Harley
"So Harley, I thought you wouldn't be stepping into my office again. In your own words, you didn't need me anymore, remember?"
Dr. Oliver's voice was casual, but her words carried a teasing edge.
"You're still blunt," I replied dryly, not bothering to hide the bitterness that seeped into my tone as I glanced around the room.
The walls were the same hideous shade of pink I'd hated since high school. Too bright. Too cheerful. Too dishonest. Like it was trying too hard to be safe.
"It's a therapist's job to be blunt," she replied, unfazed. "Otherwise, you'll keep building castles in the sky and call them homes. So—out with it."
She smiled. Not in that professional, forced way most therapists do. No, hers was genuine. Warm. The kind that made you feel like a person instead of a patient. I smiled back despite myself.
That's the part of her I remembered most. The smile. It was the reason I ran here straight after the training camp. No calls, no appointments—just instinct.
