Nobela ni Urskazupanc

Sometimes, silence can feel louder than a scream.Today was definitely one of those days for me.Sitting on Lane’s couch, I had my arms crossed, one leg bouncing like it was trying to escape. I wasn’t even pretending to be okay. No facade, no flirting, no smirk—just me. Quiet. Unfiltered.He didn’t push me to talk.He was across from me as usual—legs relaxed, hands resting loosely, his expression unreadable. But this time, I noticed how he was watching me. Not like I was a patient. Not like I was a girl with too many red flags. More like someone who’s waiting for a truth I hadn’t had the guts to voice.And suddenly, the silence felt overwhelming.“You ever think,” I blurted out, “about how things might’ve turned out differently if just one thing in your life had changed?”Lane took a moment before slowly nodding.“All the time,” he replied.I stared at the floor, my throat tightening.“My thing,” I said, my voice breaking a little, “was a man. I was nine.”His entire body tensed up.I

Some folks express themselves with words. Lane? He speaks through his eyes.He didn’t have to say a thing for me to feel it the calmness in his gaze, steady yet gentle, focused yet soft. His eyes didn’t flit around; they were steady on me, patient and firm, almost like they were grounding me without ever laying a hand on me.That day, I arrived for therapy five minutes early, which was a bit of a change for me. Normally, I enjoyed making others wait. There was something satisfying about being in control.But that feeling didn’t apply with Lane.I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt no urge to play games with him. I didn’t need to impress him or make him chase after me. All I wanted was to just… be there.I knocked softly and stepped into the room when he called me in.He was in his usual chair—dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, with a calm and quiet vibe.Yet, something in the atmosphere felt different.Or maybe I had changed.I took my seat, hands folded neatly in my lap. I di

I didn’t want to go back.After everything that happened the week before—walking out of Lane’s office in tears, falling back into old habits, trying to use someone to feel something—I just wanted to disappear. I didn’t want to face him, or myself.But I showed up anyway.Maybe it was stubbornness.Maybe it was guilt.Maybe it was that tiny voice inside me that still believed I could be more than this.I arrived five minutes late. My shoes squeaked against the clean floor. My heart thudded so loud in my chest, I was sure he could hear it from the hallway.I didn’t knock this time. I just opened the door and stepped in.Lane looked up from his notes, calm as ever.“Hi, Amelia,” he said.I waited for the lecture, the disapproval, the disappointment in his voice.But it never came.He didn’t ask me where I’d been.He didn’t ask me what I’d done.He just nodded toward the chair across from him. “You can sit.”I sank into the seat. I felt like I weighed a thousand pounds.“I don’t want to t

I walked out of his office with tears rolling down my cheeks.The air was still thin. Like it didn’t know how to carry me anymore.I didn’t run I marched. Every step out of that building felt like a dare. Like a dareBut when I got into my car, the silence hit louder than anything he’d said.I sat there for a full minute, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. My chest ached. I wanted to scream, cry, punch something.Instead, I turned the key.And I drove.First out of the parking lot. Then past the familiar corners of campus. Then through the back roads of the city I knew too well.I didn’t go home.Not right away.Because home felt like the kind of place you go when you wanna be still. I guess And stillness meant feeling. And feeling meant facing everything Lane made me look at.Eventually, I pulled up to my apartment. My body moved like it was out of control—keys, door, bedroom.I sat on my bed, I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me.My hea

I didn’t want to go.Every part of me wanted to skip today section.Fake a cold.Say I was busy.Say I was fine.But I showed up anyway—like always. Dressed in the same oversized hoodie I wore the night Jason showed up. I hadn’t washed it. It still smelled like dirt. And the feeling of guilt was all over me.Lane’s door was open. His back was turned as he scribbled something in his notebook.“Five minutes early,” he said, without looking. “That’s either progress or punishment.”I didn’t answer.Just sat down slowly, hands tucked between my thighs like a child trying not to fidget.He glanced up then. His eyes scanned me like he was reading a page.“Rough week?” he asked.I shrugged. “Define rough.”Lane leaned back in his chair, eyes still calm, still steady. “You look like someone who hasn’t slept.”“I slept,” I said. “Just not... well.”“You want to talk about it?”“No,” I said too fast. “It’s fine.”“Amelia,” he said gently, “if you’re here just to say you’re fine, we can end early

I should’ve ignored the knock.I should’ve turned off the lights, curled into my blanket, and pretended I didn't heard him knock.But I didn’t.Instead, I walked to the door slowly, barefoot, heart clung in my throat.And when I looked through the peephole, there he was.That old, sick pull in my chest.Jason.The man I swore I’d never let back in.The one who made me feel desirable and disposable at the same time.The one who taught me that pain could be suppressed by sexul pleasures.I stood there frozen, one hand hovering over the doorknob, the other curled into a fist at my side.He knocked again. Three soft, confident taps.He always knocked like he knew I’d answer.I hated that part of me, the part that wanted to.Just to hear what lie he’d tell me this time. Just to see if he’d still look at me like I was the only thing worth ruining.I opened the door an inch. Just an inch. The chain still locked.“Amelia,” he said, voice smooth, low and soft like melted chocolate and bad deci