10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Mel
T he morning air is brisk, cutting through my coat as I walk along the pavement, dodging the occasional jogger or parent pushing a pram. The city buzzes around me, cars rushing by, people chatting as they pass, but it all feels distant… muted.
I pull my coat tighter around me, fumbling with the buttons as my thoughts churn. Last night keeps playing in my head, over and over, no matter how much I try to shove it aside.
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
With the others, it’s easy. A few drinks, some flirting, a messy tumble into bed, and then I can compartmentalise it, pack it away like it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t. Those nights don’t mean anything.
But last night was different.
I shift the strap of my bag on my shoulder, my feet moving on autopilot toward the therapist’s office. My chest feels tight, like I’m carrying something too big, too unwieldy. No matter how much I try to ignore it, the weight won’t go away.
It wasn’t just the kiss. Or the way Owen’s hands felt on me, steady and warm, like I could fall apart in front of him, and he’d still hold me together. It wasn’t even the way he looked at me afterward, like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
It’s how I felt.
I let out a shaky breath, glancing at the street signs to make sure I’m still headed in the right direction. My heart thuds dully in my chest, the rhythm uneven, off-kilter.
With Owen, it wasn’t just about the moment. It wasn’t just physical.
It meant something. And that terrifies me.
The others never make me feel like this. That’s the point. It’s why I’ve been doing it—to avoid this, to keep things simple and controlled. Because when it’s just strangers, it’s easy to walk away. There’s no mess, no expectations, no risk of getting hurt.
But last night wasn’t easy.
I stop at a zebra crossing, the red light glaring down at me as cars rush by. My stomach twists, and I clutch the strap of my bag tighter, the leather biting into my palm.
I told him we should forget it happened, and he agreed. But the way he looked at me—like he was trying to say something he couldn’t put into words—it’s been haunting me since I left the house.
The light changes, and I step into the zebra crossing, the knot in my chest tightening with every step.
By the time I reach the therapist’s office, my palms are clammy, and my heart is racing. I stand outside the door for a moment, staring at the small plaque with the name I can’t seem to focus on.
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say.
I’m not here because of Owen, not really. This is about everything—the landslide, the driver, the guilt that’s been chewing away at me for weeks. But the tangle of emotions about last night, about him, feels like it’s tied up in all of it, one big, messy knot I can’t figure out how to unravel.
With a deep breath, I push open the door and step inside. The waiting room is small, cosy, with a faint smell of lavender in the air. A woman at the desk smiles at me, her voice soft as she asks my name and checks me in.
“Take a seat,” she says, gesturing to the row of chairs along the wall.
I nod, my legs moving automatically toward the nearest chair. My hands twist together in my lap as I stare at the patterned carpet, my mind racing.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to talk about everything without falling apart, without letting everything I’ve been holding in spill out all at once.
But maybe that’s why I’m here.
I glance up as the door to the office opens, a calm-looking woman with kind eyes stepping out and calling my name.
I take another deep breath, standing on shaky legs. It’s time to start figuring this out.
The office is warm and quiet, with a faint scent of citrus in the air. Angelica, my therapist directs me to the sofa. I settle onto the edge, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, while she takes a seat in an armchair opposite me.
She offers me a small smile, her tone gentle but firm. “Take your time, Mel. Start wherever feels right for you.”
I stare at my hands, my fingers twisting the edge of my sleeve as I try to find the words. My throat is dry, but I force myself to speak.
“I don’t really know where to start,” I admit, quieter than I intended.
“That’s alright,” she says. “Why don’t we start with why you’re here today?”
I glance up at her, then quickly look away, focusing on the faint pattern in the rug beneath my feet. The words hover anxiously on the edge of my tongue.
“There was... an incident,” I begin, my voice halting. “I was overseas for work, and there was a landslide. The truck I was in got swept off the road.”
Her expression doesn’t change—no shock, no pity. She just nods, her attention fully on me, like what I’m saying matters.
“It was bad,” I continue, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my sleeve. “The driver... he didn’t make it. And one of my colleagues was seriously injured.”
Her nod is slow, encouraging. “That sounds like a very traumatic experience.”
I let out a shaky breath. “It was. But at the time, I just... I got through it, you know? Did what I had to do.”
Her pen moves softly over her notebook, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“It’s after I got back that everything started feeling... off,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “Like, I can’t settle. I can’t stop moving, can’t stop... avoiding.”
“Avoiding?” she asks, her voice soft.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’ve been... going out a lot. Seeing guys, just random hookups. And I know it’s stupid, and it doesn’t even make me feel better. But I keep doing it anyway, like I’m trying to... I don’t know.”
