Page 20 of Dual
"That'll do."
When she walks away, I trace the edge of a sugar packetbetween my fingers, trying to hold onto something small and simple. But Domhnall's looking at me, really looking, and I can feel the weight of his patience.
"You had fun today," he says, his voice gentle but firm.
I meet his gaze, and for a second, I think about brushing it off. But the truth is, I did have fun.
For once, the memories aren't shut off by a wall of blankness like sometimes happens when Mads takes over. I don't know if it's intentional on her part. There are no hard and fast rules to this, and the more time I spend in therapy, the more muddled everything gets. This morning was wild—actually talking to Mads in the same conscious time and space.
"I did," I admit. "More than I thought I would."
His smile softens something in me.
"I was proud of you," he says, his voice quiet but steady. "You let go."
I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. "Madslet go. I just… stepped in afterward."
The words taste bitter, and regret coils low in my stomach. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. But Domhnall doesn't look surprised. He looks like he's been waiting for me to say that.
"Anna," he says, voice low, coaxing. "What is Mads so afraid of?"
I flinch, not because I don't know, but because I do.
"She's afraid you won't ever really love her," I whisper.
He exhales sharply, his fingers flexing on the table likehe wants to reach for me but isn't sure if he should. "That's not true."
I look down at my hands, where I've crumpled the sugar packet into something unrecognizable. "Maybe not. But she believes it is."
Connie reappears, setting down two steaming cups of coffee and two plates with golden slices of apple pie. Neither of us moves to touch them.
Domhnall leans forward, his forearms braced on the table. "And what about you?"
I hesitate, reaching for the warm ceramic mug in front of me. "What about me?"
Does he mean what am I afraid of? I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid of my nightmares. I'm afraid of my memories. I'm scared that when I wake up each morning, I won't find myself by his side anymore. I'm afraid I'll lose this amazing new life. I'm terrified of what a little weakling I am.
But instead, Domhnall asks, "What do you want, Anna?"
The words land like a blow, unexpected and too direct. I never think about what I want. It feels too dangerous to dare.
My breath hitches, and I press my palms flat against the warm ceramic of my mug, grounding myself. My therapist tells me to pay attention to my body when I don't have the words. So I do.
There's a tightness in my chest, a weight between my ribs. A held breath that I didn't even realize I was holding.
But Donny's asking, so maybe for him, I'll try. Just this once.
"I want…" I close my eyes, feeling the warmth seep into my hands.Let the sensation anchor you."I want what I always wanted—family. And to feel safe. I want to know I don't have to earn love by being careful. I don't always want to be the one who fixes everything." My voice wobbles, and I take a shaky breath. "I want to be wanted for who I am, not just because I make things easier."
Domhnall doesn't speak right away. He just watches me, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches across the table, his fingers curling around mine.
"You have family now," he says, his voice rough. "You have me. I love you, Anna."
I swallow hard. "I know you love me. I do. But sometimes, I wonder if you love me because—because I'm this shard from your past, that's chaos, that you just hold onto out of habit." Then I tell the last, absolute truth out of the worst of my fears. "Because you feel guilty."
His grip tightens. "That's not it."
"Then what is it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
