Page 32 of Out of the Dark

At Dr. Lawrence’s prompting, I explain more about how Mark offered me shelter from the storm while still respecting my space, then I tell her about how much he’s helped me begin to build a life in this city.

"Tell me more about that transition," Dr. Lawrence suggests. "What's been the most challenging part?"

I pause, considering her question. "Learning to trust, I think. Back home, everything was about control—what we wore, what we thought, who we talked to. But Mark just helps without expecting anything in return. His friends seem to be the same way. It's confusing."

"Confusing how?"

"Because..." I struggle to find the words. "Because I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to reveal what hereallywants from me. But he just keeps helping, and I don’t know why."

Dr. Lawrence makes a note on her clipboard. "And how do you feel about your relationship with Mark? Are you worried he’ll expect something from you in the future?"

I think for a moment before answering. "No, I don’t think so. When I asked him why he’s helping me so much, he told me that he knows what it’s like to be in my position, and he had someone to help him in the way he’s helping me now. He’s shown me nothing but kindness and respect."

"It sounds like he's been a significant source of support," she observes.

"He is, but sometimes I feel guilty," I confess. "Like I'm taking advantage of his kindness. And sometimes..."

She looks at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

"Sometimes I catch myself wanting more," I say, dropping my gaze. "Which is silly, but it’s true."

"Why do you think that’s silly?"

"Because he’s got his whole life figured out. He’s so confident and always knows what to do. Meanwhile, I have no clue what I’m doing."

Dr. Lawrence leans forward slightly. "I think you know a lot more than you give yourself credit for, but that’s definitely something we can explore together. This is all a part of your journey of discovering who you are outside of the constraints you grew up with. We can work on understanding them together, at your pace."

Tears prick at my eyes, but they're not entirely sad ones. There's something freeing about sitting here, being able tovoice these thoughts without fear of judgment.

"Thank you," I manage to say. "I've never been able to talk about any of this before."

She smiles. "That's what I'm here for. Would you like to meet regularly? We can work on processing your past experiences and navigating your new life."

"Yes, I'd like that."

As the session wraps up, Dr. Lawrence schedules our next appointment. Walking out of her office, I feel lighter somehow, as if sharing even this small portion of my story has lifted some of the weight from my shoulders. Maybe, with time and help, I can figure out who I am beyond my past.

Later, in my evening class, my mind is still spinning from the therapy session. I barely notice when someone sits down next to me until they speak.

"Hey, are you okay? You seem kind of out of it."

I look up to find Chris, a guy from my study group, watching me with concern. He's nice—the kind of guy I probably should be interested in. Clean-cut, close to my age, always ready with a friendly smile.

"I'm fine," I answer, managing a small smile. "Just tired."

"Well, hey, we're supposed to partner up for the group project," he says. "Want to work together?"

I agree, partly because it's easier than saying no, and partly because I should be making more connections outside of Mark's apartment. But as Chris talks about meeting up to work on the project, I can't help but compare his eager, boyish enthusiasm to Mark's quiet intensity.

The class passes in a blur of discussion about theme, figurative language, and structure in poetry. Chris and I exchange phone numbers at the end of class, but I can sense the way he’s trying to steer the conversation toward morepersonal things. Unfortunately, I have no emotional energy left today, so it’s difficult to participate in even friendly, surface-level conversation. His face falls a little when I make an excuse about needing to head home, but it’s so quick that I think I may have imagined it.

On the drive home, I wonder what Dr. Lawrence will say when I explain more about the complexities of my relationship with Mark. About how I'm trying to build a normal life while living with someone who makes my heart race every time he looks at me. About how I'm keeping perfectly nice guys at a distance while dreaming about a man who probably sees me as nothing more than someone to help.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MARK

The club is humming with its usual energy, though a little less busy than usual, but it’s not giving me the same buzz it usually does.Probably just because it’s a weeknight, I tell myself. The pulsing music and the couples filtering in and out of the back room only serve to remind me what I’m here for. I lean against the bar, nursing a drink and scanning the crowd for any familiar faces.

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