Chapter 8 Something Begins to Break

The room was too bright.

Too white.

Too quiet.

Elijah sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, eyes on the window. Outside, the city moved fast. Inside, everything felt like it was stuck in slow motion.

The therapist, Dr. Lorna Wu, sat across from him. Calm. Older. Glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She didn’t write anything. Not yet.

She just watched him.

“So,” she said softly, “you don’t want to be here.”

Elijah shrugged. “I’m doing it for press. Gabe said it’ll look good.”

“But you don’t care about looking good?”

“No,” Elijah said. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.”

Dr. Wu nodded slowly. “That’s a fair place to start.”

He looked at her.

She didn’t smile fake. She didn’t press.

That made it worse, somehow.

He sighed and leaned back. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what you remember,” she said.

Elijah frowned. “You mean the crash?”

“Anything.”

He stared at the ceiling for a second. Then said, “I remember heat. Fire. Pain.”

He swallowed.

“I remember... drowning. But not in water. In noise. Screaming. Voices I didn’t know. Hands pulling me.”

She nodded again.

“What else?” she asked.

Elijah shifted. “A name.”

“Adam?”

His eyes flicked to hers.

“You know about that?” he asked.

She gave a small nod. “Gabe mentioned it. He’s worried.”

Elijah laughed bitterly. “He has every right to be.”

“Do you think Adam is someone from your past?” she asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Elijah said. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s me.”

Dr. Wu didn’t react. She just waited.

He looked down at his hands. They were trembling.

“I don’t remember Gabe,” he said after a long pause. “Not really. I remember how he makes me feel. Safe. Angry. Confused. But not the memories themselves.”

“That must be hard.”

“It is,” he said. “But you want to know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“I kissed him,” Elijah said quietly. “And I called him the wrong name.”

Dr. Wu stayed quiet.

“I hurt him,” Elijah added. “And I don’t even know why.”

There was a silence between them that felt thick. Not heavy  but full.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when we can’t face something, the brain hides it for us. Puts it in a locked box.”

“And sometimes that box breaks,” Elijah said softly.

She nodded.

“Do you want to open that box?” she asked.

Elijah didn’t answer at first.

Then he whispered, “I think it’s already opening on its own.”

When he got back to the apartment, Gabe was in the living room.

He didn’t look up.

Elijah walked in slowly, dropped his keys on the table.

“You didn’t come home last night,” Gabe said without turning.

“I stayed at the hotel. I didn’t want to... make things worse.”

Silence.

Elijah walked closer. “I saw the therapist.”

Still silence.

“She asked about Adam.”

That made Gabe turn.

“What did you say?”

“I told her I didn’t know,” Elijah said. “But I want to.”

Gabe stood up, arms crossed. His face was cold. Tired.

“You called me his name,” Gabe said. “That doesn’t just happen.”

“I know.”

“So who is he?” Gabe asked.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Elijah looked at him  eyes soft, voice steady.

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore,” he said.

Gabe blinked.

That line landed hard.

He stepped back. “You think that’s what this is? Lying?”

“I think I’m lying to myself,” Elijah said. “And it’s getting harder to keep up.”

Gabe turned away. Hands in fists.

“I found something,” he said after a beat.

Elijah looked confused. “What?”

Gabe picked up a notebook from the shelf.

The black one.

Elijah stared at it. Like he’d never seen it before  and yet like it knew him.

“Is that mine?” he asked.

“It was in your things. Hidden,” Gabe said. “You wrote about Adam. You said not to trust her. You said to burn the cabin.”

Elijah’s breath caught.

Something flashed in his eyes. Quick. Gone in a second.

“You remember something,” Gabe said, stepping closer. “Don’t you?”

Elijah opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then said, “I don’t know what’s real. But that notebook scares me.”

“Me too,” Gabe said quietly.

They stood there. Between them the notebook. The lies. The truth. The years.

And something waiting to rise from the dark.