35. Niall
CHAPTER 35
NIALL
Dr. Matthews glanced up when I walked in and gestured to the couch. “You’re early, Niall.”
I hadn’t realized until I got there. I’d been sitting in my car for almost half an hour, staring at the dashboard, telling myself to turn around. To go anywhere else. But my feet had carried me inside, and now here I was.
I dropped onto the couch, elbows on my knees, hands clasped. “I didn’t realize I was early.”
Her chair creaked slightly as she leaned forward. “Something on your mind?”
I almost laughed at how ridiculous that question was. I’d spent years making sure I didn’t think about what was on my mind. Didn’t feel too deeply. Didn’t get too attached. Because attachment meant pain. It meant loss.
I shrugged. “Life’s been… challenging.”
Dr. Matthews smiled slightly, like she could hear everything I wasn’t saying. “Challenging how?”
I defaulted to the easy answer. “School.”
“Tell me about that.”
I exhaled, trying to settle into the session. “I’ve been improving. I’m not failing anything. Stats was still kicking my ass for a while, but…” I trailed off. The name formed on my tongue before I swallowed it back. I’d gotten better because Eli had helped me. Because he’d sat with me, patient when I was frustrated, steady when I wanted to throw my damn textbook across the room.
And now he was gone.
Dr. Matthews tilted her head. “But?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Just… it’s getting better.”
She let the silence stretch between us, waiting. She always waited. It was one of her skills—one that made it harder to dodge the things I didn’t want to say.
My breath hitched, and I looked away.
She waited patiently until I mustered up the nerve to look her in the face again. “Sounds like someone helped you,” she said eventually, her tone easy but pointed. “A classmate?”
I hesitated. “My… roommate.” The word felt heavy in my mouth.
Dr. Matthews nodded like that was exactly the answer she’d expected. “I didn’t realize you had a roommate.”
I scoffed lightly. “Figured I’d be better off alone?”
She lifted a shoulder. “You’re careful with people. You keep them at arm’s length.”
I didn’t answer.
Her voice softened. “Tell me about him.”
I clenched my jaw, staring at a spot on the floor. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Dr. Matthews didn’t push, not right away. She just studied me in that way she did, like she already had all the pieces of the puzzle, and she was just waiting for me to put them together myself.
“Do you usually get along with your roommates?” Her voice was calm, measured.
I scoffed again. “Haven’t had one since freshman year.”
“And how’s it been, having one again?”
I exhaled, shifting in my seat. “Fine.”
Her brow lifted slightly, like she wasn’t convinced.
I ran a hand over my jaw. “I don’t know,” I muttered. “I guess I got used to him being around.”
Dr. Matthews nodded. “But something changed.”
I swallowed hard.
She let a beat of silence pass before asking, “Did you two have a disagreement?”
“No.”
“Then what’s different?”
I clenched my jaw, staring at a spot on the floor. “He’s just… not around as much.”
She considered that. “Not around or keeping his distance?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Does it matter?”
Dr. Matthews was quiet for a moment. “It does if it matters to you.”
My chest tightened.
She leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been careful with people for a long time, Niall.” Her voice was gently firm. “Keeping them at a distance. Not getting too attached.”
I let out a harsh breath, shaking my head. “That’s not?—”
Dr. Matthews didn’t argue, didn’t call me out on the lie I was about to tell. She just gave me space.
And I was so goddamn tired of holding everything in.
“I shouldn’t have let them come,” I whispered. The words tasted like rust. Like something broken.
She didn’t look away. “Who?”
“Mom and Dad.” My fingers curled into fists. “If I didn’t have that game… if I hadn’t—” My throat tightened. “They wouldn’t have been on that road.”
The silence felt heavier than the weight I carried in my chest.
“I know it wasn’t my fault,” I forced out. “I know that.” But the words felt hollow. “Doesn’t change the fact that if I hadn’t—” I swallowed hard. “They would still be here.”
Dr. Matthews let the moment settle before she spoke, her voice steady, unwavering. “You’ve turned their loss into a debt you think you owe.”
I stiffened.
She didn’t stop. “You believe that if it weren’t for you, they wouldn’t have been on that road. So you’ve spent years punishing yourself. Holding back. Keeping people at a distance. Because if you don’t let yourself care too much, you don’t have anything to lose.”
A sharp breath scraped my throat.
Her voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “But grief doesn’t work like that, Niall. Loss doesn’t wait for permission.”
My chest ached.
“You think closing yourself off keeps you safe,” she continued. “But it doesn’t. It just keeps you alone.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers flexing against my thighs.
“And now,” she said carefully, “someone got close.”
I clenched my jaw, staring at the floor.
She didn’t push. “And it scared you, didn’t it?”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The truth sat between us, suffocating and undeniable.
I thought I was protecting myself. Keeping everything under control. But maybe I was just bracing for the moment it all got taken away.
Dr. Matthews studied me for a long moment, then leaned forward slightly. “I want you to try something.”
I let out a slow breath. “What?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, like she was considering her next words carefully. “You’ve carried this weight for a long time, Niall. And you’ve done everything you can to keep it locked away. But the thing about grief is, it doesn’t stay buried. It finds ways to seep through the cracks.”
I swallowed hard, staring at a spot on the floor.
“I want you to write them a letter,” she said gently.
My eyes snapped up to hers. “A letter?”
She nodded. “Say everything you never let yourself say. The guilt, the love, the anger, the questions. All of it. No holding back.”
A lump formed in my throat. “And then what?” My voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “Burn it?”
“If that’s what you need.”
Dr. Matthews let the silence settle between us before she spoke again, softer this time. “If they could say something to you right now, if they could reach through all of this pain and tell you what they wanted you to know… what would it be?”
My fingers curled into fists. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
Her voice wasn’t pushing, wasn’t forcing—but it was certain. Like she already knew what I was afraid to admit.
I clenched my jaw, a sharp exhale leaving my lips.
“I’m not asking you to believe the words right now,” she continued. “I’m asking you to let yourself hear them.”
I couldn’t answer.
Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t sure I could keep running—from the grief, from the guilt, from everything I’d never let myself feel.