Chapter 42 Let Me Help You Feel Safe Again
Let Me Help You Feel Safe Again
Emily's Search History: signs of maladaptive guilt and hyper-responsibility syndrome?
Eli
“Eli, I have to go back to work.”
She’s right. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. And does she really have to? I think not. But what my angel wants, my angel gets.
Even if what she wants is to listen to other people’s problems for eight hours a day.
“I said that was fine,” I reply. “But I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t.”
I frown. “Why not?”
Emily tips her head back, exasperated. She inhales deeply, then sighs. “Do you know how many rules I’m breaking by being with you?”
What?
My confusion must show because she keeps going, taking my hands in hers. “I could be fired for dating you.” She shakes her head. “Scratch that. I would be fired. And I’d probably lose my licence if anyone found out.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a client—an ex-client—and it’s unprofessional.”
“But—”
“It’s about power. The imbalance is wrong. I’d be seen as taking advantage of your vulnerable state.”
She winces, as if the reality hits her only as she says it aloud. “I shouldn’t be—”
“If you dare tell me we shouldn’t be together—”
“Well, we shouldn’t,” she sighs. “But I guess I’m selfish.”
"So this wasn't you trying to leave me? Because let me tell you right now, that's not happening."
Emily snorts softly. “Well… we’ve never officially said we’re together…”
I pull her into me, careful of her injury. “Have I not made it clear that you’re mine?”
She smiles, kissing me gently. “You have.”
That takes some of the edge off. But still…
“I guess I’ll just have to hide myself while I watch you.”
She blinks. “Eli…”
I shake my head. “No. This is how it has to be. I’m not going to be far from you ever again.” I can’t. I need her—more than I need air. “No one will know I’m there.”
She worries her lip. “You’ll stay out of sight?”
“Yes. But I’m still bringing you lunch. I’ve done that before.”
Emily nods slowly, cautiously. “Kayla thinks you have two lunchtime appointments per week. She put them on my calendar.”
I hate this arrangement, but I paste on a smile. “Okay. Lunch twice a week.”
Emily
We might have a problem. And by we, I mean me. Or Eli. I suppose we works.
So far, I’ve managed to pass off Eli’s frequent visits to my office as new appointments. But if his growing need to be close is anything to go by, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this secret.
If it gets out, my career is over. There’s no way around it. For us to have any kind of relationship, he would need to have not been my patient for at least five years.
Oh shit.
I haven’t updated my address—mostly because I kept telling myself this wouldn’t be permanent. They still think I live in my old flat.
I can’t give them Eli’s address.
It’s already on file.
But what if they need to send me something important? I have to give them something.
This is an issue for another time. Right now, I need to catch up on my emails and double-check my notes from my last sessions.
At nine-thirty, I leave my office to greet my first patient. Thankfully, it’s Tess. Now that we’ve moved to monthly appointments, she requested a new slot on a Monday instead of a Friday, and starting my week with a familiar face is exactly what I need.
“How are you today?” I ask as she settles onto the sofa. Baby Nico is in his pram beside her, since Kai is at work.
I lower myself into my usual armchair, but the movement makes me wince at the pull in my wound.
Her head tilts, forehead scrunching. “Have you hurt yourself?”
“What gave it away?” I drawl, rolling my eyes.
“What happened?”
“We’re not here to talk about me.”
“What if talking about you would help me?”
“Tess,” I groan.
“Please?” She wobbles her bottom lip dramatically.
I swallow hard, staring at the ceiling before forcing the words out. “My ex showed up.”
“Oh my god. What did he do?”
“She tried to kill me.”
She gasps. “You’re gay?”
“I’m bi—is that really all you’re getting from that?”
She waves me off. “No, no. I’m just assuming Eli dealt with—” she leans in, chin tucked, eyes wide, “—her.”
“Actually… I ‘dealt with her.’” I make air quotes, just to be clear.
And Tess, being Tess, lifts a hand for a high-five. “Hell yes. Welcome to the fucking club, girl. Ex killers.” She starts waving her hands excitedly. “Oh! Oh! Ex-Terminators.” Her grin widens. “We should start an ‘Unalive Your Ex’ support group.”
