Dr. Hausen looks at me expectantly, her eyes soft behind her glasses. As usual, her hair is pinned back from her face, but instead of her usual suit, today she’s wearing jeans and a sweater. Her clipboard is nowhere in sight, her hands clutching a steaming mug of coffee.

At least there’s no damn clicky pen.

Today isn’t our usual meet. Today she’s supposed to spend the day running group workshops with the guys here at St. Morris’ instead of her one on one appointments, but she’s here with me instead. She’s taken an hour of her time away from them to sort out the mess flying around my head.

“So, tell me more,” she finally says. “You weren’t exactly descriptive in your phone call.”

I take a deep breath in and push my sleeves up. I lay my hands palm up on my legs, exposing the scars for her to see. It’s unnecessary; she knows exactly what they are and what they look like, but the words are caught in my throat. The only way I can tell her is by showing her.

“Tell me,” she repeats. “You don’t have to hide here, Abbi, you know that. This is a safe place for you. Dig deep inside and find the words to tell me.”

“Blake …” I swallow. “He saw them.”

“How?”

The words that were stuck just seconds ago come flowing out. I tell her about the flashback, how real the memory of the night Pearce almost raped me was, and I tell her how it made me feel. I describe to her how I know I should have stayed in bed, but instead went to class and messed almost everything up. And then I say how nothing makes sense to me anymore, because Blake shouldn’t have reacted the way he did.

“How should he have reacted? In your mind,” Dr. Hausen prompts. “What’s the ‘right’ way for him to react to your scars?”

“He should have grabbed his stuff and got away from me. He should have been horrified by them the way I am, and he shouldn’t even think about coming near me again.”

“What did he do?”

I look at the floor, my eyes tracing the boxed pattern on the rug beneath us. “He held me. He held me and wouldn’t let me go. Even when I pushed him away, he held me again and again and he didn’t let go of me. He let me cry into his chest, and he didn’t promise it would be okay. He didn’t make me promises no one can keep.”

“What did he say?”

“He just promised he would be there. That’s it. I cried harder than I have in so long, and he just promised he’d be there until it didn’t hurt anymore, but that’s impossible. He can’t be there until it stops because it’ll never stop hurting.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. I know he won’t be there all the time, but a part of me wants to believe it.” I look at her. “Is that silly? That after the last few weeks of not wanting to believe him, I suddenly do. It sounds silly to me.”

“You said last time you trust him to an extent. Have you thought that maybe your switch in feelings is you starting to trust in yourself and your ability to make decisions? After all, if you trust him, there’s no reason not to believe what he says, and if you believe it, there’s no reason not to want to.”

I chew on my bottom lip for a second, peeling a bit of skin off with my teeth. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Tell me how you felt when Blake saw your scars. That moment you realized it wasn’t your secret anymore.”

Fear.

Nothing but pure fear.

It was the fear of explaining. Of him knowing everything, really everything, and learning that my depression runs deeper than the scars themselves. It was the fear of him learning everything Pearce did to me, how he abused and defiled me, and of him walking away. I was scared he’d walk right out of the studio and I’d lose the only person I trust other than Maddie. And then there was – and still is – the fear for me.

That’s the strongest fear I have where Blake Smith is concerned. The fear that he might just break my heart if he walked away.

“That’s why he can’t know,” I explain. “It’s selfish and immature, but every time I see him I feel like I’m losing a little part of myself into him. It’s like he has a hold on my heart and each time we dance, laugh, play, he tugs it a little closer to the palm of his heart. Nothing scares me more than the thought he might just take it with him.”

“He didn’t run at the sight of your scars. They’re the physical embodiment of your depression, the way your feelings manifested themselves, and he didn’t go. What makes you think he’d leave you behind if he knew about what you’ve suffered?”

My eyes go to the window, and loud laughter creeps in through the open window. They’re all down in the yard waiting for Dr. Hausen to finish here with me, and for a moment, I want to go and join them. I want to lock myself away from the world and settle into the routine that structured my life for a year. Here where it’s safe and there’s no reason for me to feel anything for anyone.

