Page 51 of Until You Found Me

“You both went through something traumatic together, albeit in different ways. That can link people very strongly and very quickly. It can also fade just as fast.”

Annoyance surges up and she furrows her brows into a glare. “I’m not here to discuss my relationship with Logan. I’m here to remember what happened to me. I told you that.”

“Of course. You’re welcome to call him back if you like. What you may remember could be sensitive in nature. You should consider what you want any third party to hear.”

She hasn’t told Logan many gritty details of what her husband did to her in her dreams. That brief commiseration on the porch steps, when she admitted he raped her while she slept, had been difficult to get out. She doesn’t want that stuck in his head when he thinks of her.

It could be worse this time. She can’t shield him from it if he’s beside her.

Having flashbacks alone, with only Victor for company, isn’t an option either. She walks to the door, popping it open a crack, ready to call his name, only to find him two steps away pacing a rut into the ugly carpet. “You can come in now.”

“You good?” he whispers as he passes her into the room.

“Mhmm.”

It’s a lie. She’s not good. Not even close.

He sits beside her on the sofa, keeps his hands to himself, and struggles not to bounce his leg. He’s nervous, yet she still finds comfort in his presence. Only fear of judgment from the therapist stops her from grabbing his hand.

Victor pulls out an ottoman for Tessa’s feet and she suspiciously obliges. “Lean back until you’re comfortable. Shut your eyes when you’re ready.”

She doesn’t like being on display while waiting to re-live some awful portion of her life. A tap, tap, tap in the background has her rolling her eyes with a brief grin toward Logan, however inappropriate it may be. “Told you it was a hypno session. I win.”

He huffs. “You win.”

“That’s all I do here,” Victor confirms. “It has the best track record for recovering lost memories. You can stop at any time. You won’t be incapacitated. You’ll still have full control over your actions and thoughts.”

“Somehow, that’s still not very reassuring,” she quips.

“You don’t have to do this,” Logan tells her softly.

“I know. I need to.”

He nods, remaining silent after that.

It’s difficult to relax and even more difficult to shut her eyes. They pop open every few seconds, leaving her frustrated.

“Try not to think about anything specific yet,” Victor tells her. “Focus on the tapping in the background and count backward from ten…nine…eight…”

She counts in her head along with his voice, resistant both mentally and physically.

“Inhale deeply and hold…. exhale on a count of five. Tellme the first thing you see.”

“The back of my eyelids,” she replies with a dry purse of her lips. This is stupid. She wants it to work but believing it can is impossible when she’s still as useless as ever, a few rhythmic taps and a therapist’s voice won’t change that.

“Can you hear anything?”

“No, not really…wait…scratching against plastic.”

“Can you smell anything?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Dirt. I can taste it when it drops into the hole with me. When I rip the plastic open, I’m choking on it, I can’t—”

“Let’s go further back. I want you to leave that place and tell me what happened before.”

“We need to replace the fire alarm.” She looks up at wires still hanging from the ceiling months after her husband knocked the alarm loose with a broom. “It wouldn’t stop beeping and he broke it. He won’t listen to me.”

“Do you call him by name?”

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