I blink at her, stunned.
It takes half the session to finally get Tess to focus on herself and her healing, but when the hour is over, I genuinely feel better. It’s nice knowing I have someone else who understands. Even if she’s a little too enthusiastic about it.
The rest of the morning flies by, and then Eli arrives with lunch, ready to pretend he’s my client again so I don’t get fired for gross misconduct.
“So, what did you do this morning?” I ask, digging into my salad.
Eli blinks at me like I’ve asked the stupidest question in the world. “Watched you.”
Fuck. Right. He did say he’d find a way to stay close without being spotted.
I want to ask how… but I’m a little too concerned to find out.
I steer the conversation away from his stalking. “When do you go back to work?”
“I don’t.”
I almost choke on a piece of lettuce. “What?”
He shrugs. “I quit.”
I hesitate, suddenly wary. “Why?”
“Because if I’m there, then I’m not here,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You quit… so you can watch me?” I ask slowly.
His head bobs. “I knew you wouldn’t quit—and I wouldn’t expect you to—but I told you: I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
I pause. “I wasn’t actually in your sight though, right?”
Eli shrugs. “I said what I said.”
Well. That’s equal parts creepy and endearing.
“Eli,” I breathe, my heart suddenly heavy. “You can’t live your whole life just watching me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, there’s no need. Gia is gone. So is Liam. I’m not in any danger.”
He frowns.
“And two,” I add gently, “it’s unhealthy.”
“So?”
“So maybe we should use these ‘appointments’ to help you. Do some real therapy?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I guess.”
“You don’t think you need it anymore?” I ask at his nonchalance.
“You cured me, Angel.”
“Cured you?”
“From the cycle.”
The blondes. Jenny.
“Okay, but you still stalked me,” I point out. “So I didn’t exactly cure you—I just redirected your obsession.”
He waves a hand. “Pot-ay-to, pot-ah-to.”
“How was your morning?” I ask Eli as he sets a bagel from the café down in front of me. I refused to let him bring me lunch every day—far too suspicious—which means it’s Friday.
It’s been a strange week.
True to his word, Eli has kept an eye on me the entire time. His displeasure at having to do so inconspicuously has been palpable. But thankfully—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—he has practice.
He crosses his arms, frowning. “It would be better if I could just sit in the waiting room.” He leans in. “Or better yet, in here with you.”
“Do you think,” I ask carefully, “that maybe you’re being a bit over the top about needing to be close to me because of misplaced guilt?”
I wouldn’t normally be so direct—especially now that we’re using these sessions as actual therapy again—but the urge to push him is too strong to ignore.
Eli freezes. His brows draw together. Concentration? Annoyance? I can’t tell.
“It’s not misplaced,” he says finally, the words forced through clenched teeth.
I tilt my head. “You have nothing to feel guilty for.”
He explodes upward. “I wasn’t fucking there!” he shouts, pacing. “I wasn’t there and you got hurt. I should never have left you in that position.”
My chest aches. I stand and move toward him slowly. Despite the anger rolling off him, I know none of it is directed at me. And I know—without question—he would never hurt me.
“Eli,” I murmur.
“Angel,” his voice cracks. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tell me it’s not my fault when it is.” His head drops, shame heavy in his posture.
I’m standing directly in front of him now. My fingers slide between his, lacing tight.
“Eli, guilt is understandable—it’s a common response to trauma. But guilt doesn’t equal responsibility. You didn’t break in and attack me. You didn’t hurt me.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Holding onto it isn’t going to help. Punishing yourself by trying to control every variable will only keep us stuck in that moment. I want to move on. Don’t you?”
His nod is barely perceptible, but it’s there.
“I love that you want to be close to me. But doing it out of vigilance isn’t healthy—for either of us. I want you to be with me because you choose to be, not because you feel like you need to atone.”
Something in my words cracks him open. “How do I stop?”
“Let me help you feel safe again.”