“Abbi?”

“Pearce tried his damned hardest to go the whole way. If it wasn’t for Jake walking in as he was about to rip off my pants, he would have. But that doesn’t mean I feel any less dirty or any less ashamed. I still feel dirty from it and what happened afterward. I feel damaged by it, almost. If Blake knew what he’d almost done …” I trail off and shake my head.

“If Blake knew …”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Blake won’t find out. No one will.”

Dr. Hausen puts her mug of coffee on the table next to her and leans forward, sliding her glasses from her face. “You can’t always keep things a secret, no matter how buried you think they are.”

“But I can try. I can always try.”

 

~

 

The rain is comforting. It beats steadily against my window, breaking the silence that’s resting heavily in my room. The droplets run down the glass, racing each other to the bottom. The calming effect it has on me is more important than ever today.

The last few days have been a never-ending chain of emotion. The flashbacks have been so strong I’ve found myself checking the mirror to see if there’s a bruise somewhere on my body or if it’s in my head. I can feel myself falling into the darkness again, spiraling downward without any control.

But I know we all have a darkness inside us.

For some people it’s obvious, a heavy cloud hanging over them wherever they go. For others, like me, it’s a silent whisper, like a gentle spring breeze. It’s always there, swirling around me and sinking into my skin as I try desperately to fight the pull. There are many ways to describe depression, and I’ve heard them all. I’ve thought them all at some point.

A demon. A black hole. An empty abyss. A clawing hold.

They’re all right yet they’re all so wrong. Everyone has their own experiences of it, their own way of fighting, their own way of coping. I’ve finally worked out what depression is to me, and I know in my heart that’s the only reason I haven’t desperately searched the house for something with a sharp edge.

For me, depression is the ever-present sinking feeling weighing my heart down. It’s the constant downturn of my lips and the dullness of my eyes. It’s the heavy sigh I breathe when I realize there’s yet another day to get through. And it’s the tiny breath of air in my ear that reminds me it’s so easy to end it all.

But for every inch of darkness inside, there’s a centimeter of light.

It’s the light that keeps me going. It’s the promise of tomorrow in the setting sun and the certainty of next week on the calendar. It’s the lifelong dream of the little girl inside that refuses to give up. It’s the “what if” that counters every dark thought.

The light is the single star surrounded by a sea of darkness. It’s the spot you’re drawn to, each and every time. The spot you can’t let go.

There are so many spots of light in my life – my parents, ballet, Maddie … Blake. The problem is I only have two hands, meaning every time I hold onto one of them, another floats away until I grab it back again. A vicious circle that will just keep turning.

But I know this. Which means I can fight it. I can push against the pull, smile through the tears and shine a light in the dark. And, one day, I can fight it and I can win. One day I’ll control the depression, not the other way around, and I hold onto that thought each and every day.

I glance to the clock and realize I have to leave to meet Blake. I’d love nothing more than to stay here in bed, in the silence of my house, and avoid him. Since I have to see him for dance, avoidance isn’t an option, so I have to pull on some big girl panties and face him.

The sky has cleared when I get downstairs so I leave my coat behind. I splash through the puddles like a child as I head toward Starbucks. My feet are twitching with the need to dance – but not alone. Despite what’s happening in my head, my heart and my body are crying out for the closeness and security dancing with Blake brings me.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were about to walk right past me.”

I turn in the direction of his voice and smile. “Good job you know better, isn’t it?”

His lips curve upwards, and I cross the street. He’s leaning against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes intent on me from beneath his hair.

“You could really do with a haircut,” I say, noticing the way it’s curling over his ears.

“Hi, Abbi. I’m great, thanks, hope you are too. Oh, no, I haven’t done much today. Just work. What’s that? Oh, same old, same old. Joe shouting, Matt moaning and crazy people ordering more seafood than is healthy. And yes, you are correct, I do need a haircut.”

