Page 152 of Between Regrets and Promises

“You’re annoying.” I roll my eyes.

After sitting in the living room for a half hour by myself, I leave to take a shower. I’m so goddamn tense, and my head is a fucking mess.

Standing under the hot stream, I jerk my dick until it’s hard. My strokes are punishing and fast. Images of Sophie flood my mind as my head falls back on a moan. As I hold myself up with one hand against the shower wall, I picture her cheeks hollowing when I slide my cock between her perfect lips and how sexy she’d look on her knees in front of me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fantasized about her, but the timing is all wrong. Yet I’m desperate for her touch.

I squeeze my eyes closed as I imagine her hands on me. My fingers tighten as I pick up my pace, harder and faster, and soon, I’m unraveling, releasing into my palm and moaning Sophie’s name.

With my body soaked, I stand and try to catch my breath. Fuck me.

I love her so damn much, yet I still feel like it’s not enough. I can’t lose her after everything, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. If that means keeping my distance and giving her space, I’ll do it. But I’m not letting her walk away from me—fromus.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SOPHIE

It’s beena week since my first therapy appointment, and I’ve been trying to implement breathing techniques when I’m anxious or stressed. After my gut reaction to Serena sitting close to Mason was that she wanted him, I went to my room frustrated as hell. The rational part of me knows I’m overreacting, but the overly sensitive and emotional part of me wonders if she’d be better for him after all. The thoughts are dangerous and toxic, and I’m not usually the jealous type, but my insecurities definitely got the best of me.

Today’s the day of my second appointment, and I wake up in cold sweats, my body trembling as I try to push away the thoughts of the nightmare that woke me. Before it used to only be Weston who’d visit me in my sleep, but now Dalton has started showing up too.

Sitting up, I put my feet on the edge of the bed and look at my violin case. I haven’t had any desire to play since the incident. I squeeze my eyes tight and count to ten just as Mary taught me. Sadness washes over me when I think about playing. Music used to be my escape, but now I can’t seem to find the strength to lose myself in it. There’s still so much I need towork out in my head and process. However, I’m growing more concerned that feeling like this is my new normal.

Once I returned from Utah, I called my director, and thankfully, he’s given me permission to take personal leave for as long as I need. He knows that creative people can’t be forced to create. I’m grateful he understands because I’m not sure I could play right now even if I tried. Just going out in public is hard, but being around people is too much. I’m more comfortable staying inside the house, where I’m safe and no one asks me shit about the incident. I’m not forced to talk about anything unless I want to. Mason and Liam know that I bring it up when I want to and don’t push me. My sisters don’t force conversation on me either, which I’m more than grateful for. Since talking to a professional, it’s confirmation that maybe I’m more normal than I thought. Everyone works through their demons in different ways.

I’m looking forward to talking with Mary again today, sharing how things have been since our last meeting. Not much has changed between Mason and me this past week. We talk, and I see him before and after work, but as far as progress goes, I’m still taking it one day at a time. At night, I cling to his shirt like it’s my lifeline. I miss him, and he misses me too, and it’s destroying me that I have to put this space between us right now.

After I get ready for the day, I drive across town as I chat with my mother on the phone. My parents have been worried about me ever since I visited Utah, and I’ve promised to keep them updated with what’s going on with me. I’ve been added to every prayer list available, and while I appreciate it, I don’t want the attention.

Pulling into the parking lot, I take a deep breath and walk inside the office. I sign in, and it doesn’t take long before Mary grabs me from the waiting room.

“Hey, Sophie,” she greets with a warm smile. We exchange light conversation about the weather as I follow her into her office.

Once we both take our seats, she crosses her legs and gives me all of her attention. “So how has this past week been? During your first session, you told me all about the trauma you’ve endured. What have been your biggest obstacles since the incident?”

As easy as it would be to gloss over my emotions and say I’m fine, that won’t do me any favors. I’mnotfine.

“Trust issues, the guilt I feel about Dacia’s death, the harsh reality that I put the people I love in danger. Knowing I should’ve been more guarded after Weston, but I allowed a stranger in my life and didn’t see the signs. I’m struggling with anxiety for the first time in my life and don’t know how to deal with it,” I admit.

She studies me. “That’s very understandable. PTSD affects everyone differently, especially in harmful traumatic events such as yours. It triggers anxiety and stress and most definitely trust issues. When you think of those concerns, can you tell me what specific things come to mind that trigger anxiety?”

I inhale a sharp breath, swallowing down my fears and reminding myself to be open. “Specifically, the knife he taunted me with. How he threatened to slice my throat and the way it felt when he cut me.” I glance down at the mark on my arm that’s nearly healed now, but it’s left a scar

“How do you cope when you feel anxious? What do you do?”

“Honestly, by usually crying or hiding in my room. Burying myself in bed or trying to drown out the external noise with TV or music.”

“And does that help?”

“Temporarily, but not usually that long before those thoughts flood back in,” I admit.

“What does it feel like when they return?”

“Like I have no control and may never get over this. I’m afraid this’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.”

She nods, leaning toward me. “One of the biggest obstacles that people endure from trauma is feeling out of control—of their feelings and the aftermath. You need to gain that back without the fear of what’s already happened, of what you can’t change.”

She clears her throat and crosses her arms over her lap.

“Alright, next time you find yourself feeling that way, I want you to try something. Visualize the scene in your head. Put yourself back to that night as best as you can. Right now, this is your biggest fear—that someone is gonna hurt you again. In order to work through that aspect, I’d like you to try some imaginal exposure.”

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