Page 68 of Stalk Me

“Because I’m broken!” The words burst out louder than I intended. “Because every time he touches me, I see their hands instead. Because sometimes I can’t breathe when he holds me too tight. Because I still wake up screaming, convinced I’m back in that house, in that bed, with those men…”

Tears blur my vision, hot and unwelcome. I swipe at them angrily.

“Luna,” Dr. Marshall leans forward, her voice gentle but firm. “Trauma doesn’t make you unworthy of love. What happened to you—what was done to you—it changes how you respond to the world. That’s a normal reaction to abnormal circumstances.”

“There’s nothing normal about me.” I laugh bitterly. “I’m in my twenties, and I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that wasn’t coerced or manipulated or part of some twisted power game. I’ve never been kissed without an agenda. I don’t know how to be with someone who doesn’t want something from me.”

“And you believe Erik wants something from you?”

I shake my head, the question cutting to the heart of my conflict. “That’s the problem. He doesn’t. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Rain streaks down the windows, distorting the city skyline beyond. So much has changed in the months since we escaped. David Stone kept his promise, using the evidence to build an airtight case against my parents and their entire network. The trials have been dominating headlines, each revelation more shocking than the last. My testimony was sealed, my identity protected in court documents, but rumors still swirl. The mysterious daughter who brought down an empire of corruption.

“Last session, you mentioned a panic attack after Erik kissed you,” Dr. Marshall prompts gently. “Can you tell me more about that?”

Heat creeps up my neck. “It was stupid. We were watching a movie in his apartment—something mindless with superheroes. He made popcorn. It was… nice. Normal.” I swallow hard, the memory is visceral. “Then he put his arm around me, and I leaned into him, and it felt right. When he kissed me, I kissed him back. I wanted to.”

“What happened then?”

“He deepened the kiss, and his hand went to my waist, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. My heart was racing, and not in a good way. I pushed him away and locked myself in the bathroom.” Shame burns through me at the recollection. “He sat outside the door for an hour, just talking to me until I could come out.”

“Did he pressure you to continue?”

“No. Erik would never…” I trail off, the certainty of that statement surprising even me. “He just held me afterward. Said we’d go at my pace. That there was no rush.”

Dr. Marshall nods, making a note. “That sounds like healthy boundaries. Erik respects your autonomy.”

“But for how long?” The question that’s been eating at me finally emerges. “How long before he gets tired of dating someone who freezes every time things get physical? Who wakes up screaming in the middle of the night? Who can’t even go to a restaurant without checking all the exits first?”

“Have you asked him these questions?”

I shake my head. “I’m afraid of the answer.”

“Perhaps he’s afraid too,” she suggests. “Not of your trauma response, but of losing you.”

The thought is simultaneously comforting and terrifying. Erik has seen me at my absolute worst—drugged, terrified, fighting for my life. He’s read the case files, heard my testimony, and knows every sordid detail of what was done to me over the years. And still, he looks at me like I’m something precious.

“Yesterday, Senator George Murphy’s arrest was announced,” I say, changing the subject slightly. “He used to come to all the parties. Always requested me specifically.”

Dr. Marshall’s expression remains neutral, though I know she’s familiar with the case details. “How did that news affect you?”

“I thought I’d feel… I don’t know, triumphant? Instead, I threw up.” I twist my fingers together in my lap. “Erik held my hair back, got me water. Didn’t say a word about it. Just… was there.”

“That seems to be a pattern with him.”

“Yeah.” A small smile touches my lips despite the heaviness of the conversation. “He’s annoyingly reliable that way.”

“You say ‘annoying’ as if his support bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me. It terrifies me.” The admission costs me, each word dragged from somewhere deep and vulnerable. “Every time he’s kind to me, every time he stays despite all the baggage I’m carrying, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to realize what he’s signed up for and walk away.”

“Has he given you any indication that he’s reconsidering his commitment to you?”

“No. The opposite, actually.” I think of the way Erik looked at me this morning before I left for therapy—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. “Last night, I asked him why he stays. You know what he said? That loving me isn’t a burden he carries—it’s a choice he makes every day. Who even talks like that?”

Dr. Marshall smiles slightly. “Someone who knows his own mind, perhaps.”

“But that’s just it—how can he know? How can he be so sure when I’m still figuring out who I am without my parents controlling every aspect of my life?” The questions pour out of me, ones I’ve been afraid to voice, even to myself. “What if the person I become isn’t someone he wants to be with?”

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