Instead of letting tears boil over, rage stretches my already-fragile nerves into breakable violin strings that wind tightly around my bleeding heart.
“Why don’t you deserve to be free?” he asks, pen and paper now discarded.
“You know what I did in Mexico. The people I hurt. The pain I inflicted. I didn’t want to fight anyone, doc. I hated it. But I still did it to spare my own pathetic life. How selfish is that?”
Richards pauses, licking his lips. “Survival is never selfish.”
“It’s the most selfish act there is,” I clap back.
“Would you be saying the same thing to Gracie if she were here? If she’d been forced to fight for her life? Would you tell her that she’s selfish for putting her own survival first?”
Each question tears into my carcass and disturbs the carefully ordered understanding I’ve formed about what happened to me. I hadn’t realised that I’d painted myself a spiteful little picture of my own existence.
Her face returns, growing clearer with each of his challenges. I try to imagine what I’d say to Gracie if she were sitting here, wrestling with huge, existential guilt. Or how I’d approach her after a fight, bloodied and wounded, telling her that she should just let them kill her instead.
It’s unthinkable.
“No,” I choke out. “I wouldn’t.”
“Then Ember… Please, for your own sake, treat yourself just like you’d treat that poor, innocent girl. Give yourself the same grace you’d offer to any other victim. You are no less worthy than them.”
That’s when the tears spill over. I should be used to the sensation, considering how regularly they make an appearance after years of being stifled. The hot dribbles make my cheeks ache as they pour free, carrying my grief and pain with them.
Richards reaches over to the tissue box on the small console that holds his tea, passing me a handful. I avoid looking at him while drying my face. No doubt he’s proud of getting me to crack.
“Processing what you’ve been through is scary.” He picks his pen back up to jot something down. “But it can also be a relief if you let it. Confront the past. Allow the pain to flow. Let it roam free.”
“This doesn’t feel good,” I hiccup.
“But it will,” he attempts to assure. “One day, the world won’t feel so heavy. You’ll have the desire to consider a life beyond these walls because it’s what you want. Not what I’ve ordered you to do.”
The tissue is soft and soothing on my face, allowing me to hide for a moment. When I regain control of my emotions, Richards is focused on his paperwork, allowing me the pretence of privacy.
“Thank you.”
He glances up to smile. “Therapy isn’t so bad after all, huh?”
“I thought this wasn’t therapy.” My own smile is strained.
“Right you are.”
A quick look at the clock reveals our sessions is almost up. Gracie’s parents will be being escorted into HQ as we speak. Balling the wet tissues up, I bite down on my lip.
“I’m going to meet Gracie’s parents.”
“I heard.” Richards nods. “Meeting her family after all that’s happened is a huge emotional milestone. You need to be prepared for what it’ll bring up.”
“All I want is to get it over with so I can find their daughter and bring her home.”
“Responsibility, Ember.” He caps his pen, setting our session notes aside. “Consider what you’re taking on and whether it’s reasonable or fair to you. That’s all I ask.”
Taking the cue, I stand to ditch my used tissues in the wastepaper basket. Richards meets me at the door. Usually, I flee this room like it’s on fire. But today I stop to offer him a long, searching look.
“You’re right; it isn’t fair,” I reply solemnly. “I didn’t want to leave her behind, but I had no choice. Saving her isn’t my job. But it is my road back to being someone I recognise when I look in the mirror.”
Richards contemplates me. “Perhaps you need a different mirror.”
I break out in a snort. “Do you ever let anything slide?”
