Remorse

Paige

I sat on Lauren’s teal couch with Francis’s head on my feet, feeling sore from the basketball game and maybe—just maybe—a little less pissy than I had been. I kind of missed the ache of over-used muscles.

“So, how have the last couple of days been?” she asked. “I know we’re meeting later so you could send off your mom. How was that?”

“Fine.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about the hug thing. I knew, at least conceptually, about exposure therapy, and I didn’t intend to get tricked into anything like that.

“Okay.” Lauren took a note. “What about everything else?”

I studied her, trying to see whatever secrets she was hiding behind her mane of blonde hair. “What do you know about my history?”

She shook her head. “What you’ve told me, and that you needed a trauma specialist.”

I swallowed. “And if I tell you I won’t talk about something, you won’t push?” She’d basically promised as much in our first session.

She put up three fingers and grinned. “Scout’s honor.”

“Tom called a frie