Page 33 of Unbroken

There was less than a second delay until her response came through. It was a long string of emojis followed by a threat that if I brought anything, she’d never forgive me.

I took a long, shaky breath, and the pressure on my chest lightened slightly. Shelly had reached out; it was a good sign. Amanda had also texted me a few times. She’d mentioned the possibility of lunch or something soon, but nothing had been set in stone.

Being patient was not one of my strongest traits. I knew it would take time for them to come back around—if they ever did—but I just wanted what we had before. I wanted the family that I’d found, that I’d chosen, and that had chosen me.

It felt like I’d been paralyzed for the past year. Like time had ceased to really exist for me. It was merely a way to gauge the day. Nothing more than that. But back in Texas, time had finally begun moving forward again.

I slid my phone back on the coffee table and glanced over at Tato, who had passed out again. I pulled the journal back into my lap and opened it to a blank, mocking page. But when I uncapped my pen, the words flowed easily.

Dr. Jeffery Mann’s office was plain. The waiting room furniture was brown leather and decorated with faux plants. Real plants would not have survived with such little light filtering through the two frosted windows.

His actual office, just beyond the door to my right, was a more welcoming version of the waiting room—still mostly brown, but he had knickknacks on bookshelves and photos. And a comfortable couch that was required of every therapist.

Quiet classical music played through speakers mounted on the ceiling while I flipped through a magazine, but I could still faintly hear the pop music emanating from Megan’s desk. She was Dr. Mann’s assistant and somehow the opposite of the brown-haired, quiet-spoken man.

The door to my right opened, and I tossed the magazine onto the table next to me. Dr. Mann, wearing his usual dark-coloredsweater and khaki pants, waved me inside while he shot Megan an exasperated look.

I slipped past him and took a seat where I always did—at the end of the brown leather couch closest to the door. I reached behind me and grabbed the pillow propped in the corner, placing it on my lap and settling in as much as I could.

Dr. Mann sat across from me in a matching leather chair. He crossed one leg over the other and readjusted his thick, black glasses.

“It’s good to see you, Blakely,” he said with an easy smile. “How have you been? Tell me what’s new.”

Dr. Mann was a good therapist. I’d only been seeing him for a few weeks, so we’d finally passed the awkward stages of rehashing my entire past. We were now on to the nitty-gritty details of getting my life back on track.

“I’m actually having dinner with Shelly tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “That must be exciting. Did you initiate this or did she?”

Dr. Mann never wrote any notes during our twice-weekly sessions, but he did have a notebook and a pen next to him. That and a bowl of trail mix he said he liked to snack on between sessions.

I thought it was odd, but we all had our quirks. Even therapists.

“She did,” I said, which earned me another nod. “But I’m really excited about it.”

“She’s one of your friend’s mom’s, correct?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling at a loose string at the corner of the pillow in my lap. “Before…everything?—”

“Before you were kidnapped,” he corrected, and I took a deep breath. Everyone had told me that that part was important. That stating what happened to me for what it was wouldn’t allow it to have as much power over me.

It made sense to an extent, but I still hated it. It made me feel like a victim when I wanted to feel like anything but.

“Before I was kidnapped,” I struggled to say, “we were really close. It’s one of the friendships I was most eager to rekindle.”

“And I’m guessing you also believe this might be an opportunity to get back into the group? Has anything else happened with Amanda?”

Dr. Mann’s surmise of my intentions was almost creepy. But that also made him really good at his job.

“Yes, I had that thought, but that wasn’t the main purpose.”

“I understand,” he said, and I looked back down at the pillow.

“I am nervous, though.”

He was silent for so long I eventually had to raise my head to make sure he was still sitting across from me. Which was exactly what he was waiting for.

“Nervous about what? Not being accepted?” he said with a soft smile.

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