Page 49 of Visions of Darkness

My tongue stroked out to wet my parched lips. “A bit better today,” I whispered, hoping to sound sincere.

“That’s what we always hope ... that you feel a bit better with each day. But really, for that to happen, we need to help you get to the root of this, Aria. To the place that you have trouble allowing others to see, and I hope you’ll trust me with that.”

There was nothing cruel or evil about it.

No ill will emanating from her spirit.

But that didn’t mean allowing her to go there wouldn’t prove catastrophic.

When I didn’t respond, she shifted her attention to the portrait I’d drawn in art therapy that now rested on her desk.

My nerves scattered as she carefully studied it, and I had to fight off the urge to snatch it back and hide it against my chest.

When I’d first entered the room, she’d asked if she could see what I’d done in art class.

Maybe I should have refused. Ripped it into a thousand pieces before she could see. If I’d been smart, I wouldn’t have drawn it in the first place.

But it’d come unbidden, arising from the depths of my mind and flowing from my fingers as I let my spirit wander.

Pax had been there for a moment, the way I wished he could truly be.

In discomfort, I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my chin on top of them.

She tapped the picture, her eyes narrowed in concentration when she leveled me with an intent stare. “Can you tell me about him?”

My mouth was instantly parched.

I searched around in my brain for an adequate lie to give to a woman who was trained on how to sniff them out.

“What do you mean? It’s just a drawing.”

Her brows drew together. Cautious speculation. “He looks a lot like you.”

She glanced between me and the drawing, as if she were categorizing each similarity.

“You have an amazing talent, really,” she said, almost to herself. “It’s a stunning piece of art.”

“Thank you.”

“And we could go on about your natural talent, but I really think we should address this man in the picture.”

She rocked back in her chair, casually, as if to put me at ease.

Futile, since trepidation buzzed through my being.

“Have you always felt self-conscious of the way you look, Aria? Is this perhaps an expression of your need to fit in? To find someone else who might look like you?”

Care filled her tone, and I would have found comfort in it if I didn’t know her laptop sat open to my file. To the records from middle school and earlier, when I’d insisted there was a little boy who looked like me. That there were others with my eyes. Others who were just like me and met in this magical place.

I’d known I wasn’t supposed to share those pieces of myself, but somehow, I’d never been able to stop myself.

“Maybe?” I shrugged, forming it as a question, looking at her with aYou tell me. Maybe then I could nod and agree with her perception. Satisfy her concern.

Her head tipped to the side, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“You’re actually quite beautiful,” she mused, though I could almost hear her rebuking herself for saying something that might be deemed inappropriate.

She cleared her throat and tapped the picture again. “So, Pax is his name?”

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