“You know, I can see you really annoying me doing that.”

He pushes off the wall, grinning. “So my shining manners haven’t annoyed you yet?”

“Yet.” I laugh. “There’s still plenty of time.”

“Then I should probably tell you you’re having dinner at mine on Thursday before you are annoyed at me.”

I look at him. “I am, am I?”

“I think I was supposed to ask instead of tell you.”

“I think that’s usually how it goes, yeah.”

“Well, see.” He shifts uncomfortably, looking more like a sheepish teen than a grown man. “Mum is here this weekend, and I’d rather cook my own foot than go for a meal in New York with her.”

“And where do I come into this?”

He shifts again, and I stifle my smile.

“I kinda, sorta, maybe told her I’d cook because I wanted her to meet you,” he mumbles.

I raise an eyebrow when he stops outside Prospect Park. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I was hoping it wouldn’t mean I’d have to put on a damn shirt and remember my posh-boy manners in some bloody overpriced restaurant.”

“And it worked.” I purse my lips. “By the way, I’m impressed you knew how to get here from Starbucks.”

“Yeah, I used Google map, but whatever.”

I laugh. “So you need me to come and have dinner at your place and meet your mom on Thursday after dance.”

“My mum.”

“Huh?” I glance over my shoulder at him as I pass the many memorials guarding the opening of the park.

“My mum,” he repeats, his lips tugging into an amused smile. “Not my ‘mom’.”

“Seriously? There’s a one letter difference. Same thing. Freakin’ British.”

“Bloody Americans.” He laughs, making me smile. “But yeah. Basically. Please?”

“What do I get out of this?” I tease.

“You get to … Er … Well, I’d say meet my mum, but that’s not always pleasant. She’s kind of … Particular about people. She’s also probably a little pissed she spent three years trying to marry me off to various daughters of her friends’ and I’m still single.”

“You’re making this sound so appealing I can barely contain my excitement.”

“I’m not convincing you, am I?” He sighs. “I guess I’ll have to learn how to iron a damn shirt and shine my shoes. And to think, I was going to make lasagna.”

I pause and turn to look at him. His lips are turned downwards, and his shoulders are up by his ears like he’s paused mid-shrug. If he thinks he’s fooling me, he obviously thinks I’m stupid, because I can see the glint of laughter in his eyes.

“Oh, alright.” I sigh the words out heavily, playing along. “I’ll come over. Can’t have you ironing now, can we?” I roll my eyes.

Blake grins, and we start walking again. “Ironing is the cruelest kind of torture.”

“You’re so male it’s unreal.”

“And to think it was only a couple of weeks ago you were checking if I was all male.”

Ass. “I’m still debating it, actually. I think it’s the eyelashes – you have girly eyelashes. They make you pretty.”

“Pretty? Flippin’ pretty?” He shakes his head. “You could seriously damage that manhood calling me pretty.”

I smile. “But you are pretty. Like a little poodle puppy with a bow on its head.”

“You did not just compare me to a poodle, Abbi.”

I cover my mouth and nibble on my thumbnail. “It’s fair,” I argue. “You just sprung a Meet The Parents on me.”

“Yeah.” He scratches behind his neck. “You know, you don’t have to. I suppose I could survive the posh-boy torture for one night.”

“No. I said I would, so I will.”

“It was the pout mixed with puppy dog eyes, wasn’t it? That’s why you agreed.” he says. “I knew that would work.”

“Pfft. You do good puppy dog eyes, pretty little poodle, but no. I just really love lasagna.” I shrug, and he nudges me with his elbow. I shove him back, fighting my laughter, and he reaches for me. His arm curls around my shoulders, pulling me close to him, and I wrap my arms around my stomach. His thumb rubs across the material of my sweater on the top of my arm, relaxing me.

I remind myself I’m in a place safe from the past. That I’m in a place where only the present is important. The past and even the future are irrelevant. Only the here and now matters, and the here and now is a touch so casual and comforting that means so much. And there isn’t a part of me that wants to pull away from Blake.

