Page 23 of Frayed Owner

“Yes, yes, I am. They might not offer it because it’s a tough topic for all of us, but if you ask, they’ll help just like you helped them,” she promised. “But this is my therapy. This—I have a human friend who is still in the service and this was our therapy. You’d like her. She’s probably going to go career, so it’s nice to meet someone who I can have this with again.”

I thought about that for a few minutes. “I feel bad for not being strong enough to try again.”

She sighed. Heavily. “You’re too fucking hard on yourself. Damn, your family was worse than mine. Seriously. We just talked about why therapy isn’t the only answer or only way to achieve mental health or the goals you want.” She gave me a playful shove and smiled so it was clear there weren’t any hard feelings.

“Did you try?”

“After that first disaster—I have our witch version of endometriosis which isn’t as bad as the human one, but we need healers for it. That was abitchto deal with while in the human military. Fuck. That was a joke, and Taylor owes so many favors for getting ones snuck to me or holding potions for me when things got bad.”

“Well, now you have a friend who can help pay some of those debts back,” I offered.

“You’re too nice,” she sighed.

“Yeah, you’re ahorrible bitch,” I drawled, gesturing between us and how she was up before seven on a Sunday running with me.

“Fair enough,” Emma chuckled. “But the military wanted me to do a full hysterectomy at twenty. Acted like it was a wart removed and just a defective part that should be tossed. I had to talk to a therapist about it and the gaslighting and level of—it was bad. I was tied into such knots until—I was a mess.

“Therapy can be greatifyou get the right person. If you don’t, it can really fuck with you, and I know my limits. I can’t risk a third strike. I’d end up in a padded room. That time it was a licensed professional. An actual psychologist who looked me dead in the eyes and basically told me to quit bitching and I wasn’t dying so I was lucky.”

“Wow. Just… Wow.”

“Yeah, but you experienced it with Leigh Moon. Not even picking on her. She’s just a person, and her own biases and probably traumatic past fucked with her helping you. She’s probably gone through alotbeing the daughter of a councilman. Alot. We know that being from top-tier families. You do. When you’re not so pissed at her, you’ll probably forgive it.”

I nodded. She was right and I probably would.

Later. I was still a bit steamed it fucked with my chance of help.

I glanced at Emma and realized maybe I wasn’t anymore because this was actually more my vibe. “Yeah, but I might also thank her. This has been more helpful than sitting on that couch. I always feel like shit doing only one thing instead of multitasking when so many people need me now.”

“I know the feeling,” she chuckled. “And we were raised that women can’t be selfish. We have to giveeverythingto our families. This is something selfish for ourselves. It’s not, and you run a major company with a lot of moving parts. If you’re not in good health, then it won’t be either. But that’s the mindset you have to get over. I’m still working on it.”

We finished our second lap, and I was impressed she was still going. She snickered and warned me she would have to tap out at the end of the next one. Still, it was nice to have someone run with me for real.

“How do I stop crying all of the time?” I asked her, realizing that was my other real problem. “You and Councilman Oliveria have helped me see that my puking and volatile reactions are already getting better—will over time when I feel safer and not so caged. How do I stop fucking sobbing at every little fucking thing and get a handle on myself?”

“Same thing,” she said gently. “Time. Patience with yourself.” She let out a slow breath. “Restraint.” She moved her hand to my arm when I turned to blast her. “Hear me out.”

“Okay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying. More people should feel their emotions and work through them. They bottle them up and explode. I’m not saying to ignore them or pretend nothing bad happens—this isn’t the military, and I really would never condone their idea of mental health.”

I snorted, glad she felt that way.

“Look, I’m not an expert and neither are you. Even the experts will tell you that you need to do what’s best foryou. They give you tools in therapy for you to implement. Not what someone on TikTok or Instagram tells you to do. Hell, don’t listen to me if you think it’s stupid. I’m telling you what worked for me because you asked. I don’t give…”

I burst out laughing. She had given unsolicited advice.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” she chuckled. “Normally, I don’t give unsolicited advice. You were fucking drowning and—you needed help. You were reaching out for help. That’s what I meant.”

That was more than fair and I said as much.

It took us a few minutes to get back to a calmer, serious tone again. “You ever seen those worksite signs that say so many days since an injury?” She waited until I nodded. “That’s what I did. When I was at my lowest and I felt like I couldn’t get a handle onanything, I put up one of those on a large Post-it pad. How many days since I last cried.”

I frowned. “That seems demeaning.”

“Maybe. Again, I’m not saying it’s the right answer. It’s the answer that worked forme. I told myself to stop fucking crying. Crying doesn’t solve problems. I went fromnevercrying as a Hughes toalwaysfucking crying because now I could and I didn’t know how to regulate. I didn’t know moderation or what was healthy.”

“You set limits and taught yourself what was normal.”

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