Page 107 of Teach Me to Fly

“When the urge comes,” she says, gesturing to my wrist, “try using the elastic band first.”

I take it from her, slide it over my wrist, then glance up at her face before pulling the band back. It snaps sharply against my skin and the sting is brief—nowhere near the pain I’ve inflicted on myself before—but it’s sudden enough that it might snap me out of a spiral.

“And then I’d like you to write,” she continues, tapping the notebook. “Anything you're feeling or can’t say out loud.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it helps us track what’s triggering you. Once we know, we can work on creating boundaries aroundthose moments. We’re aiming for protection, not punishment.”

I stare down at the notebook, fingertips brushing over its worn leather cover.

“But Angelique,” she adds gently, “if things ever feel too much, I want you to call me. I’m always available for emergency sessions. Anytime. Day or night.”

I look up at her, and my mouth trembles into a shaky smile. She means it—I can feel that she does. She reaches over, wraps her fingers around mine in a quiet squeeze, then glances at the clock.

I follow her gaze, surprised to see the hour has already passed. “Reign booked you in everyday for the next two weeks. After that, we’ll see what pace feels right to you.”

My eyes widen a little, but I shouldn't be surprised because of course that’s something he’d do.

I clear my throat, my voice still shaky. “Are you… going to put me on meds?”

Talia doesn’t hesitate as she leans back in her chair and shakes her head gently. “No. Not unless you decide you want to explore that route later on. But right now? I think you can do this without medication.”

I blink. “Really?”

“You’re not broken, Angelique. You’ve experienced trauma. Deep, life-altering trauma. But everything you’ve shared with me, I believe you’re strong enough to do the work without medication… if that’s what you want.”

I sit with that for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle over me. It’s strange how quickly her confidence in me wedges itself into the cracks I didn’t even realize were still gaping open. I nod slowly again, eyes burning, but this time for a different reason. Relief, maybe.

“Tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’d like us to talk about your mother. Not just what she’s done, but how it’s shaped the way you see yourself, the way you love, and the way you hurt.”

Just the mention of my mom makes my throat tighten, but I nod again, firmer this time. “Okay.”

Talia gives me one last soft smile, then rises from her chair and walks over to the door, holding it open for me. I gather my things slowly, the weight of everything still in my bones, but feeling just a little lighter than when I walked in.

When I step outside, Reign is still leaning against the hood of his car. He straightens immediately when he sees me, tossing his keys from one hand to the other.

“How’d it go?” he asks, nervously.

I don’t answer right away while I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his chest and breathing in his calming scent.

“You okay?” he mumbles into my hair.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I think I will be.”

Chapter 39

Angelique

It’s strange how much can change in just seven days. A week ago, I stood on Marlow Bridge with the tips of my toes hanging over the ledge and my heart barely beating. I’d already said my goodbyes and decided there was nothing left for me here.

But now I’m slowly healing, clinging to life, learning how to breathe all over again. It’s not perfect, because I still have my moments where I cry randomly, and I still wake up from nightmares soaked in sweat, but I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore. I feel like I’ve surfaced, even if it’s just enough to catch my breath.

That’s what daily sessions of therapy for the past seven days has done. Every one of them hard and terrifying but also giving me a little more clarity. And today, for the first time in a long time, I feel something I haven’t felt in ages—hope.

I stare at the email glowing on my laptop screen, my fingers hovering over the trackpad. The name of the lawyer Charlie found for me sits in bold at the top. She’s one of the best in New York, known for her ruthless cross-examinationsand her refusal to let abusers get away with just a slap on the wrist.

“She’s confident we can win,” I whisper out loud, more to myself than anyone else.

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