Page 52 of Bound By Thorns

Delara suggested a movie night and Kaylan was up for it. “You can’t drink, though, can you?” Leora noted.

Kaylan shook her head, her smile briefly slipping.

“I can make some mean mocktails,” Amelia jumped in, lightening the mood.

Us guys just exchanged looks. I noticed Zarek watching Leora with this enchanted expression. It hit me—I was doing the same with Kaylan. But while Leora returned Zarek’s gaze with affection, Kaylan looked back with something like dread.It stung, realizing that my attention didn’t comfort her, but instead, it seemed to torment her.

‘You’re my nightmare.’

I hadn’t mentioned Kaylan in my recent sessions with Dr. Mendoza, but I was certain she’d start connecting the dots between what Kaylan might be sharing and my own erratic behavior. Recollecting my last appointment, after that destructive spar with Ronan, Dr. Mendoza had been disturbingly blunt.

???

“Let’s discuss your sparring session with Ronan Hayden,” she suggested, nudging her glasses up with a finger.

I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s been gossiping, doctor?”

She offered a noncommittal shrug. “I’m informed of any behaviors that deviate significantly from your baseline.”

Guilt and discomfort washed over me.

“So, why didn’t you fight back, Logan?” Her voice was calm, but the question stirred a storm within me.

Why? Because I felt I deserved it. Because pain was the only sensation that seemed real as fists collided with my face. Because I had grievously hurt someone who had only tried to help me. I kept these thoughts to myself.

“Because it made me feel less numb,” I said.

We moved on. She steered the conversation towards my history with Sebastian, and I reluctantly followed. Somehow, my animosity with Sebastian was the last thing on my mind, and seemed trivial.

“I think you’re blaming yourself more for Eli’s situation than you blame Sebastian. You see yourself as equally responsible, don’t you?” she probed.

I considered her words, then shook my head stubbornly. “No, he was older. He should have known better. He failed us.”

“He was a year older, right? You were born in July 1988, and he in November 1987. That’s barely a year, actually. He wasn’t any more responsible than you were.”

“But he took on the fucking role!” I snapped.

She merely nodded, her expression unchanging, not even flinching at my outburst. She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady and firm, maintaining her professional composure despite my frustration. “Logan, when you say he took on that role, are you implying that he was in charge? Or are you expressing your anger about expectations that were perhaps unrealistic given your ages and circumstances?”

Her question caught me off guard. It cut deeper, challenging the narrative I had clung to for years. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the chair creaking under the weight of the moment.

She continued, her tone measured and thoughtful. “It’s easy to assign blame when we’re hurt, especially to those we believe should have protected us. But here’s something to consider: the difference between blame and responsibility lies in intention. You blame someone when there was deliberate intent to cause harm. But without that intent, it’s responsibility, not blame.”

I frowned. “But he knew, he knew about Eli and didn’t tell me. How do you justify that?”

Dr. Mendoza adjusted her glasses again, a subtle gesture that gave me a moment to breathe. “I’m not justifying his actions, Logan. I’m trying to help you see that sometimes, people make decisions based on what they think is best at the moment, even if those decisions are flawed. It’s possible Sebastian believed he was protecting you in some misguided way. That doesn’t mean he had bad intentions.”

Her words hit a nerve, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “He still screwed it all up,” I muttered, but my voice lacked its usual heat.

She nodded. “He may have made mistakes, but does that mean he deserves your blame? Or is it possible he was just as overwhelmed and unprepared as you were, but he carried his own version of the responsibility?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “The pain doesn’t just go away, you know? I lost Eli. Nothing changes that.”

Dr. Mendoza’s voice softened. “You’re right. The pain doesn’t go away, but carrying anger toward Sebastian might be making it harder for you to heal. Have you considered what forgiving him—not excusing him, but forgiving him—might do for you?”

I looked away, staring at a nondescript point on the wall. Forgiveness seemed like a foreign concept, especially forgiveness for Sebastian. “I don’t know if I can,” I muttered.

“That’s okay, Logan,” she said, her voice steady but kind. “Forgiveness isn’t a single act. It’s a process. It doesn’t mean forgetting or excusing; it means choosing to release the burden of anger so it doesn’t weigh you down anymore. Forgiveness is for you, not for others.”

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