Chapter 9 Elior
Elior
The room was smaller than I’d expected. Dimmer, too. No harsh lights like in the waiting room, just a warm lamp on a side table and some natural light coming in from a window. There were two sofa chairs facing each other, angled instead of straight on, and a couch pushed against the far wall.
It felt very different than the hospital. The room reminded me a little of our living room, which was a bit silly since I knew the therapist—Mark—didn’t live here. It was a comfortable space, something I was incredibly glad for since I’d been expecting, well, something similar to the hospital.
Mark closed the door and knelt down to press a button on a small circular machine. I watched him curiously as the thing started humming and buzzing.
As he stood, he caught my gaze and smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling. “It’s a white noise machine. It makes it hard for our voices to carry out into the hall.”
“Oh,” I answered as Mark took a seat in the chair to my left. “That’s nice.”
He chuckled, then said gently, “Before we start, I want you to know something.”
My brows furrowed. “Okay?”
“This space is yours,” he continued. “There are no right or wrong answers here. You don’t have to impress me, or protect anyone, or say things a certain way.
If you don’t want to answer something, you can tell me.
If you need a break, you can ask. And if all you can manage today is sitting quietly, that’s okay too. Therapy is all about small steps.”
“Okay,” I replied, feeling some of the weight looming over me start to lighten.
He smiled—not big, not forced. “Good.” He picked up a notebook from the small table beside his chair, but he didn’t open it; he just rested his hand on the cover.
“First sessions can feel scary. A lot of people worry they’re going to say the wrong thing.
Or that I’m going to look for something to diagnose or nitpick. But that’s not what this is.”
“We’ll go at your pace,” he went on. “I might ask questions, but you’re in control of what we talk about. Think of this as a conversation. One where my job is to listen.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“Do you want to tell me what made you decide to come today?” he asked.
For a second, my mind went blank.
Jace had told me I could say I felt safe. That I was supported. That I didn’t have to explain everything. I clung to those words like a script, even as my chest buzzed with nerves.
“The people at the hospital said I had to.”
Mark nodded, like that made perfect sense. “That may be true, but it was still a choice you made to actually come.”
I stared at the rug, tracing the pattern with my eyes. I thought of Jace’s hand squeezing mine in the hallway. The promise in his voice when he said he’d be right there.
“You should be proud of yourself for taking this step, Elior,” Mark said.
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded.
After a moment, he shifted slightly in his chair. “We don’t have to start with the hardest thing,” he said. “Sometimes it helps to begin with where you are right now.”
I swallowed again. My mouth felt dry. “Okay.”
“Right now,” he prompted softly, “what does your body feel like?”
That question caught me off guard. I blinked and thought about it.
“My shoulders are tight,” I said after a second. “And my stomach feels funny.”
Mark smiled faintly. “Okay. Those are some very common first-session feelings.”
“Oh.” I let out a small sigh, relieved to hear that other people also felt this way.
“It’s normal to feel nervous in new situations. And it’s normal to feel nervous about being here, especially if you aren’t used to talking about your feelings. I bet you’ve been feeling pretty nervous lately in general, with all the changes.”
I nodded.
“You’ve been through a lot in the past couple of months.”
I nodded again.
His lips tilted up in a kind smile. “Is there anything that’s helped you feel a bit calmer? I know that when I get stressed, I like to cook. It helps me relax, takes my mind off things. Do you have anything like that, Elior?”
My fingers twisted together in my lap. “Um…” I froze, then remembered what he’d said about there being no wrong answers. “I like cuddling.”
“Yeah? What do you like about it?” he asked, like he genuinely wanted to know.
My face warmed, embarrassment creeping up my neck. I stared at my hands, trying to untangle the feeling enough to put words to it.
“I-I don’t know,” I said quietly. “It’s just… nice.”
Mark didn’t rush me. He didn’t jump in to fill the space or rephrase the question. He just waited, patient in a way that I was grateful for.
“It’s okay if it’s hard to explain,” he said after a beat. “You can take your time.”
I swallowed. “It helps when there’s… weight,” I managed, fumbling with my hands as if to show him what I was talking about.
“Like when someone’s arm is around me, or when I’m leaning against them.
And warmth. And touch, like softness and roughness.
