Page 24 of Just Between Us

We spend the last few minutes in her safe place, the meadow she described to me weeks ago, with the tall grass and the ripples she hears from the creek. We go through our 5-4-3-2-1 method of what she sees, feels, touches, smells, and tastes in that meadow until her face is relaxed and her shoulders aren’t as hunched forward.

“You did really hard work today, Mara. I’m proud of you.” And I mean every single word. This kid has been through a lot. “Before our next session, if anything comes up, memories, dreams, thoughts, write them down. Don’t judge them. Just be aware of them.”

“Okay.”

“And Mara? What you did today took courage. Don’t brush past that.”

She gives me a small nod, and then her face disappears from my screen.

I close my laptop and sit for a moment in the quiet of the apartment with a satisfied smile on my face. I’m still new in this town, still adjusting to a new way of life, but this—spending each day with my clients—is familiar. It’s a life I recognize as my own, outside of everything else. But there’s a reason I schedule my EMDR sessions the last hour of my work day. It’s more rewarding than I ever imagined, helping people heal, but it takes a lot out of not just the patient, but also me.

During my master’s program, I became fascinated with the way trauma affects the mind and body, and I knew I wanted to become certified in Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy. It was hard, though. Becoming certified meant experiencing the therapy first-hand, which really forced me to face some of my own trauma. The same trauma my brother lived through.

It’s been a week since everything happened with Austin. One week since the paparazzi invaded Singing River for a glimpse at Austin and Penny, and one week since Austin came clean as to why he drinks so much. It seems our father—if you can call himthat—has harassed Austin for years. The thought makes me so mad I could spit nails. I wish Austin had told me long before it got out of control. For a while now I’ve encouraged him to find a therapist. Had I known how bad things really were, I would have pushed harder.

One week has also passed since our aunt informed us Mom might finally leave our abusive father. For years, his buddy was the police chief, protecting him from any repercussions. But it seems he’s retired, and according to my uncle Brad, the new chief is nobody’s fool. I’m trying to manage my expectations, but Aunt Ashley and Uncle Brad sounded more hopeful than I’ve ever heard them.

It has also been one week since I fell apart in Liam’s arms.

I’ve kept busy to avoid examining why I was so comfortable turning to him, allowing him to see the messiest parts of myself. Yes, we are quickly becoming close friends, but that was another level of friendship. There’s just something about him, the way he listens, I mean really listens, as if nothing I could ever say would be the wrong thing. With Liam, I feel safe.

And like my thoughts conjured him, my phone vibrates with a text message.

My Favorite Person

Favorite movie?

Why?

My Favorite Person

Movie night?

My Favorite Person

Mutt misses you.

The text is followed by a picture of Mutt, belly up on the floor, tongue lolling out. I heart the photo and type out my favorite movie.

The Conjuring

My Favorite Person

Shudders. Something is seriously wrong with you.

You’ll be fine. I’ll even hold your hand on the scary parts.

My Favorite Person

Promise?

Pinky swear

My Favorite Person

Be here at 6?

Send the address.