Chapter 41
ALEJANDRA
lo que siento - Valeria Castro
The therapist’s studio in Primrose Hill looked more like a cozy reading room than a clinic.
Soft lighting filtered through linen curtains, diffusing the grey London daylight into something warmer, almost golden.
There were no cold white walls or framed diplomas shoved in her face—no sterile reminders that she was there because something was wrong—just warm wooden shelves stacked with books, their spines worn and familiar, a small window cracked open to let in the late spring breeze, carrying distant city sounds softened by height and distance.
Two armchairs faced each other with a small table in between. A ceramic teapot rested on it, steam curling lazily from the spout, as if time moved slower in this room. The scent of peppermint and orange peel filled the air.
That whole setting made her feel more at ease. Maybe that was exactly the point—to lure her in with the cozy aesthetic, only to slowly crawl its way into her worst nightmares and demons.
Alejandra sat stiffly in the left chair, her hands gripping the ends of the armrests, knuckles faintly pale from the pressure.
She wore a white blouse under a denim overall, the fabric soft against her skin, unfamiliar without the constant constraint of the sling.
Her jacket hung near the door, still carrying a trace of the chill outside.
It felt good to wear an outfit without her sling around.
To move almost normally. Her shoulder didn’t hurt much today.
But the anxiety in her chest felt heavier than any injury she’d carried.
It pressed inward, tight and constant, like something sitting right behind her ribs.
“Would you like some tea?” the therapist asked in Spanish, her voice soft, unhurried, like there was nowhere else she needed to be.
“Sure,” Alejandra replied, mostly to buy time. Speaking about her feelings in Spanish was going to be intense—she knew it. With Callum, with the barrier of English, it was somehow easier. There was distance there, a filter. Words didn’t land as heavily.
But Spanish… Spanish was home. It was family. It was who she really was. And saying things out loud in that language made them real. Final.
The woman—Dr. Carla Martínez—poured the tea and handed her the cup with steady hands.
She looked nothing like Alejandra had imagined.
Not severe. Not clinical. She was in her forties, with greying curls pulled into a loose bun, a few strands escaping and softening her face.
Her skin held the same warm tone as Alejandra’s, familiar in a way that unsettled her.
Her eyes were sharp, observant, but soft at the same time. Like she saw more than she let on.
Like she already knew things Alejandra hadn’t said yet.
“So, how are you feeling today?” Carla asked gently.
Alejandra gave a shrug, pairing it with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fine, I guess.”
A pause stretched between them.
“Do you want to be here?”
Alejandra blinked, caught off guard. “Honestly?”
Carla nodded once.
“No. Not really.” She exhaled slowly, shifting slightly in the chair, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic cup. “I don’t do well… talking. Or at least not about stuff that matters. I’m used to solving things on my own.”
“And has that been working lately?”
Alejandra stared into her tea, watching the faint ripple on the surface. Then she let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nope.”
Silence wrapped the space like a blanket. It didn’t press, didn’t demand, just… existed. It didn’t force her to speak. But it invited her to. She didn’t feel poked or prodded. Just seen. She hated that. And also… didn’t.
Carla took a slow sip of her tea. “You’re a professional athlete.”
“Yes.”
“You were injured in Hawaii. Pipeline.”
Alejandra nodded, slower this time.
“Tell me what happened.”
Alejandra opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Her throat felt dry, like the words were stuck somewhere between her chest and her lips. Then she took a breath.
“I fell.”
Carla didn’t rush her. Just waited.
Alejandra swallowed.
“I was doing this heat. It wasn’t even the worst wave. But I went off-balance mid-air, and the board twisted. I don’t know how… but I hit the reef with my shoulder first, and it got stuck in a canyon underneath.”
Her voice dropped, quieter now.
“I had to dislocate it to resurface.”
Her voice cracked slightly, and she covered it with a cough, shifting in her seat.
“On the jet ski, my brother was there,” she continued. “I could taste blood in my mouth. My shoulder was out. Half of my wetsuit was torn.”
Her breath hitched faintly.
“I was shaking. It was cold. And I remember thinking…”
She hesitated. Don’t say it. It sounds stupid.
“…like the ocean had rejected me.” The words startled her as soon as they left her mouth. “Like it didn’t want me anymore.”
Carla nodded slowly. “That sounds terrifying.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. Injuries happen in the surf community. You patch yourself up, you train again, you come back. That’s what I’ve always done.”
That’s who I am.
“But this time it’s not working.”
“No,” Alejandra whispered. “This time it feels like something broke… inside me.”
Her grip on the mug tightened.
“Not just the shoulder. Like—” she shook her head slightly, frustrated, “I don’t know who I am without surfing.”
“What do you mean?”
Alejandra hesitated, her eyes glassy now. “I started surfing when I was four. My dad put me on a board before I could even swim.” A faint, almost disbelieving smile flickered. “The ocean has been my safest place for as long as I can remember.”
Her expression shifted.
“But now… every time I close my eyes, I’m back there. Underwater. Drowning. Hearing that crack in my body.” Her voice trembled. “And I panic. I wake up sweating. Crying sometimes.”
Her throat tightened.
“It’s like… I want to go back so bad, but my body won’t let me. My brain won’t let me.”