And—” I faltered, frustrated with myself. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying it right.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Mark said gently. “I understand what you’re saying.”
I risked a glance up at him.
He was smiling, a sparkle in his eye.
“It sounds like you’re very tactile,” he said. “Your nervous system responds well to physical sensation—pressure, warmth, contact. That’s actually very common, especially for people who’ve lived with a lot of stress.”
“Oh,” I said again. “So it’s okay?”
Mark shifted forward and stood, moving toward a low cabinet along the wall. “Yes, definitely. I’m actually glad you told me that,” he said over his shoulder. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic box, setting it on the table between us.
Inside were objects arranged neatly: smooth magnetic stones, a soft fabric square, a rubbery ring with raised bumps, a small weighted pouch, and something that looked like putty.
“These are sensory items,” he explained, taking his seat again. “Some people find it easier to talk—or just to sit—when their hands are occupied. You’re welcome to choose anything here. You can hold it, fidget with it, set it on your lap. Whatever feels comforting.”
I stared at the box, unsure, but hopeful. “I can… really?”
“Really,” he said. “There’s no test.”
I hesitated, then reached out and picked up the small weighted pouch. It was heavier than it looked, warm from the room, settling into my palm in a way that made my shoulders drop without me meaning to.
“That one tends to be a favorite,” he said lightly. “Do you have any sensory items at home? If not, I would recommend getting a few different ones.”
I rested it in my lap, fingers curling around it. The steady pressure made my breathing slow, just a little.
“You can keep that with you for the rest of the session,” he said. “And if you ever want to switch, feel free to. I’ll keep the box here.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded. “You’re doing really well, Elior.”
I held the weight in my hands and let myself believe him—just a little.
* * *
Daddy held out a round, squishy frog to me. “What about this one, baby boy?”
I let him hold it, but reached out and squeezed the toy, rubbing my fingers against it.
“It’s cute, but I don’t think so, Daddy,” I said, my eyes widening when I realized what I’d called him out loud. “Sorry,” I whispered, my cheeks heating.
Daddy had explained in the car that I should try not to call him that in public. Not because he was embarrassed by the title, he said it was actually quite the opposite, but because other people might be mean about it.
Still, Daddy didn’t admonish me. He just chuckled and pulled me against him. I sighed into his chest, almost whining when, after a minute, he let me go and stepped away to place the frog back on the shelf.
“It’s okay, cherub.”
I followed behind him as he led me down another aisle, this one filled with even more toys.
After my session with Mark, I’d told him about the sensory stuff and how Mark had said it might be good for me to have some around the house. Daddy had thought that it made perfect sense and decided to stop at a store on the way home.
He warned me about how it might be too bright, loud, and busy inside, but said that he thought it would probably be better for me to test out my new things before buying them, rather than buying something online that I might not like when it arrives.
There weren’t too many people shopping, but it was still a bit overwhelming. Somewhere near the front of the store, a child was crying in that sharp, piercing way, and it made my shoulders pull up.
Daddy noticed immediately.
His hand slid to the small of my back, firm and grounding, steering me just a little closer to his side.
Every time someone walked past us too closely, his posture shifted—his shoulders squared, his gaze hardening as he tracked them until they were well out of our space.
It was like he was a wall between me and the rest of the world.
“Tell me if you need to leave,” he said quietly.
“I’m okay right now,” I murmured, looking up at him. He was so handsome and so strong. The perfect protector. “You make me feel safe.”
He smiled at that.
We stopped in front of a display of textured balls—spiky, smooth, rubbery, some filled with beads that shifted when you squeezed them. Daddy picked one up, rolling it in his palm before offering it to me.
“Try this.”
I took it, pressing my thumb into the soft surface. The beads inside slowly slid around, creating a gentle resistance that made my breath hitch in a good way.
“Oh,” I murmured.
Daddy’s eyes flicked to my face, sharply focused. “That a good ‘oh’?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It feels… nice. Like it pushes back. I like it.”
“Pressure,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Makes sense.”
A woman a few feet away glanced at us—just a passing look, nothing more—but Daddy’s body went rigid. His arm came around my shoulders, drawing me in until my side was flush against his chest. He stared back at her until she looked away and hurried down the aisle.
I didn’t even question it.
