Dr. Charlie Mayhew knocked softly before stepping into your room, finding you curled up on the edge of the bed, clutching your knees. You didn’t look up, but he could see the tears in your eyes, the way your fingers gripped tightly around your arms, right where bruises had once marked your skin.

He sat down beside you, giving you a moment to gather yourself. “I heard you left your session early today,” he said gently.

A tear slipped down your cheek as you kept your gaze fixed on the floor. “I don’t want to talk to them,” you murmured, voice breaking. “I can’t. They don’t understand.”

He nodded, watching the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands pressed harder into your arms as if trying to hold yourself together. “It’s okay if it doesn’t feel right to open up to them yet,” he said softly. “But keeping everything inside… it’s a heavy thing to carry alone.”

Your breathing hitched as you looked up, tears blurring your vision. “I just… I only want to talk to you.” The words came out as a whisper, as if you were afraid he might turn you away. “You’re the only one who… gets it.”

Charlie felt the weight of your trust, the unspoken connection between you. He remembered that night—how he’d found you, the way you’d clung to him, lost and terrified. He’d been the first one there, the one who held you when no one else could. And now he understood that for you, his presence was the only anchor you trusted.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to your hands, watching the way you gripped your arms. He could see the way your fingers trembled, the way your body seemed to fold in on itself. “You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t feel comfortable with,” he said, his voice as soft as ever. “But keeping everything inside… it’s not going to make it easier.”