Like I don’t belong there anymore.
“Have you told anyone this?” Carla asked.
“No,” she said softly. “Not really. I’ve told Callum parts of it.”
“Callum?”
“He’s… a guy. I don’t know.” She let out a small breath. “We’ve been… spending time together. He’s great. He listens. He makes me laugh. He makes everything easier.”
She paused.
“Too easy, maybe.”
Carla tilted her head slightly. “Do you feel like you’re using him?”
Alejandra’s stomach dropped.
How the fuck did she—
Was it that obvious?
“Sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t want to. I’m scared he’s just… a distraction I’m clinging to because I don’t know how to face this.”
Her voice softened.
“I feel guilty. I want to be with him… but I also don’t want to hurt him.”
“Do you feel like you’re hurting him now?”
“I don’t think so.” A pause. “But I know I could.”
They sat with that for a moment. The tea had cooled slightly, the steam no longer curling.
Carla’s voice came again, steady and warm.
“Alejandra, fear after trauma isn’t weakness. It’s survival. Your brain is trying to protect you. It doesn’t mean you’re broken, or that you’ve lost your identity.”
Alejandra swallowed hard.
“You’re not just a surfer,” Carla continued. “You’re a human being who has been through something terrifying. And it’s okay to take time to heal. It’s okay to ask for help. To rely on someone like Callum or your family.”
The pressure behind Alejandra’s eyes built quickly.
“I’m scared that if I stop being the strong one… everything will fall apart.”
Carla leaned forward slightly. “Then let’s figure out a way to carry that strength differently. One that doesn’t crush you.”
That did it.
The tears came—slow, quiet, almost surprising in their softness. They slid down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Alejandra wiped them quickly, almost embarrassed.
“I don’t cry in front of people,” she murmured.
“You don’t have to be anyone here,” Carla said gently. “You just have to be honest. For yourself.”
Alejandra nodded, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her white blouse without caring much about it anymore.
“Besides Callum, how’s your relationship with your family?” Carla asked.
“Fantastic. I love them so much,” Alejandra sniffed, her fingers tightening around the mug again. “I’m just scared to say these things to them.”
She looked down.
“They’ve built their lives around me.” The words came out heavier than she expected.
“Maybe that’s why I came here instead of just doing an online meeting.
If they don’t see me like this… they’ll never know how bad it really is.
” She hesitated, then added, her voice smaller now: “I didn’t tell them how scared I am to go back into the ocean.
My brother is my trainer. My coach. He—”
Her voice faltered completely.
“I… what am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” Carla replied gently.
Alejandra blinked, confused.
“Do you know when you’re on an airplane and the flight attendants give safety instructions about the oxygen masks?”
Alejandra frowned slightly. She had taken enough flights in her life to know the entire procedure. “Yes…”
“What do they always tell you?”
“To put your mask on first.”
“Exactly. And if someone next to you needs help, who do you assist first?”
“Myself,” she whispered.
“In this case, it’s the same, Alejandra. You take care of yourself first. Then you can worry about your brother and the rest of your family.”
Alejandra let that sink in. Slowly.
“I’m sure they’ll understand eventually,” Carla continued. “But if staying in London and giving yourself space to heal helps, there’s no reason to feel guilty.”
Alejandra nodded, taking a deep breath that trembled slightly at the end.
“Me first.”
“Exactly.”
Carla offered a small smile. “Let’s focus on getting you back in the ocean, on facing it, on reconnecting with it. You loved it once. It was your partner. It’s not your enemy.”
“But there’s no ocean here in London,” Alejandra pointed out.
Carla tilted her head. “Is that why you came?”
Alejandra pressed her lips together.
“I… don’t think so.”
She hesitated, then let the truth come out, piece by piece.
“I came because I wanted to stay with Callum. With someone who doesn’t depend on me, economically or emotionally.
Someone who’s had an injury like mine and can understand me.
” Her voice softened. “Someone who, when he looks at me… I feel seen. And I miss the ocean. Constantly. I miss the waves, the unpredictability, the weather…” Her gaze drifted to the window, to the grey sky stretched over London.
“Even though this matches my mood more.”
Carla chuckled softly. “So, you came for Callum.”
“And for this,” Alejandra said, gesturing lightly to the room. “Dr. González suggested you could help me lift this weight off my chest. She fixed my shoulder… but I still feel broken.”
Carla’s expression softened even more.
“What did I just tell you? You’re not broken, Alejandra. You’re hurt. Shocked. Traumatized from a very near-death experience.” She paused. “And it happened at the hands of something you truly love. Of course it feels confusing. Of course it feels heavy. It’s normal.”
Alejandra swallowed.
“Is it normal to feel this pressure on your chest?”
Carla nodded. “It’s called anxiety. And I’m here to help you with it.”
She set her cup down.
“I’ll give you some exercises to practice. Some homework. Maybe this Callum can help you.”
Alejandra’s mind immediately betrayed her, drifting to very inappropriate thoughts about the ways Callum had already been helping her.
She almost laughed.
Definitely not what the therapist means.
“Does that sound okay?” Carla asked.
Alejandra shook her head slightly, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through.
“Yes,” she said. “That sounds okay.”
And since she’d walked into the room, the weight in her chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Just enough to breathe.