Page 121 of Wreckage

He talked to me about my relationship with them, about how these types of changes could be confusing, about how the crash, the trauma, the emotions wrapped up in everything could make things feel more intense than they were basically, that it might not have been real.

I knew what he was saying. It was the same thing as the psychiatrist had said.

I didn’t disagree.

But none of it changed what had happened. None of it changed what I felt. None of it made the nightmare disappear. The mental health professionals had been in and out, talking me through coping mechanisms, trauma responses, PTSD symptoms, and a whole host of things about how perception during traumatic events can form bonds we share with other victims.Trauma bonds.

They wanted me to face everything. To talk to Troy and Adrian. Steve wanted it sooner rather than later, while the psychiatrist said when I felt more ready and had enough time to sort through my feelings.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure I ever would be. At least I had one person on my side.

The one thing I was sure of was I couldn’t face them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I had asked Steve to keep them away from me while I tried to sort through the mess inside my head.

He had reluctantly agreed. I nodded when he hugged me, whispering that he loved me, and so didthey.

And then I cried.

A week later,I managed to hold down more food and had only had a few vomiting episodes. It seemed good enough for the doctors. The doctors were saying I could be released. My body was healing. My mind? That was another story. I kept having nightmares. Horrible, blood-curdling nightmares where Dean was begging me not to eat him. Telling me he wanted to go home too.

I hated sleeping just as much as I hated eating.

But my ankle… That was another blow to an already shattered life.

It had been broken in the crash and reset in surgery when they deemed me strong enough to survive going under. They told me it was a clean enough break and that I would need physical therapy. They said maybe I would dance again. But maybe not. It depended on how it felt when I got back on it.

That uncertainty was all it took to finish breaking something deep inside me.

I remembered Adrian’s words in the plane, the promise he had made so easily, so confidently, as if the world bent to his will.

“If I have to carry you onstage, Elena, you will dance.”

I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to hold onto that hope.

But now?

Now, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to try.

The doctor camein the following day.

”You’re ready to be discharged," he said with a smile.

I nodded, my heart pounding.

Steve was beside me, his hand warm over mine, steadying me.

“Troy and Adrian are at the hotel,” he said softly. “They want to see you.”

I stared at the blanket over my lap, fingers curling into the fabric.

I was quiet for a long time before I whispered, “I’m not ready.”

Steve didn’t argue.

Didn’t push.

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