Page 82 of The Ache That Stayed

“It isn’t. You can’t let the shadows take over, Roxanne,” he said, softer now. “And you can’t keep deciding who you are based on what you think someone else might not accept.”

My jaw tightened slightly. “I’m not—”

“You think you’re too much,” he continued. “That if people see everything, they’ll leave.”

I didn’t respond. Because that was a truth I couldn’t deny without lying. That’s why I never let one person know all of me.

I knew I was broken. No one ever got all of me. Just pieces of whatever version they could hold.

“But it’s not that,” he added. “It’s what you don’t let them see that fractures things. Not who you are.”

I looked away. Because that felt closer to the truth than I wanted it to.

The sky had turned again—grey swallowing the brief sunlight like it had never been there.

“Why do you feel the need to have everything figured out?” he asked.

Maybe I’d built a version of myself that people could accept. Controlled. Clean. Easy. And stayed inside it too long, even when it stopped feeling real. It’s what I’d convinced myself was true so I could keep everything from falling apart.

I didn’t say that. Instead, I let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh but without the warmth.

“Don’t we all?”

My fingers traced the rim of the cup again, slower this time.

Silence followed. Thick. Unavoidable. This was enough introspection for now.

“I know you’re British and all, but what are you doing in Ireland anyway?”

His expression shifted. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I would’ve missed it. As much as I may have been spiralling in my head, I tried to be observant of people around me.

Good to know he wasn’t as untouchable as he looked.

“Work,” he answered nonchalantly.

“That’s a vague answer. Now who’s trying to evade answering?”

“Are you trying to shrink the shrink?” he asked with a smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe,” I smirked with a raised eyebrow.

He let out a breath, took off his glasses and rubbed his face.

“Patient transfer.”

“And how is that going?”

He shifted in his seat.

“Complicated.”

I just tilted my head and looked at him.

“You’re being dramatic. How bad can it be?”

“I’m British,” he replied. “It’s one of our national hobbies.”

Despite myself, I laughed.