Chapter 5

The week between the appointments passed in a strange, suspended state. Leonard went through the motions of his classes, but his mind was elsewhere. He found himself looking forward to Wednesdays with an intensity that scared him a little. It was the only fixed point in his week, the only time he felt like he was actively moving towards something, instead of just surviving.

When he walked into Paul’s office for the second time, the room felt familiar, almost welcoming. Paul greeted him with the same warm, professional smile.

“How have you been this week, Leonard?” he asked, gesturing to the same armchair.

“Okay,” Leonard said, sitting down. It was mostly true. The nightmares were still there, but the crushing weight of hopelessness had lessened. “A bit better, I think. Just… knowing there’s a reason for it all. It helps.”

“Good. Understanding is the first step toward control,” Paul said, leaning back in his chair. He looked thoughtful. “Today, I’d like to try something practical. A simple technique to help you manage the anxiety when it starts to feel overwhelming. It’s called diaphragmatic breathing. It can help calm your nervous system.”

Leonard nodded, eager to learn a tool, a real tool, to fight back.

“Why don’t you sit back, try to get comfortable,” Paul suggested. “You can close your eyes if it helps you focus.”

Leonard did as he was told, shifting in the armchair, letting his head rest against the back. He closed his eyes. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing.

“Now, place one hand on your chest, and the other on your stomach,” Paul instructed, his voice low and soothing. “Just breathe normally. Notice which hand moves more.”

Leonard’s hand on his chest rose and fell noticeably. The one on his stomach barely moved.

“That’s what we call shallow breathing, common with anxiety,” Paul explained. “We’re going to try to reverse that. I want you to try to breathe deeply into your belly, so the hand on your stomach rises, and the one on your chest stays relatively still.”

Leonard tried. It felt unnatural. He took a shaky breath, his chest still doing most of the work.

“It’s okay,” Paul said softly. “It takes practice. Let me guide you.”

Leonard heard Paul get up and move closer. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on the sound of Paul’s voice. Then, he felt a touch. Warm, firm fingers gently pressed against the back of his wrist, the one resting on his stomach.

“Focus on pushing your stomach out against your hand as you inhale,” Paul said, his voice now right beside him. “Feel the pressure.”

Leonard’s eyes flew open. Paul was kneeling beside his chair, his face close, his fingers still on Leonard’s wrist. It was a shock. The touch was professional, clinical even, but it was touch. It was contact. And it was from Paul.

His first instinct was to pull away. This was too close. Too personal. But the touch was… grounding. The warmth of Paul’s fingers seeped into his skin, a solid, real point of focus in the swirling chaos of his anxiety. It felt… safe.

“Is this… part of the technique?” Leonard asked, his voice a little unsteady.

“For some people, a little physical guidance helps them connect with the sensation,” Paul said, his gaze steady, his expression completely neutral. “It’s a common somatic therapy practice. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can stop.”

It does make me uncomfortable, Leonard thought. But the other part of him, the lonely, touch-starved part, screamed, No, don’t stop.

“It’s… okay,” Leonard whispered, closing his eyes again. He focused on the feeling of Paul’s fingers on his wrist. He tried to breathe as instructed, pushing his stomach out. This time, with that physical anchor, he managed a deeper, slower breath.

“Good,” Paul murmured, his voice a low vibration Leonard could almost feel. “That’s very good. Just like that.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Leonard breathing, Paul’s fingers a constant, warm pressure. Leonard’s mind was a battleground.

Rational Mind: This is weird. He’s your professor. He’s touching you.

Anxious Body: But it feels… calming. The panic is receding.

Emotional Heart: No one has touched me with kindness in so long.

The rational part was losing. The simple act of breathing, guided by Paul’s calm voice and steady touch, was having a profound effect. The tight knot of anxiety in his chest began to loosen. For a few moments, his mind was quiet. No nightmares, no shame, no fear. Just breath, and warmth, and a deep, spreading sense of calm.

After what felt like both an eternity and a single second, Paul gently removed his fingers. “How do you feel?”

Leonard opened his eyes. The world seemed sharper, clearer, just like after the first session, but this time the feeling was physical, deeper. “Calm,” he said, surprised. “Really calm.”

Paul smiled, a genuine, pleased smile that made Leonard’s heart do a funny little flip. “Excellent. This is a tool you can use anywhere. When you feel the anxiety rising, just take a moment, focus on your breath.”

Paul moved back to his chair, the professional distance restored. But the ghost of his touch remained on Leonard’s wrist, a brand of warmth.

As Leonard left the office, he felt a confusing mix of emotions. He felt empowered. He had a tool now, a way to fight back. But he also felt a strange, unsettling dependency. The calm hadn’t come from the breathing alone; it had come from Paul’s presence, from his touch.

He walked across campus, rubbing the spot on his wrist where Paul’s fingers had been. It had felt like therapy. It had looked like therapy. So why did a small, warning voice in the back of his head whisper that it had felt like something else entirely?