My hands tighten into fists in my lap, my nails biting into my palms. “I don’t know why I’m doing it,” I whisper. “I just... I feel like I can’t stop. Like I’m chasing something I can’t even name.”
The silence stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel heavy. The therapist waits, her presence steady, giving me space to keep going.
“I’m not okay,” I admit finally, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I thought I could just push through it, like I always do, but... I can’t.”
My voice cracks on the last word, and I blink quickly, trying to push back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
The therapist leans forward slightly, her expression calm but intent. “It’s good that you’ve recognised that, Mel. Coming here, talking about it… that’s a big step.”
I nod, though it doesn’t feel big. It feels like I’m barely holding myself together, barely keeping the walls from crumbling completely.
She leans back, her tone gentle but deliberate. “What do you hope to get out of these sessions?”
I take a deep breath, my hands loosening slightly in my lap. “I just... I want to feel like myself again,” I say quietly. “I want to stop feeling like this.”
She nods, her pen moving briefly over the page before she looks at me again. “We’ll work on that together.”
And for the first time in weeks, I feel the smallest flicker of hope. It’s fragile, but it’s there. Maybe this is a step toward something better.
The room is still as I sit back, my shoulders sagging under the weight of everything I’ve just said. The therapist nods, her pen tapping quietly against her notebook as she waits for me to continue.
But my mind’s already drifted somewhere else. Or, more accurately, to someone else.
Owen’s face flashes in my head—his steady eyes, the way his hands felt on me, the way he held me like I mattered. My stomach twists, and I grip the edge of the sofa harder, willing the thought away.
“Mel,” the therapist says gently, her voice cutting through my spiralling thoughts. “You seemed to drift off for a moment there. Is there something else on your mind?”
I shake my head quickly, too quickly, my cheeks heating. “No, nothing. Just... processing, I guess.”
Her gaze is calm but piercing, and I can tell she doesn’t buy it. “This is a safe space,” she says, her tone soothing. “If there’s something else bothering you, we can talk about it.”
I hesitate. The words are right there, begging to be said, but saying them feels like crossing a line I’m not sure I’m ready for.
Finally, I exhale shakily and glance up at her. “I, uh... I slept with my best friend last night,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her expression doesn’t change. She just nods, waiting for me to go on.
“We’ve been friends forever,” I continue, my words tumbling out in a rush. “And it just... happened. We agreed it was a one-time thing, that we’d forget about it. But—”
I falter, my throat tightening as the emotions I’ve been trying to shove down threaten to spill out.
“But it felt different,” I say finally, my voice cracking. “It didn’t feel like the other times. It wasn’t just... physical.”
She tilts her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “When you say it felt different, can you tell me more about that?”
I bite my lip, my hands twisting in my lap. “With the other guys, it’s always been... transactional, I guess. Like I’m just trying to fill a void or escape something. But with Owen...” I trail off, struggling to put it into words. “It felt real. Like it mattered. It made me wonder if I had feelings for him for a while and was just… suppressing them.”
“And that scares you,” she says gently.
I nod quickly, blinking back the sting of tears. “What if I am wrong? What if it’s just like with the others? What if I’m just using him to fill that void too? I don’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that.”
The therapist leans forward slightly. “It sounds like you’re trying to protect him, which tells me you care about him a great deal.”
I look down at my hands. “I do. He’s... he’s always been there for me. I don’t want to ruin that.”
“Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?” she asks.
I shake my head, letting out a bitter laugh. “No. We both agreed to forget it happened. I don’t even know what I’d say.”
She studies me for a moment, her pen resting lightly against the edge of her notebook. “It’s clear that this isn’t like your other experiences. You’ve acknowledged that it felt different, that it mattered. That’s a significant realisation, Mel.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “So... what do I do?”
Her voice softens. “I think the first step is being honest—with yourself and with him. It’s okay to feel scared, and it’s okay to take your time. But if this is something you value, something that matters to you, it’s worth exploring.”
“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she continues. “But meaningful relationships often aren’t. What matters is whether it’s worth the effort to you.”
I nod slowly, her words sinking in like stones dropped into a still pond, both comforting and terrifying.
Owen’s face flashes in my mind again—his soft smile, the way he looked at me last night, like I was the only person in the world. And for the first time, I let myself wonder: What if it could be more?
“Thanks,” I say quietly, steadier.
She smiles, closing her notebook gently. “You’re welcome. And remember, you don’t have to have all the answers right now. This is a process, and you’re allowed to take it one step at a time.”
One step at a time. It sounds simple enough, but as I leave the therapist's office and step back into the bustling city streets, I can’t help but feel like I’ve just cracked open something much bigger.
And for once, I’m not sure if I’m ready to run from it.