Page 106 of Midnight Between Us
We’re not the same people anymore, but maybe that’s exactly why this could work.
So write again.Or don’t.
Come back when you’re ready.Or don’t.
But know this:
If you do come back, don’t come to fix the past.
Come to build something new.
Best,
Simone
ChapterFifty-Three
Keir
The chairin Dr.Remington’s office isn’t comfortable—somewhere between thrift-store modern and ergonomic purgatory—but that’s never been the point.It’s a place I’ve returned to again and again, no matter what version of myself I dragged through the door: angry, exhausted, ashamed—a guy with too much silence in his head and not enough courage in his chest.
Three months later, I sit differently.I breathe better.I laugh, sometimes.I’m not fixed—not even close—but I’m not the same man who showed up ninety days ago like a collapsed building looking for someone to inspect the damage.
I like to think I’m closer to peace.Or, at least, I’m not allergic to it anymore.
Dr.Remington crosses one leg over the other, tapping the tip of her pen against her notepad.Same rhythm as always.It’s comforting in a weird, Pavlovian way.I usually wait for her prompt, but today, I speak first.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Her pen pauses for half a second.Then she nods once.“How do you feel about that?”
I glance out the window, not really seeing anything, then down at my leg—which now bends, stretches, and supports me like it’s supposed to.Physically, I’m fine.Better than fine.The scars are faded.The bones held.
But something still vibrates underneath.Nerves, probably.Or fear pretending to be hope.
“I’m terrified,” I admit, then add, “and hopeful.I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready.But I’m prepared to keep going.To keep doing the work, even if it’s not here.”
She writes something down but doesn’t speak.Dr.Remington’s genius lies in how she allows the silence to stretch without ever feeling empty.Like she’s handing me the reins, waiting for me to steer.
“I used to think leaving meant running.Get out before the fallout gets worse, before someone calls your bluff, before you ruin things completely.But now, it’s different.I’m not running anymore.I’m going back ...to see if I can build something instead of always leaving rubble behind.”
She nods, and the corner of her mouth lifts in what might be encouragement.Could be gas and I’m just making shit up.I don’t know.Therapy’s weird like that.
I scrub my hand over my face.“I reached out to Atlas.Asked if I could write a letter to Lyndon.Maybe call him.Meet him, if he’s ready.Atlas said he’d be happy to arrange something when I’m ready.And now that I have a leaving date, I asked him again.”
I let that hang for a second.
“We have a meeting.”My voice sticks around the word like it’s got thorns.“Lyndon.”I exhale sharply, more like a release than a breath.“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.I want to show up, be present, but what if I fuck it all up?What if I hurt him just by existing?”
Dr.Remington doesn’t flinch.She just watches me unravel with that therapist’s face that’s somehow neutral and deeply kind at the same time.
“He deserves a choice,” I add, quieter this time.“No one gave Simone that when I left.I made the decision for both of us.Fuck, for all three of us.”
Silence again.It doesn’t press on me the way it used to.I think I’ve learned how to live inside it.It’s amazing how things can change with help.Back when I was young, I could tolerate the silence, the anger, and everything inside me only when Simone was touching me.There was something about her caresses, something about her hugs ...her kisses.It soothed me.
It was everything and she became all I needed.She gave so much, and in return ...in return, I made the most selfless, selfish decision a person can make, because like her, I was just a child.A child trying to survive in a situation that became kill or be killed.
Forgiveness is hard.But I’ve been working toward it—starting with forgiving myself for what I couldn’t control.
