Mae

26

I was the darkest sunlight. Hayes used to call me that.

For all days that came after that night. Waking up, eating in my room, and sleeping—that had become my schedule. I was in my room for weeks. Mom and dad were worried, scared even if I will ever come out of the room and chase normal life again.

"Who did you tell the bartender to call?" James asks, writing something on his notepad. His eyes glued to me, though I wasn't staring back. For all the time I have been talking, he didn't once avert his gaze. I left a few details unsaid. I don't think they matter that much as far as my nightmares are concerned.

Everything he needs to know about that night, he knows.

"My dad," I tell him. "Austin Pierce."

He nods. His expressions haven't changed at all if we don't consider the occasional deep breathing. I envy these kinds of people. They can hide their reactions, and emotions so well. I like to believe I have aced that skill over a decade of practicing it.

"What was the first thing you saw when you woke up after that night?" James asks.

I breathe in. "White."

"Excuse me?"

"White ceiling, white walls, white bed," I say, playing with the bracelet on my left wrist. Then I look at him. "I was in a hospital."

He nods and gestures for me to continue.

"I saw dad facing the window, talking on the phone," I say. I couldn't hear what dad said on the phone, but the tense look on his face was enough for me to assume the worst. "When he saw I was awake, he cut the call and came to me."

"What did he say to you?"

"He told me what happened after I fainted," I say, my eyes involuntarily admiring the colors of the stones on the rings he is wearing.

"Did he tell you Hayes died?"

I grind my teeth. My jaw tenses up at the ease he says the words that have haunted me for years.

I huff out a breath. "He did." I keep the answer short, not wanting to let his question impact me.

"And you see Hayes' dead body in your dreams?"

My lower lip quivers. The images of that night flooding my mind. I shut my eyes, letting the tears slide down the corners of them. I have to wrestle and squeeze out the words from me.

"I see myself killing him," I whisper. "Over and over again. Him running after me. Then catching up. Then shoving the broken bottle into me." I open my eyes. James is intently watching me. "Then I wake up and lose my mind."

I hate James. I hate that he's pitying me right now. He's sorry for what happens in my subconscious state of mind. I don't want his pity. I want a solution to make it go away for good.

"Why does he shove the bottle into you?" he asks, his professional voice tempted to lace empathy in it.

I shrug, sniffling. "Maybe he wants his revenge?"

"Or maybe you believe he wants revenge," James says, leaning forward. "What if he doesn't?"

Having someone lay out an alternative explanation for my dreams seems strange, now that it has the potential to make sense. But I don't let it make sense. Because it doesn't. Of course, he would want his revenge.

"What if you are blaming yourself for nothing?" James says.

I'm painfully aware of the possibility of being hit by the truth. Events happening these past few days only add to James' assumption about it.

Tristan is known for having a very clear perspective about his wants and desires. He had so many years to kill me. Even after he made himself the villain in my story.

So many chances to kill me, to have his revenge. He didn't take it.

"Only one way to know," I say to myself. But James hears it.

"Which is?"

"Asking him directly."

His eyes widen, for the first time in shock. "What do you mean?"

Right. He's oblivious to the current situation. I sigh. "Turns out, I never killed Hayes. He's very much alive."

He stutters and I smile. I explain everything, excluding the part where Tristan kidnapped me.

"Wow." He let that sink in for a moment. He collects himself quickly. "Well, you know where to find the answer to your dreams, then."

As we are sitting in the living room, the sound of keys jingling on the other side of the door reaches me. The door opens and closes.

The obvious knowledge of Cary's arrival is wide on my face as a grin. I suppress it and act surprised when Cary comes running in while screaming, "Mom! Surpriseee!"

He finds me and jumps into my arms. "Oh, my god, Cary! What are you doing here?"

He falls into a giggling feet, hugging me. I close my eyes and embrace his warmth, his innocence I wish could stay forever. I sigh and look at his face.

Cary is the light to shine over my every gloom.

"Put your bag in your room," Carter says, walking in and handing him the backpack. Cary walks into his room, leaving me in an awkward position to explain Carter I'm in the middle of the therapy I never promised him I'll take.

"This is James Marshall," I say quickly, pointing at James now standing up to shake Carter's hand. "And this is Carter, my fiancé."

The two men exchange civil dignitaries for me to fill in the gaps again. "James is—" Carter cuts me off.

"I know. Your dad called me." Wow. That was unexpected, but not entirely. Carter is family now, and he deserves to know everything. Carter smiles at me and excuses himself into the kitchen to dump what-nots he is holding in two bags.

Once James and I are alone, his gaze lingers in the direction Carter disappeared.

"You've created a beautiful family of your own." He says, with genuine admiration in his voice. "You seem happy around them. Totally contrast of what you told me."

I nod and lock my hands behind my back. "Not completely, though. There's still so many dark thoughts, deep regrets, and sad moments I can't bury for good."

James breaks a smile, not a pleased one, at my naivety. He looks me in the eye and says, "You don't bury them, Mae—those dark, deep, and sad emotions. You release them. Out of your body and your mind in the right way."

"And what's the right way?"

"To feel them. Once and for all."

***