Chapter Two: The Memory Her Skin Never Forgot.
1087 Words
The subway was late.
Of course it was.
The screen above Amira flickered between arrival updates and apologies no one believed. She stood among dozens of passengers, her fingers wrapped around the worn leather strap of her tote bag, her mind a thousand miles from the screeching tracks beneath her feet.
She shouldn’t have asked him that question.
Do your patients ever fall for you?
It had slipped out. Unguarded. Reckless. And yet—real. And for someone who spent most of her life masking discomfort with practiced smiles, Amira was done pretending she didn’t feel what she felt.
But feelings had always betrayed her.
Just like her memory did.
Especially that memory.
She closed her eyes. The noise faded. The train still hadn’t come. But inside, she was already far away.
She was thirteen again.
In a school hallway that reeked of Axe spray and shame.
---
He was in her class. Popular. Taller than the rest. Loud, cocky, the type everyone pretended to like because it was easier than being his target. One afternoon, he cornered her behind the gym building, claiming he needed help with a math worksheet.
Amira was naive, but not stupid. She said no.
That should have been the end of it.
But it wasn’t.
He grabbed her wrist when she tried to walk away. And before she could scream, he leaned in, pressing his mouth against hers—sloppy, unwanted, violent in its confidence.
She didn’t kiss back.
She froze.
Every nerve locked in place. Every sound drained away. Her lips were shut tight. Her breath stopped.
She felt nothing—and everything.
He laughed.
“Damn, you kiss like a corpse.”
Then he left her there, frozen in place, like someone had pressed pause on her life.
She didn’t tell anyone.
Because it wasn’t bad enough. No bruises. No blood. Just… breathless violation. Enough to echo in her bones for years.
And every time someone came close after that, that memory whispered, Don’t move. Don’t feel. Don’t let this happen again.
---
The screech of the arriving train pulled her back to the present.
Amira stepped inside, choosing a corner far from the other passengers. Her reflection stared at her from the opposite window—older, stronger, calmer.
But sometimes, the little girl in the hallway still lived in her mouth. In her chest. In her pulse.
She hated that.
She hated that no one had noticed how broken she was.
Until Elias.
He saw it without her saying a word.
And worse, he didn’t try to fix it. He let her carry it until she was ready to set it down.
God, she hated how much she wanted to see him outside that office.
---
Later that night, Lena called.
“How was therapy?” her sister asked, voice casual but not light.
Amira hesitated. “Productive.”
Lena hummed. “So… do we hate men this week or are we making progress?”
Amira rolled her eyes, sinking into her couch. “Don’t reduce my trauma to your t****k voice.”
“I’m not,” Lena said, softer. “I just worry. I don’t want you to start depending on someone who’s supposed to stay temporary.”
Amira’s stomach twisted. “You think I’m… depending on him?”
“I think you’re feeling things that might not be real. And I think if he’s as good as you say, he’ll never let you cross that line.”
Silence.
It wasn’t that Lena was wrong. She just said things Amira wasn’t ready to hear.
“I’m not stupid,” Amira said.
“I never said you were.”
“But you think I’m falling for him.”
Lena sighed. “I think you’re human. And healing feels a lot like falling when the person helping you makes you feel seen for the first time in your life.”
That hit too close.
Amira ended the call with a tight smile and an excuse about dinner.
But long after she put her phone down, her thoughts remained.
What if she wasn’t imagining it?
What if Elias did feel something?
Not that it mattered.
Because even if he did… he couldn’t act on it.
He was still her therapist.
---
The following week, she arrived at her session early. Not intentionally—but fate was cruel like that.
The door to Elias’s office was closed. She was about to sit in the waiting area when she heard it.
A woman’s laugh.
Low. Flirty. Familiar in the way that made her stomach twist.
Then a voice—his voice. A chuckle. Deep and… warm.
Her breath caught.
She knew it was normal. Therapists saw dozens of clients. They joked, they bonded. It meant nothing.
And yet, jealousy flared like wildfire under her skin.
She hated that.
Hated the thought of him making someone else feel safe. Of that laugh belonging to someone who didn’t flinch at touch. Someone who could kiss.
Amira turned away from the door and walked outside.
---
She didn’t attend her session that day.
Instead, she took a long walk through Central Park, letting the city blur around her. She hated how irrational she felt. She hated how something as simple as a voice had unspooled her calm.
But most of all, she hated the truth:
She was no longer afraid of men.
She was afraid of him.
Because if Elias ever looked at her the way she looked at him…
She didn’t know if she’d survive it.
---
It was almost midnight when her phone buzzed.
Elias Cade:
You didn’t come today. I hope you’re safe. I’m here if you need to talk.
That was it.
No accusations. No guilt.
Just… presence.
Amira stared at the message for a long time before replying.
Amira:
I was jealous. I heard someone else in your office and I didn’t know how to handle it. I hated how it made me feel. I’m sorry.
The reply came five minutes later.
Elias Cade:
You don’t owe me an apology. You’re allowed to feel things. Jealousy is just another way fear wears different clothes. Let’s talk about it—when you’re ready.
She didn’t cry.
But she felt something rise in her chest—something too big, too soft, too dangerous.
She typed one last message.
Amira:
Have you ever wanted to break your own rules?
This time, the response didn’t come immediately.
And when it finally did, it was just one word.
Elias Cade:
Yes.
---
To be continued…
- Writer
