Page 147 of Lost
“Look at you,” Tyde murmurs, smirking.
Lars rolls his eyes, his lips twitching, and I pick up a lemon square. I think I may be as obsessed with these as my sister is. He’s right too, I feel shaky after going through so many emotions, and the sugar does help.
“I need to get on the road,” I say, swallowing back a yawn.
“Come byBrewed Awakeningfirst,” Lars says worriedly. “I’ll make you a coffee for the road. It’s not a nap, but it’ll do.”
With a nod, I admit that coffee sounds really good. Standing, I see that Dr. Alys has been watching me from the doorway.
“What scares you about therapy, Nova?” she asks.
“I’ve heard too many stories about how therapy is weaponized,” I explain. “That’s what scares me about it.”
“There are a lot of therapists like that, but I’m everything they’re not,” she says. “Empathy died in them. Therapy is a form of control for them, and I know darn well that I’m not in charge of the direction of our conversations. Guiding is all I can or should do. Everything else is up to you. Are you interested in continuing?”
“I am,” I agree. “When is your next opening?”
“Friday,” she says.
Hmm. Three days from now.
“I can do that.” I’m off Friday as usual, there won’t be anywhere for me to rush off to. “What time?”
“Noon,” Dr. Alys says, not checking her phone or paper schedule. That’s kind of odd right?
“That’ll work, thank you.”
My alphas and I say goodbye and leave, but I’m left vaguely wondering what her story is.
Chapter Thirty-One
TYDE
“Hockey…” I murmur, glancing at Nova who shrugs.
“There are hot guys and I get to yell a lot,” she confesses, laughing. “Come with us tonight. You’ll forget it’s a sport once you’re watching them throw off their gloves and beat the hell out of each other.”
She’s curled up in the window seat of her house in my hooded sweatshirt and nothing else, a sketchbook in her hand as she leans her head back on the wall. Nova looks comfortable right now.
“What are you sketching?” I ask, interested in the book.
“This? Ugh, Louise liked to make me practice drawing for thirty minutes a day, every day. I hated it because it never felt like my drawing was good enough,” she sighs.
Not for the first time, I wish Hollis could bring them back to life so she can kill them again. The people who kidnapped and raised her did her a disservice in the way they manipulated Nova to stay small.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“There was never a single compliment when she’d go through my sketches. I can still remember the loud sound of her sighing as the paper crinkled each time she’d turn the page. It reminds me of disappointment.”
“It’s possible it wasn’t,” I say gently.
“Louise would backhand me after going through the sketches and tell me to do better,” she whispers. “Every day, it was the same thing. She managed to do it in such a way that it wouldn’t leave a mark.”
“Then fuck her. Can I see them, please?” I ask.
As she purses her lips, I wonder if she’ll tell me no before she finally nods. It’s been three weeks since her first therapy appointment, and I think that it’s been helping. All three of her bites are in different stages of healing. The therapy is opening up tiny and large holes into the containers where she stores her trauma in her mind.
I can tell that she has moments where she’s raw as she processes her trauma. Nova’s eyes will get unfocused as well, as if she’s far away in a time where no one stood up for her.
