The Next Day
The car ride to the doctor's office was silent.
And awkward.
Genesis pressed herself against the door, her cheek resting against the cool glass. She didn't once look at Kieran. No matter how much she wanted to glance at him—or reach out, or even apologize for slapping him—she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Kieran, on the other hand, stared straight ahead. His jaw was clenched, his grip on the steering wheel so tight it looked like he might snap it in two. But he didn't. Somehow, he kept himself together.
The tension in the car was suffocating. Thick and unbearable.
Genesis silently begged for the ride to be over.
After several minutes, the hospital came into view. Kieran pulled into the driveway and shifted the car into park. But before he could unbuckle, Genesis had already opened the door and stepped out.
He turned toward the now-empty seat beside him but said nothing. A moment later, he got out and followed her. When he caught up, his hand gently rested at the small of her back.
She shivered at the touch but didn't flinch away immediately.
He looked down at her, and the way she stiffened under his hand made something ache in his chest. But he didn't speak. Not yet.
He knew he had hurt her.
but he knew how to fix it.
Genesis eventually pulled away and walked toward the hospital doors. Kieran lingered for a second, watching the tension in her shoulders, then followed. His eyes scanned every person they passed, sharp and calculating. Daring anyone to look at her too long.
Who would even try?
When they stepped into the hospital lobby, Genesis stopped at the front desk. She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression downcast. But the moment she saw the secretary, she forced a small smile.
Nicole, the receptionist, brightened when she saw the couple. "Mrs. Blackwood," she greeted cheerfully. "Mr. Blackwood."
Kieran moved to stand beside Genesis, but she gave him a wide berth—something Nicole couldn't help but notice. Last time they came, Genesis had practically clung to him.
Odd.
Kieran murmured something to Nicole, and soon the two were heading through the doors.
But they both stopped just inside.
Doctor Philip stood a few feet away, shaking hands with a red-haired middle aged woman. Genesis didn't know why her eyes were drawn to the woman, but something about her face—it felt familiar. Like a dream half-remembered.
Then the woman turned.
Their eyes met.
And just then, Doctor Philip spoke.
"We're already done here. Please, have a seat, Kieran."
Genesis couldn't look away from the woman, even as she approached. Her face remained unreadable, her steps calm. But when she passed Genesis, she deliberately bumped her shoulder against hers.
Genesis turned to look at her—but the woman was already out the door.
She stood frozen, watching the exit, until she heard her name.
"Is something wrong?" Dr. Philip asked, a slight crease in his brow.
Genesis slowly shook her head.
He gave her a kind smile. "Then let's begin."
Dr. Philip gestured toward a couch near his desk.
"Please, have a seat."
Genesis hesitated. Her eyes flicked toward the exit, then toward Kieran—who stayed quiet on the couch. Whatever that encounter had been, it rattled her.
Still, she said nothing. Just sat down slowly, hands folded tightly in her lap.
Kieran sat too—but not close this time. Not after everything that had happened.
Dr. Philip settled into his own chair across from them, a soft leather notebook in his lap, though he didn't open it yet.
"I know this is a lot," he said gently. "So today, we'll start small. No pressure. No digging into the past. I just want to help your body feel safe again. That's the first step."
Genesis blinked, uncertain.
He noticed.
"This is called somatic therapy," he explained. "It means we'll pay attention to what your body's telling us—your breath, your hands, your heartbeat. You don't have to talk if you don't want to."
He nodded at her hands.
"Right now, your fingers are tight. Shoulders high. You're holding your breath."
She was.
She hadn't even realized.
"Let's try one thing," he said. "You're safe. You're here. No one's going to hurt you. So, if you can… place your hand on your chest."
Genesis hesitated. But slowly, she obeyed.
"Now breathe with me. Not deep breaths. Just soft, small ones. In… and out."
They breathed together. Slow. Gentle. Measured.
"Good," he said after a moment. "That's your body telling your brain: I'm not in danger. I'm okay."
He reached toward the small table beside him and picked up a silver pen.
"May I show you something?"
Genesis eyed the pen, then gave a small nod.
"This is part of EMDR," he said. "It helps your brain process things that are stuck. Painful memories. Fear. You just follow the pen with your eyes, while we talk—or even if you're just thinking."
Kieran sat quietly through all of it, his eyes dark, but watchful.
Genesis didn't look at him.
She just nodded again.
And the pen began to move.
He didn't ask her to speak.
He just lifted the pen and began moving it slowly from side to side, his voice low and steady.
"Don't talk. Just think about the last time you felt safe. Not perfect. Not happy. Just… safe."
Genesis's eyes followed the pen, her movements cautious, almost reluctant. Her body was still tense, but her breathing had begun to slow. Her hand remained on her chest.
Philip kept his tone soft, unintrusive.
"It doesn't matter how small the moment is. Maybe it was a song. A warm drink. A hug. A quiet room where no one expected anything from you."
Kieran watched her from the side, silent.
Her lashes fluttered as she focused. She wasn't trembling anymore. Her fingers, once white-knuckled, had softened in her lap.
A tiny shift.
But enough to make him breathe.
After a few minutes, Philip gently lowered the pen.
"That's enough for today," he said. "See? We didn't dig into the past. We didn't relive anything. We just gave your brain something new to hold onto."
Genesis looked down, eyes glassy but calm. She didn't sign, didn't speak—but something about her had changed.
She didn't look so locked inside herself anymore.
Philip turned to Kieran.
"You'll help reinforce this at home," he said. "Keep things gentle. Routine helps. Soothing music. Physical grounding—like a warm blanket, weighted pillow, even deep pressure on the arms or shoulders. And most importantly—no surprises."
Kieran nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
Then—Genesis reached out.
Her fingers brushed against his sleeve. Light. Not desperate. Just... there.
Kieran froze.
It wasn't much. But to him, it felt like a crack in the ice.
Philip smiled softly.
"That's progress."