Page 11 of The Flames Between Us

"Exposure work, yes. Gradually and carefully. But I'd also like to understand more about what happened before Henderson. You mentioned that at Pineridge, you saw 'not the actual hallway but the memory of another fire, another victim.' What was that about?"

The question catches me off guard. I'd almost forgotten mentioning that detail in our first session.

"It's complicated," I say, deflecting.

"I imagine it is," she agrees. "Most things worth understanding are."

Her patience is unnerving—the way she waits, neither pushing nor retreating. It makes me want to fill the silence.

"There was another fire," I admit finally. "Eight years ago. Apartment complex downtown. We lost someone. A thirty-year-old woman."

Everly's expression remains compassionate but professional. "Were you directly involved in the attempt to rescue her?"

"Yeah. I was the one who found her." The memory surfaces with surprising clarity. "She was hiding in a closet. By the time I got to her, she wasn't breathing. I carried her out, did CPR, but..." I trail off.

"You couldn't save her," Everly finishes softly.

"Eva," I say, her name still familiar on my tongue after all these years. "She was afraid of the fire, so she hid instead of trying to get out. She'd stuffed towels under the closet door, thinking it would keep the smoke out."

"That must have been devastating," Everly says.

"It was rough, but I dealt with it," I reply. "Or I thought I did. We've lost victims before. It's part of the job. You mourn, you learn what you can from it, you move on."

"But when you were at the Pineridge fire, something connected back to Eva," she prompts.

I frown, trying to articulate the connection I've never fully examined. "The hallway at Pineridge—it was similar. Narrow, smoke-filled. And when I saw it, suddenly I wasn't seeing Pineridge anymore. I was back in that apartment, knowing Eva was somewhere ahead, already running out of air."

"And that's when you froze?"

"Yeah. It was like my body remembered the outcome before my mind could process where I actually was." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. "Which makes no sense. Eva's death was sad, but I didn't freeze then. I did everything possible to save her."

"Sometimes trauma doesn't fully process when it happens. It gets stored away, especially if we're in high-stress occupations where there's no time to properly integrate difficult experiences. Then something triggers it years later, and suddenly we're responding not just to the current situation but to the accumulated weight of multiple similar experiences."

That makes a disturbing amount of sense. I've never counted how many victims we've lost over my fifteen-year career. Dozens, probably. Each one filed away with professional detachment because there was always another call coming, always another person who needed saving.

"So, what you're saying is, Henderson wasn't the cause—he was the tipping point."

"Exactly," she confirms. "The straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak."

Our time is nearly up, but there's one more thing nagging at me.

"You seem to understand this firsthand," I say. "The way you talked about identity being tied to what we do."

Something flickers across her face—a brief vulnerability quickly masked by professional composure.

"I've had my own experiences with having to redefine my sense of self when circumstances changed," she says "But this session is about you, not me."

Chapter 4 - Everly

"But this session is about you, not me."

The words come out automatically—the professional shield I've used countless times when patients grow curious about my life. But as soon as I say them, I feel inauthentic. After asking Ollis to expose his most vulnerable moments, my deflection feels almost hypocritical.

He stares at me with those penetrating hazel eyes, a hint of disappointment crossing his features. It shouldn't matter—maintaining professional boundaries is Therapy 101. Yet I find myself wanting to offer something genuine in return for the trust he's shown today.

"That said," I hear myself continuing, "I believe in appropriate transparency when it helps the therapeutic relationship."

One eyebrow rises slightly. "Appropriate transparency?"

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