We walk in silence for a while, only birdsong and the rushing of the ravine breaking the peace, until we come to one of the rustic shelters that stand on the edge of the lake. The wooden buildings gaze out over the water, and I can clearly see Duck Island from here even though night is starting to fall.

“We always seem to be somewhere when it’s getting dark,” I comment absently, stepping from Blake’s hold and walking to the edge of the shelter. I look over the water, a few lone ducks still swimming along.

I see him shrug as he steps up beside me. He rests his elbows on the ledge and leans forward, his bicep brushing my arm.

“Hiding in plain sight,” he says simply.

I blink harshly, suddenly glad for the darkening of the sky. Something I said so casually, like it meant nothing, and he’s remembered it. He’s remembered it and somehow he’s applied it to everything we’ve done so far. He’s letting me hide right where he can see me.

He seems to understand so much about me – about how I feel, how to deal with the crazy breakdowns that can happen any second. He doesn’t blink at them and nothing seems to faze him. It’s unnerving and reassuring at the same time.

“It’s my favorite time of day,” I admit, twiddling my fingers. “Right now, when day is giving way to night. It’s the point I can drop the fake smile and stop pretending like everything is perfect. There are so many shadows and dark places I can barely recognize my own amongst them, and it’s a relief.”

“You can’t pretend all the time.” He turns his face toward mine, and his eyes are so serious I have to fight not to look back at him. “Anyone who smiles the way you do can’t have a fake one all the time. Either that, or you’re an even better actress than you are a dancer and I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Maybe not all the time,” I say slowly and quietly. “I don’t always need to pretend. Sometimes it really is okay.”

“Like when you dance.”

I tilt my head toward him, my eyes meeting his through my hair, and I whisper, “Like when I’m with you.”

Rain begins to fall again, splashing into the lake and bouncing off the roof of the shelter. Blake smiles softly and reaches his hand out, pushing my hair from my face. He tucks it behind my ear and his thumb brushes my cheek.

“Then I feel obligated to make sure you don’t have to pretend everything is okay tonight. I feel like it should really be okay.” He straightens and walks backwards. “Come and dance.”

“What?”

He steps out into the rain, his eyes on me, and holds his arms out. The rain is steadily getting heavier, soaking him. His t-shirt clings to his body, showing every inch of muscle on his body, and I can’t help but look. My eyes can’t help but trace the light indents separating each pack of muscle on his stomach and they can’t help but comb over his chest and broad shoulders.

I know how solid those packs of muscle are. I’ve cried into them. I’ve clung to those shoulders. I’ve been held by those arms. Each time he’s been there, never expecting anything more than what I’ve given him. And I haven’t exactly given him much.

Guys like him shouldn’t exist in real life. I wasn’t lying when I told him he’s too perfect for me to destroy. He is. His looks, his dancing, the way he’s always there … I never expected to meet anyone after Pearce and I definitely didn’t expect to meet anyone like Blake.

Someone pinch me. I have to be dreaming.

“Come dance,” he repeats, spinning suddenly.

“You’re insane.” I shake my head. “I’ll get soaked.”

Blake grins. “Isn’t that the point of dancing in the rain?”

“It’s getting crazy out there. I’m getting wet even standing here because of the damn windows!” I move into the center of the shelter. “Freakin’ hell.”

“So what’s the problem? Come on.” He holds a hand out, his long fingers begging me to grasp them. I look from his hand to his eyes, his twitching lips, his wet hair dripping down his face.

“I … No.”

“Trust me.” He’s not asking me. “Trust me, Abbi. Just two minutes. That’s all you have to do. Just take my hand and dance in the rain with me for two short minutes.”

“Why are you so determined to get me out there? If you want to dance, we can do that here.”

He steps back under the shelter and takes my hovering hand. He’s wet but heat radiates off him and wraps around me. Our faces are inches apart as I look up at him and he down at me.

“Because I see the way you lose yourself when you dance and I want you to lose yourself like that with me. I want you to get lost in me. It’s selfish but I don’t care.”

