Page 38 of Mine To Hunt

"I guess... I've handled worse." I say slowly, picking my words like stepping stones over a pit. "Lost my parents young. Carcrash. Scholarship kid scraping by. Stuff like that builds calluses, right? This recent mess, school drama, boyfriend crap, it's just noise. I'll shake it off. Therapy's for people who can't."

He absorbs it without flinching, his pen finally moving once across the notepad. Not frantically, just a note to mark the moment and his voice stays that calm anchor, too perfect in its evenness.

"Calluses are useful." He agrees, a hint of warmth creeping in that surprises me. "They protect. But sometimes they thicken over wounds that need air. You mentioned your parents. That sounds like a deep loss. If it's too soon to go there, that's fine. What about home? Is it a safe space for you?"

The question skirts close to Ryan, to the flat that feels like a trap now. I hesitate again, my breath catching as memories flash, his shouts, the shove into the chair, the photos of him with other women that gutted me worse than any blade.

"Home's... complicated." I say finally, voice dropping low, hesitant as I test the waters.

"Living with my boyfriend, but it's rocky. He helps with rent. Scholarship doesn't cover much but lately, it's more stress than steady. Fights that escalate too quick. I crash with friends when it boils over."

Dr. Ashcroft nods, his expression unchanging, that unreadable composure holding like a shield, but his eyes soften just enough to make me wonder if he's seeing the cracks I'm trying to plaster over.

"Complicated homes can drain us without us noticing." He says gently, no pry in his tone, just an open door. "Friends sound likea bright spot. Maddie and Al, from what I heard. What draws you to them?"

Relief flickers because this feels safer, friends, not the abyss and I lean into it, my hesitation easing a fraction as words flow a bit freer.

"They're... solid. Maddie, she's theater, all fire and loyalty. Drags me to rehearsals when I'm spiraling, makes me laugh at the worst times. Al's quieter, sculptor type. Fixes things without words, like handing me clay to smash when words fail. They've seen me at my lowest, post-crash days, and stuck. No pity, just presence. Makes me feel less like a burden."

He watches me for a beat too long, his expression unreadable, that composed stillness never cracking. It unsettles me more than any reassurance could, nothing comforting, just quiet assessment like he’s cataloguing every twitch of my face.

"That sounds like a real connection." He says, voice smooth, controlled, detached. "Rare, especially in difficult seasons. You say you’re fine, that this is a misunderstanding, yet here you are, reaching out through them."

His head tilts slightly, analytical rather than gentle. "What do you think that says about where you really stand? No rush. Take your time."

I pause, the question lingering like smoke, because admitting need feels like chipping away at the armor that's kept me afloat this long.

"I guess... it says I'm not totally alone." I concede slowly, my voice hesitant, fingers twisting tighter in my lap. "But fine's relative, right? I function, classes, writing drafts that suck lesseach time. The hospital... that was a blip. Heat of the moment. Won't happen again."

His gaze holds mine, sharp yet infinitely patient, and he leans back slightly, giving me the space his words don't demand.

"A blip." He muses, not challenging, just observing with that precise edge that makes me squirm.

"People who are truly fine don't often find themselves in hospital beds after a handful of pills. It's not an accusation, Iris. Just a fact. Those moments tell us something our daytime selves try to ignore. What do you suppose that blip was whispering?"

The words land soft but true, slicing past my deflections without blood, and I feel seen, exposed in a way that's terrifying and strangely relieving, like he's peering into the shadows I've kept locked. Hesitation surges again, my breath shallow as I grapple for an answer that doesn't unravel me completely.

"It was whispering... enough." I say at last, voice barely above a murmur, eyes dropping to the table.

"The video, someone filmed me without knowing, shared it everywhere. Stares at school, whispers like knives. Felt like I was dissolving, piece by piece. The pills... they promised quiet. Stupid, I know. But in that moment, quiet sounded better than the noise."

He doesn't interrupt, doesn't scribble furiously or nod like he's tallying points. Just listens, his calm presence a counter to my fraying edges, letting the silence stretch until I'm ready to fill it again.

"Not stupid." He says when I fall quiet, his tone light, almost conversational. "Desperate, maybe. But that’s humannature. That video, sounds like a profound violation. If you're comfortable, what did it stir up for you? The exposure, or something deeper?"

I hesitate long, chewing my lip because deeper means the stalker, the texts that knew my breakfast skips, Ryan's grip turning possessive to punishing, but his patience wins, that too-perfect control coaxing without force.

"Exposure, mostly." I say finally, words tumbling hesitant. "Like my skin wasn't mine anymore. Everyone at uni saw, judged, gossiped. Made me feel small, dirty. Like I invited it somehow."

"Like you invited it." He echoes softly, no shock, just reflection. "That's a heavy burden to carry alone. And the deeper part, does it tie to trust? Or control, maybe?"

The question probes gentle, and I pause, the room's quiet amplifying my internal tug-of-war, open up, or clam up? "Both, I think." I admit, voice shaky but gaining ground.

"Trust got shattered. My boyfriend lied, cheated, got rough when he was cornered. And my control…? Lost that when the camera showed up. Felt like a puppet, strings pulled by some shadow."

He nods, his gaze unwavering but kind, that unsettling grounding pulling more from me than I planned. "Shadows have a way of amplifying our fears." He says, voice calm as ever.

"But naming them, even hesitantly, starts loosening their hold. You're doing that here, just by sitting with it. What would feel like a win today? Small, doesn't have to be grand."