Who Are You, Really? 

I close the door behind me and walk to the couch, settling into my usual spot.

Dr. Taylor picks up my file, leaves her chair, and settles into the single seat opposite me. She crosses her legs, adjusts her glasses, and looks at me.

“How are we feeling today, Chase?”

I’ve been in therapy since I was seven years old. I’ve seen different therapists over the years, but the results have always been the same. Dad believes Dr. Taylor can finally cure me.

Whenever I come here, I talk about my nightmares. How real they feel. How the monsters I see keep trying to escape my dreams and reach me. And how I always wake up before they can get to me.

The feeling stays with me even after I wake. It crawls beneath my skin, making me wonder if those creatures are really trying to reach me.

Dad says it’s all in my head. That’s why he started taking me to therapy.

I’m not allowed to miss my appointments. If I do, apparently, I’ll be back at step one, starting all over again.

I’ve been doing this for eleven years. Four months ago, I realized telling the truth wasn’t going to get me out of here. If I wanted to stop coming, I had to start lying.

The nightmares never stopped, but I stopped telling the truth about them.

“I’m okay, Dr. Taylor.”

“Okay. You know how we start. Breathe in, and breathe out.”

I follow her instructions, repeating the exercise three times.

She opens my file and looks at me. “I want to know how you’re doing. And I don’t mean hearing you say, ‘I’m okay.’ I need details, Chase. If I want to help you, you have to give me something to work with.”

I nod. “Sure.”

“So, how have your days been since our last meeting?”

“I had training. I won the captaincy.”

“Oh, that’s good news.”

“I guess.” I shrug. “And we won our game for the first time.”

“That’s even better! Tell me, how do you feel about that?”

“Happy, I guess. We’re the talk of the town now. That gives people hope.”

“It does.” She pauses. “And how have you been sleeping?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” I lie.

For eleven years, I’ve been saying the same things about my nightmares, about seeing monsters, and I’ve been getting the same answers.

They’re not real.

Of course they’re not real. But they feel real.

And now, there’s Rory Anne. The girl who keeps appearing in my dreams, only for me to find her in real life. It’s making me question everything.

I can’t even tell Dr. Taylor about her. I’ll sound crazy again, and this time, Dad might decide therapy isn’t enough. He might send me to a psychiatric hospital and have me locked away.

Dr. Taylor studies my file, nodding as she reads. “According to your records, you’ve been doing remarkably well. I’m glad the nightmares have stopped. You see what I’ve always told you? When you talk about how you feel instead of bottling everything up, you feel relieved.”

“You’re right. I feel relieved whenever I talk about things instead of bottling them up,” I lie again.

Like I said, the truth will never set me free. If I want to get out of here, I have to lie. I have to keep lying, even if she thinks I’m getting better.

I’m not.

They’ll never understand what it feels like to have something crawling toward you, something trying to pull you into a world that shouldn’t exist outside your imagination.

They won’t understand.

So I don’t tell her about Rory Anne. I keep it to myself. If eleven years of therapy haven’t helped me, what difference will another session make now that I’m eighteen?

After a few more questions, Dr. Taylor closes my file and smiles. “Good job, Chase. At this rate, you’ll soon be ready to graduate from therapy.”

I smile back. “I’m glad I got to see you today, Dr. Taylor.”

“I’m glad you came.”

The timer rings, and she stands. “That’s it for today. I’ll see you on Friday, same time.”

I leave her office and close the door behind me.

Taking a deep breath, I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. I clasp one hand with the other, trying to steady them.

I could have told her everything. But what would have been the point?

I go to my car and drive home.

Nobody seems to be around when I arrive, so I head straight to my room and close the door. My desk is covered in stacks of books, but I know exactly what I’m looking for.

I pull out the sketchbook hidden between three of them.

Flipping through the pages, I stop at Rory’s picture.

Yesterday, after seeing her for the first time, I went home and searched for this sketchbook. I’d tucked it away because I was tired of drawing the same face over and over again. Four months ago, I’d accepted that I’d never be cured and that nothing would change.

Yet here I am, staring at her face again. Her smile is exactly the way I remember it from my dreams. I run my fingers over the drawing, gently tracing her cheek.

Who are you, really?

A knock at my door startles me.

“Chase?” My sister’s voice comes from the other side.

I quickly close the sketchbook, slide it back into its hiding place, and put the three books on top. Then I walk over and open the door, peeking my head out. “Hey, Brittany. What’s up?”

“Can I get some cash?”

My head jerks back. “What?”

“A hundred dollars.”

I don’t even bother asking why. I return to my room, check the pocket of a spare pair of pants, and find two hundred dollars in cash.

I hand it to her.

“Thanks! You’re the best.” She smiles before walking away. And I close the door behind me. 

~~~

My alarm shrieks, dragging me out of sleep.

I groan and slam my hand against it to shut it off. Sitting up, I close my eyes for a second. Then it hits me. My eyes snap open.

I don’t usually wake up to my alarm. I’m always awake before it rings. This is the first time I’ve actually slept through until it went off.

Then another realization hits me. For the first time in eleven years, I haven’t had a nightmare. Or maybe I did, but I can’t remember it. Usually, I remember every detail of my dreams, even when I wish I could forget them.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit there, elbows on my knees and hands covering my face. How is that even possible? What did I do differently yesterday? I don’t know, but I can’t help thinking it has something to do with her.

I try to brush the thought aside. Maybe it’s a coincidence. None of this makes sense, and I’m not about to start drawing conclusions when I don’t understand what’s happening.

Eventually, I stand and head into the bathroom to have a shower.

I still don’t have the guts to talk to Rory, even though she sits behind me in class. Her mind seems to be somewhere else again. I know because I keep stealing glances at her.

I don’t know what I did to make her act that way.

At lunch, I’m sitting with Zac and the boys in the cafeteria, but my attention keeps drifting toward Rory Anne. She barely touches her food while Lynn talks to her. Every now and then, Rory gives her a small smile, but she doesn’t seem particularly interested in the conversation.

I’m curious about her. 

“Incoming,” Zac says.

I look at him, and he tips his head toward the entrance.

I know exactly what that means. Three. Two. One.

“Hey, boyfriend!” Brianne’s high-pitched voice reaches our table before she does. She drops her food down and gives Julian a look that makes him scramble out of his seat so she can take it.

Her father is on the school board, so she acts like she can do whatever she wants. Most people are too afraid of her.

She was the one who approached me first and pinned the boyfriend label on me. She’s pretty, and I was attracted to her, so I figured, why not?

We’ve been on and off for three years.

I’m not in the mood for drama today, so I focus on my food.

“Chase,” she calls.

I lift my head.

“So, where should we go this weekend?”

My eyebrows draw together. “What?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s been ages since we went on a date, so I got us tickets to the BTS concert.”

“Brianne, we broke up, remember?” My voice comes out low.

She stares at me, confused. “What? When?”

I scoff. “You broke up with me.”

She blinks as though she has no idea what I’m talking about.

“For the sixteenth time, Brianne. Three days ago?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t remember that. So what? Let’s get back together if I broke up with you.”

I stare at her. I’m tired of this game. For the first time, I’m really, really tired of this back-and-forth. I’m tired of breaking up and getting back together as if our relationship is some kind of joke. 

It is to her. I always take her back. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. I push my chair back and stand.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I pick up my tray. “I’m done eating.”

“So, about the concert?”

I lick my lips, taking a breath before looking her in the eyes. I don’t want to do this, but I have to. “I can’t. Not this time, Brianne. I don’t want to get back together.” I pause, making sure she understands every word. Her face goes slack with shock. “Not now. Not ever.”