsh laugh, her anger palpable, “No, Logan. Funny thing is, that you don’t. You were tortured, beaten, ripped open, and all I did was watch it happen. I patched you up, alright, but only after watching you break every day. So no, you have a lifetime pass of saying whatever the hell you want to me.”
She was almost seething by the end of her rant.
My face hardened and I stepped closer to her, “Listen, I know what I said was wrong. So don’t ever think that you deserve my rage. You don’t,” I willed my resolve to surface, “You are not my tormentor. I was simply blinded by… fuck . I was just blinded, okay?”
I wanted to apologize. I really did. But from the look on her face, it was clear that my apology, however sincere, would be too little, too late.