Page 12 of Disarm
I blink. I force my eyes open. The office is still here. Her chair. The bookshelves. The lamp. Everything is still real. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Breathe,” she says. “Good. That’s really good, Caleb.”
I nod, even as the ghost of the memory brushes up against me. The shame, the hunger, the fear are still there, lurking, but the panic is backing off, ebbing like a tide I can finally outwait.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently. Her eyes are patient and unhurried, and I hate that I can’t find the words.
“No,” I whisper. The word barely escapes.Truthful, for once.“I don’t.”
She nods. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. Just… recognize that it’s not happening now. You survived it then, and you’re surviving now.”
I breathe.
One, two, three.
I can feel the room again. The warm light, the soft carpet under my socks, the weight of the pillow on my lap.
I am here.
It’s enough.
It’s not okay.
Not completely.
But it’s enough.
I lean back in the chair, letting the tension leave my shoulders in slow, shaky waves. I can still feel the ache under my ribs, the faint sting of old wounds, but for the first time today, I feel a fraction of control over it.
I don’t know how I’m going to live with all of this. But for now, I can breathe. And that, just that alone, is a start.
The office doorclicks behind me as I step out, the cool afternoon air hitting my face like a splash of reality. The fog has lifted slightly, leaving the campus quiet, with the distant sound of waves rolling in from the coast. I should feel lighter, but the ache under my ribs is still there, stubborn as ever.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, fingers shaking, and see Miguel’s name lighting up the screen. My chest tightens again, but this time it’s not fear.
Miguel
How’s my favorite mess doing?
I stare at the message, unsure if I’m ready to respond. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, typing and deleting. Finally, I manage a few words.
Caleb
Therapy sucked.
Miguel
Shit, that was today. You okay?
I exhale, fingers trembling.
Caleb
Not really.
Miguel
Do you want to talk about it? I can take my lunch now.