I breathe in sharply and try to ignore the way his grip on my hand tightens. “I don’t … I don’t know if I can let myself,” I whisper.

“Sure you can. You just admitted you don’t have to pretend with me. And you don’t.” Blake takes my other hand and slowly pulls me forward. “All you have to do is close your eyes. I promise you, you won’t get lost alone.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yep.”

I take a deep breath in, hardly believing a walk in the park has turned into something so insane. So scarily thrilling.

I close my eyes.

“Now what?”

“Now, you feel,” he answers, pulling me forward. The first drops of rain hit my head and face, cold against my skin.

“Feel what?”

“Everything.” More rain. “Feel the rain on your skin. Feel the touch of my skin against yours. Feel the wet ground slipping and sliding beneath your feet. And dance with me like your life depends on it.”

The rain is cold as it beats down against us from all directions. My hair is already sticking to my face, and I can feel my clothes clinging to every part of my body.

One of Blake’s hands leaves mine and settles on my waist, pulling our bodies closer. I rest my hand on his shoulder, and he spins us round. He spins us and spins us and spins us until I no longer know which way is up. Until our bodies are held together by bunches of wet material, and I’m sure mud is halfway up my jeans from all our stepping and splashing in the small puddles forming around us.

His hands are hot against me. His whole body is a raging inferno, contrasting the iciness of the rain against my back. He spins us again, completely in control, and a small laugh leaves me as the ridiculousness of what we’re doing sinks in. My head tilts back, and I laugh again, feeling the drops hit my face. I imagine how we must look to someone walking past; dancing on the muddy grass in the pouring rain, laughing like we don’t have a care in the world.

But we do. We both have cares, we both have secrets we keep from the other. Dance is our freedom to lose ourselves.

I open my eyes for the first time since he told me to close them and raise my head back up. His green ones stare back at me, unguarded and raw. In them I see a myriad of emotion: uncertainty, pain, happiness, and shadows that are close to mirroring my own. Shadows I’ve never noticed before, never had any idea about.

We stop moving, and I swallow. He raises our clasped hands to the side of my head and scrapes my wet hair from my face.

“Trust me,” he says softly, his words barely audible over the steady beat of nature’s music.

My eyes close at the soft sweep of his lips over mine. My back goes rigid, but as his fingers stroke across it and our mouths meet for a second time, it relaxes. I relax into him completely, losing myself the way he wants me to.

I’m losing myself in a way I never thought I would again.

I’m losing myself in the steadiness of his hand on my back, his chest pressing against me, his lips caressing mine.

I’m losing myself in him.

Blake’s face hovers in front of mine as he draws back, and neither of us speak for a second.

“What was that?” I whisper, breaking the silence, too afraid to talk louder in case it breaks this moment.

Because this is the defining moment. It’s the one that’s been building between us – the one that would make me or break me. The one in which the lines between friends and more blur, warping into something that can and will change everything.

He laughs lowly and lets my hand go. His fingers run through my hair as he stares into my eyes. “That was me keeping my promise. I got lost right along with you.”

I let my hands slide across his shoulders and clasp behind his neck. “Do you get lost often?”

“Only when I’m with you,” he whispers.

I feel light, lighter than I have in a long time. Like I can truly breathe and I’m not being suffocated by the weight of my feelings. I have to grab this moment while I can, because I know if this is the only moment I ever feel this way, if tomorrow I go back to being drowned by the darkness, I’ll regret it if I don’t. If I don’t take a risk right now I’ll forever hate myself for it.

So I raise myself onto my tiptoes and press my lips to Blake’s. My body flattens against his, and he tightens his grip on me, kissing me softly and slowly.

A fire sparks in my stomach, the flames flickering and growing with every pound of my heart against my chest. A fire I don’t think anything or anyone could put out.

And I let the flames flicker, I let my heart pound, and I let the rain fall down onto me. I let the world pass me by, and I lose myself wholly in Blake.