A Date with the Devil *SAMPLE*

Three: Paralyzed by Fear

The idea of my assignment is so much easier to digest than the actual action of walking outside for the first time in over a year. My house, my room: they've become my safe haven. A place I know I am protected from the terrors of the outside world, protected from him.

"So, how is your assignment coming along?" Linda asks, seated across from me in our study. She tucks her honey-colored curls behind her ear.

It's Wednesday, unfortunately for me. It seems to have snuck up on me faster than I'd imagined it would. Normally I look forward to seeing Linda. Not this week. This week I've been dreading it like the plague.

When Tyson took me for the test run, I felt like I could do anything...but after he left, I attempted my assignment at least three more times with no such luck. By the time my right foot crossed the threshold, I began to hyperventilate. It was the same, each and every time. I gave up after that. It's too hard, and I can't do it.

I shrug, avoiding eye contact. My eyes land on the picture frame behind Linda's head. It's a family portrait that was taken only a couple of years ago, but I don't recognize that girl in the photo. Her smile is genuine and real. The portrait is obviously from a happier time.

"Bryce, did you even try?" It hurts hearing Linda doubt me. She hasn't judged me since she first stepped foot into our house, and I really look up to her.

My eyes shift back to her. "Yeah," I say in a small voice. "I tried...I just, can't do it."

"What makes you say that?" She is holding her notepad away from her, too focused on me to write. Her sea green eyes fixated on me.

"I tried it...okay? I'm just not strong enough," I snap back at her, guilt instantly washing over me as I realize she is not to blame for my shortcomings. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." She always lets me off easy. Sometimes, I wonder if she were stricter with me if I would be making more progress than I have been. But I can't imagine having anyone else as a therapist, so I try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind.

"Tell me what ran through your mind when you attempted it. What made you think you couldn't do it?" Of course, even with my outburst, she keeps pressing on.

"That he is going to find me."

"That is a valid fear. What makes you think he's still out there?" I've answered this question over a hundred times, but she still continues to ask it. I'm positive when she does, she is hoping for a breakthrough. Unfortunately, I never deliver.

"Because they never found him. He vanished without a trace."

"Do you believe he's still in the state?" Another valid question I've been asked previously.

I shrug. "I don't know."

"So, it's the fear of the unknown? Do you miss being able to leave your house?"