Page 30 of Dear Owen

I swallowed hard, nodding. “Owen.”

Dr. Rose’s expression didn’t change—not a flicker of judgment or surprise. “And how did that feel?”

“Complicated,” I admitted, the word feeling inadequate to describe the storm raging inside me. “It brought up a lot of... feelings. About him.”

“Feelings can be tricky like that,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “They’re rarely just one thing.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Yeah, no kidding. I hate him. I should hate him. But I don’t. Not completely.”

Her silence urged me to continue, and I forced the words out, each one feeling heavier than the last. “It’s like… he’s this gravity I can’t escape. No matter what he’s done, no matter how much he’s hurt me, there’s still this... pull. And I hate myself for that.”

Dr. Rose tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not unusual to feel conflicted in situations like this. Love and anger, longing and resentment—they’re not mutually exclusive. You can feel all of them at once, and that doesn’t make you weak or broken.”

I frowned, my chest tightening. “It feels like it does. Like I should just be able to cut him out of my life completely. Like I should want to.”

“And yet,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “here you are, unpacking those feelings instead of running from them. That’s not weakness, Kira. That’s strength.”

Her words hit something deep inside me, and my throat tightened. I looked away, blinking back the sting of tears. “I just... I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“Maybe it’s not about making it stop,” she suggested. “Maybe it’s about understanding where those feelings come from and deciding what you want to do with them.”

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of her words settling over me. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not. But healing rarely is.”

I glanced down at my hands, twisting them together in my lap. “What if... what if I can’t?”

“You’ve already shown that you can,” Dr. Rose said, her warm, understanding gaze steady on me. “You’ve scheduled these sessions. You’ve talked openly about your feelings. That makes you resilient and brave.”

I stared at my hands, twisting the fabric of my shirt. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels... wrong. Like I’m betraying myself for still feeling this way.”

Dr. Rose leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but unwavering. “Feeling conflicted about someone who’s hurt you isn’t betrayal, Kira. It’s human. Trauma bonds can complicate emotions in ways that feel impossible to untangle.”

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of her words settling in my chest. “He—Owen—he traumatized me. But I can’t stop... caring about him. I hate myself for it.”

“You’re not the first person to feel this way,” she said gently. “Loving someone who has hurt you doesn’t erase the pain or make what they did acceptable. But it’s important to separate your feelings for him from the harm he caused. Your love doesn’t absolve him, just like his actions don’t erase your feelings.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and my throat tightened as I fought back tears. “I just—I don’t even know who I am outside of all of this. I don’t want to be stuck anymore. I want to move forward, but I don’t even know where to start.”

“You start by deciding what you want for yourself, Kira,” Dr. Rose said, her voice steady. “Not for him, not because of him—for you. What does healing look like for you?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. But then, a flicker of resolve sparked inside me. “I want to take back what’s mine,” I said quietly. “My space. My choices. My life.”

Dr. Rose nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “That’s a powerful place to start.”

The sun was lower in the sky by the time I returned to Liam’s house. I set my keys down on the counter, the familiar quiet wrapping around me like a blanket. The session had left me drained, my emotions raw and exposed, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of something else. Something close to hope.

I moved through the house, tidying up the little messes I’d left behind. The act of cleaning was small but grounding, each task reminding me that I could still control something, even if it was just the state of this temporary home. I wiped down the counters, folded the blanket on the couch, and finally returned to my room.

The iPod was still on the nightstand, untouched since last night. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it like it held all the answers to questions I wasn’t ready to ask. My hand hovered over it, hesitating.

With a shaky breath, I picked it up and slipped it into the drawer. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Dr. Rose’s words replayed in my mind:Maybe it’s about understanding where those feelings come from and deciding what you want to do with them.

I didn’t have the answers yet. But as the heater hummed in the background and the last traces of daylight faded from the window, I realized something important.

I didn’t want to die anymore.

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