Page 107 of Terms of Exposure
Maybe I could let myself believe it. Just for an hour.
That was the rule, after all.
Chapter twenty-nine
Emma
I watched the numbers crawl—three, four, five—each ding a small jab in my ribs. The fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting everything in that flat institutional glow that made even Damien look slightly washed out. He stood beside me, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders a little too straight. His reflection in the stainless-steel doors looked calm. Composed.
Liar.
My weight shifted from foot to foot—a nervous metronome.
"You okay?" Damien asked.
I nodded too fast. "Fine."
His gaze dropped to my hands. "You're wringing your fingers hard enough to tear them off."
I looked down. My fingers had twisted together, knuckles blanched. I forced them apart as the elevator doors slid open.
The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and floral diffuser. Soft lamplight spilled through the frosted glass of a door at the end, the name blurred behind the film.
Dr. Raines.
"Last chance to sprint for the exit," Damien said.
"If we run now, she'll chase us in our dreams."
The corner of his mouth kicked up. He opened the door and ushered me inside.
Dr. Raines's office was warm, quiet, cozy without tipping into suffocating. Bookshelves lined one wall, spines worn with use. A low table held a neat stack of tissues and a small succulent that looked surprisingly healthy. A loveseat sat against the opposite wall—a blanket draped over the arm like an invitation.
"Emma. Damien." Dr. Raines rose as we entered. "I'm glad you're here."
I studied her as she crossed the room. Long wavy brown hair, large frame glasses. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Dark slacks, soft blue blouse. And—
Bare feet.
She caught me looking and smiled. "I find it helps people relax when I'm not towering over them in heels."
"Does it work?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Her eyes brightened. "I guess we'll see, won't we."
Damien's palm settled against my back, guiding me toward the loveseat.
We took our places on the cushions.
Dr. Raines sat in the armchair across from us, tucking one bare foot beneath her.
"Before we dive in," she said, "I want to acknowledge something. First sessions are hard. You're sitting in a stranger's office, being asked to talk about things you've probably never said out loud." She let the words sit. "That takes courage."
My foot tapped an anxious rhythm on the carpet.
"There's no script here," she continued. "No right or wrong way to do this. We go at whatever pace feels manageable. And anything you share stays in this room."
She looked at Damien, then back at me.
