Chapter 6

Back in the silence of his dorm room, Leonard tried to recreate the calm. He sat on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and placed a hand on his stomach, just like Paul had shown him. He took a slow, deep breath, pushing his stomach out.

It felt hollow. The breath was just air moving in and out. The silence of the room was oppressive, not peaceful. The memory of the nightmare from the night before lingered at the edges of his mind, a dark stain the breathing couldn't wash away. He tried again, focusing harder. But without Paul's low, guiding voice, without the firm, warm pressure on his wrist, the exercise felt empty. It was just a mechanical action. The knot of anxiety in his chest remained, tight and stubborn.

Frustration bubbled up inside him. Why isn't it working? He was doing everything right. But the magic was gone. The profound sense of safety and calm he had felt in Paul's office was nowhere to be found. It was like trying to start a fire with wet wood; the components were there, but the essential spark was missing.

He gave up, slumping back onto his bed. The thought came unbidden, unwelcome: It only works when I'm with him.

The realization was a cold splash of water. This wasn't about learning a technique to be independent. This was becoming about Paul. The calm wasn't coming from the breathing; it was coming from Paul's presence, from his attention, from the simple, shocking fact of his touch. The tool was useless without the master who wielded it.

A shiver of fear went through him. This was dangerous. This was the opposite of what therapy was supposed to be. Therapy was supposed to make you stronger on your own, not tie your well-being to another person. Especially not that person.

He grabbed his phone and opened his calendar. His next appointment with Paul was highlighted. Six days away. It felt like an eternity. He found himself staring at the date, counting the hours, a desperate longing taking root in his chest. He just had to make it until then. He just had to get back into that warm office, under the glow of that lamp, and hear Paul say, "Good. That's very good."

"Counting down to something?"

Leonard jumped, nearly dropping his phone. Emily stood in the doorway to his room, leaning against the frame, her arms crossed. She was looking at the phone in his hand, a curious expression on her face.

"No," he said too quickly, locking the screen and shoving the phone under his leg. "Just... midterms. Lots of deadlines." The lie was becoming a habit, smooth and automatic, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Emily didn't look convinced. "You've been... different lately, Leo. Quieter, but also... I don't know. Preoccupied. You're always checking your phone or staring into space. And you look better, which is good, but you're also more secretive." She took a step into the room. "Are you sure everything's okay? You're not... in some kind of trouble, are you?"

The concern in her voice was genuine. She was his friend. She cared. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to say, 'I'm seeing Professor Weston for therapy, and I think it's helping, but I'm also scared because I think I might be becoming dependent on him.' The words were right there.

But then he pictured Paul's face, the understanding in his eyes, the warmth of his touch. That connection felt so fragile, so precious. What if Emily told him it was a bad idea? What if she reported it? It would all be over. The hope would be snatched away. He couldn't risk it.

"It's nothing, Em. Really," he said, forcing a smile that felt like a crack in ice. "Just stressed with school. You know how it is."

Emily studied him for a long moment. He could feel her psychologist's mind working, analyzing his micro-expressions, the tension in his shoulders. She knew he was lying. But she also saw the defensive wall he had put up.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice soft but laced with disappointment. "Just... remember I'm here. For anything."

"I know," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes. "Thanks."

She left, closing the door softly behind her. The room felt emptier than before. He had just pushed away his best friend to protect a relationship that was already feeling... wrong. The guilt was a heavy stone in his stomach.

He pulled his phone back out. The screen lit up, still showing the calendar. The appointment with Paul seemed to glow. It was his lifeline. It was also his anchor, dragging him deeper into a sea of secrets and lies.

He was trapped. He needed what Paul gave him. But the cost was getting higher every day. He was lying to his friend. He was becoming addicted to the very person who was supposed to be curing his addiction. The path to healing was starting to feel like a road to ruin, and he was walking down it with his eyes wide open, too desperate for the comfort at the end to turn back.