He was just making sure I was okay. Making sure no one bothered me.
I leaned into him, reassured by the weight of his arm and the thud of his heartbeat. “Thank you for protecting me,” I said.
“Sweet boy, you don’t need to thank me for that,” he answered.
My chest warmed. I squeezed the ball again, then reluctantly placed it back in the bin.
Daddy huffed out an amused breath, picking up the ball I’d just put back and adding it to the basket he was carrying.
“I told you to put the ones you like in here,” he said, shaking his head.
“It’s just… a lot.”
“Baby, are you disobeying me?”
My brows jumped, and I quickly shook my head. “No!”
The corner of his lip turned up just slightly. “Then be good and do what I told you to.”
We moved on to another section, this one with more things that looked like the stuff in Mark’s box.
Daddy patiently let me touch each one, even when I took way too long deciding. When a pair of teenagers came down the aisle laughing loudly, Daddy angled his body to block them from my view, his hand firm on my hip as he guided me away.
I smiled to myself.
He was so attentive. So careful.
I didn’t pretend not to notice the way his jaw stayed clenched, or how his eyes never stopped scanning the store. How every glance in my direction seemed to irritate him, or how he kept checking his watch like he was counting down the minutes.
All I cared about was that he was here and keeping me safe.
After a while, once I’d filled up the basket to Daddy’s satisfaction, we walked back to the front of the store, where Daddy said he would pay for our things.
As he messed with a screen and bagged our purchase, I saw something vaguely familiar out of the corner of my eye.
When I turned to investigate, I realized what it was.
Sitting on a set of shelves holding different types of candy and snacks was a pink wrapper I recognized as something one of our young members had once snuck into the Covenant.
I stepped closer, picked it up, and read the label.
It was a chocolate bar.
“Cherub?” Daddy called, making me turn around. He was holding a plastic bag filled with the things I’d picked out. When he saw what I was holding, he asked, “Do you want that?”
“Umm…”
Daddy laughed, then held his hand out. “Let me pay for it, then we can leave.”
My face flushed, and I murmured a shy, “thank you,” as he took it.
We left the store a minute later, my eyes widening again in awe at the seemingly magical automatic sliding doors.
Daddy didn’t let go of me until we were right beside the car.
“Keys,” he muttered to himself, then unlocked the doors and opened the passenger side for me. I climbed in obediently, settling into the seat while he set the shopping bag on the floor at my feet. Once I was buckled, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
The moment he slid in and shut his door, the world felt smaller again. Safer.
Daddy started the car, then reached over into the shopping bag. “You want to try that chocolate?” he asked.
I nodded, suddenly shy. “I think so.”
He smiled and handed it to me, already unwrapped halfway. “Go slow.”
I took a small bite, careful like he’d said.
Oh.
It was so sweet. Not sharp or bitter like I’d expected—just smooth and creamy, melting on my tongue in a way that made my brain feel fuzzy. I made a soft sound before I could stop myself, pressing the chocolate against my lips again just to make sure it was real.
Daddy chuckled. “Yeah?”
“It’s… really good,” I said, amazed. “It tastes like milk, but… thicker. And warm?”
“That’s the sugar,” he said, amused. “And the cocoa butter.”
I nodded like I understood, even though I didn’t. I took another bite, letting it melt instead of chewing. It felt indulgent, like I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to, but Daddy had given it to me, so it had to be okay.
I glanced at him. He was watching me closely, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other draped casually along the console. His eyes softened when he saw my expression.
“I had a feeling you’d love it.”
I smiled around the chocolate, then swallowed. “Can we get it again sometime?”
“Of course, baby,” he said easily.
I finished the piece I’d bitten off and set the rest on my lap, wrapping the paper back around it. My fingers were a little sticky, but I didn’t mind.
Daddy reached over and wiped them with a napkin he’d pulled from the console.
“You did really good today,” he said. “The store, therapy, all of it.”
My heart fluttered. “I did?”
“You did,” he confirmed. “I’m proud of you.”
I leaned back in my seat, content and sleepy in the best way, clutching the chocolate bar like it was something precious.
Outside, cars came and went, and people walked past without a second glance. Inside, it was just us.
Daddy put the car in gear, and we pulled out of the parking lot, heading home.