I wrapped my arms around myself, sitting near the window. The atmosphere in the cabin had grown so unbearable ever since Trevor left. Carina and his mother remained in a separate section, while I spent time with Rex.
The therapist, Dr. Ris, had come and gone already. In the past few days, he diagnosed me with PTSD and if I was being honest, I already knew, or at least I had a feeling. The signs were there: lack of sleep, nightmares . . . it was undeniable. We spoke a little more about the things that happened, and often he tried to get me to explain things about how they really were, rather than how I saw them or my point of view. This helped. It made me acknowledge the distinct elements surrounding the circumstances I found myself in . . . and all I had to do now was process them – healt
