Page 161 of Letters From A Stalker

“What changed?”

“I started seeing more of him. Or I thought I did.” I tuck one strand of hair behind my ear while the conversation from the week before returns. “I asked him what he did outside work because I realized he knew basically everything about me and I knew nothing about him. He told me he goes to the gym, rides at night, has mandatory Sunday dinners at Mara’s and apparently gets forced to watch superhero movies with her son.”

Tessa studies my face while I’m speaking, then slowly points toward me. “That.”

“What?”

“That expression you just made.”

The way she wiggles her finger in front of my face makes me roll my eyes.

“I didn’t make an expression.” Another failed protest on my part.

“You absolutely did. You like that version of him.”

Something catches painfully beneath my ribs. Because she is right. Not Dr. Blackwood sitting across from me professionally, and not Ghost standing behind me in a dark room, but the man who exists somewhere between them. The one who rides when his head gets too loud, lets Mara boss him around, watches whatever Connor chooses on Sunday and occasionally says something sarcastic enough in therapy that I catch myself wondering what he is like when he doesn’t have to maintain that careful distance.

“I think that might be the worst part,” I say quietly.

Tessa’s humor disappears. “He didn’t need Ghost.”

It hurts more when it’s said aloud, but Tessa is right. As usual.

“He really fucking didn’t.” I look toward the dark television, seeing Kai’s face where Ghost’s mask used to be. “That’s what makes the whole thing so pointless. He created this entire other person because I guess he thought that was the only way he could have me? But now that I can put the face behind the mask and all the pieces together, there wasn’t actually anything about Ghost that Kai didn’t already have.”

“Except permission.”

I look at her.

Tessa’s voice stays soft. “You were allowed to want Ghost. You weren’t allowed to want your therapist.”

The weight behind her words lands perfectly but it still doesn’t make it right, what he had done. There were ways to go about it. The betrayal and the lack of choice, the abuse of my trust — all of that was completely unnecessary.

“That doesn’t excuse a fucking thing.” I blurt out. “He should’ve transferred me. He should’ve done his job, transferred my care and then, however long it took before it was appropriate, if he still wanted me, he could’ve shown up as himself.”

Tessa watches me.

“If we had met somewhere else…” I trail off because the imagined version of it hurts unexpectedly. “If I had met Kai outside therapy, or if months later he turned up in jeans on that stupid motorcycle and asked me out like a normal person, I probably would’ve said yes.”

“Probably?” Her brow arches.

I look at her. She gives me a small, knowing smile.

“Fine. I would’ve said yes.”

“That’s why this hurts so much, isn’t it?”

My eyes sting again and Tessa squeezes my fingers harder. For a while, neither of us speaks.

Then Tessa asks something I wish she hadn’t. “Does knowing they’re one person make you miss him more or less?”

“That is a horrible question.” I frown. Depicting this was not something I’m ready to do. Not yet. I think about it anyway.

“More,” I finally admit. “Which is fucking inconvenient.”

Her expression softens.

“Before, I thought I missed two different things. I missed Ghost because of how he made me feel, and I missed Kai because…” I search for a way to explain something that has become much messier now. “Because he was Kai. Because I liked talking to him even when therapy was difficult. Because occasionally he’d let that dry sense of humor slip out and I’d feel like I’d won something by making him laugh.”