at the base of my spine, crawling up each vertebra until a heavy sensation makes my limbs feel weighted and unmovable.

“Honor, has your mother physically harmed you?”

I focus on her gaze as my mouth goes completely dry. Fear. Bone-chilling fright coats my tongue, making it impossible to swallow. Not being able to speak, I jerk my head once.

Dr. Hart inhales slowly, her nostrils widening enough for me to know she’s reining in her response, and I think it’s one of anger. “Did this start when you were a child?”

I grip my inner thighs, wishing I had a blade. Instead, I dig my nails into the skin a couple inches above the hem of my skirt. The shock of pain soothes the fear swirling inside, allowing me to speak, but just barely. “Yes,” I mutter and dig my nails deeper.

“When was the last time she hit you? How long ago?”

I shake my head and keep digging into my flesh. I’m certain there will be crescent-shaped indentions in my thighs when I leave today. I hold back the urge to scratch along the tender skin, wanting the pain but fighting the desire because I know it’s not right. I glance at the doctor, and her focus is on my face. She hasn’t moved a muscle, and I don’t think she sees how much I’m struggling with this discussion.

“Honor, you said you trust me. I’m here only for you. To protect you. To help you. Not your mother. Now can you please tell me, when was the last time you remember your mother hitting you? Were you ten, twelve, a teenager?”

She assumes I was young, which makes the truth that much harder to admit. Tears form and fall down my cheeks. Instead of wiping them away, she bends forward and grabs the tissue box on the table in front of me. I don’t want to grab for it, because that would mean I’d have to stop digging my fingers into my thighs. The pain would stop, and I need the pain to get through this.

“No, no, no. I can’t.” I shake my head.

Dr. Hart goes for my hands. Her eyes narrow as she looks down. “Let go, Honor. Stop hurting yourself!” Her words are forceful and direct.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, the tears continuing to fall as I lessen my grip. She eases my skirt up to midthigh, finding the indentations from my fingernails. Thankfully, she doesn’t touch me.

What I didn’t plan for was her also seeing the scars from my high school and college years. “You have much older scars on your inner thighs.” She states this matter-of-factly.

I nod.

“Honor, when was the last time your mother hurt you physically?” This time, she holds my hands, and I clutch at them like a lifeline.

I admit the filthy truth. “Last week.”

Dr. Hart purses her lips and gives a pensive jerk of her head. “Okay. We’re going to fix this together. You hear me?”

I nod and then do something so out of character, I’m shocked I even do it. I pull her into a hug. She holds me close and pets my hair. The instant relief of having someone care rolls through my body in waves. I let it all go, sobbing against the crook of her neck.

“I’m going to help you, Honor. You’re not alone. But the first thing you need to do is leave that house. Immediately.” She eases me back so she can look at my face. “Can you do that? Stay in a hotel until you find a place of your own?”

“A place of my own?” I mumble, my voice small and childlike.

She nods. “It’s time for you to take the next step. Not only for your mental health but your physical health and safety. For now, get into a hotel. Tell your parents whatever you need to in order to leave. Preferably do it when they are not home. You’re twenty-six years old with a hefty inheritance. It’s time to put your wealth to use to protect you.”

“Okay, Dr. Hart.”

“I want you to email me daily with a list of things that you’ve done for yourself that day. It can be as simple as you slept in when you wouldn’t normally. Or you went to yoga. You took a walk. You met up with Grace. I’d like regular communication via email,” she says while writing something down on her yellow pad. “Here’s my email address. Can you do this?”

“Yes.” I start to feel a bit of confidence in the decision to leave. It seems so simple. Move away from my parents and get out from under their reign. “I’ll do it.” I grab the piece of paper with her email on it like it’s a lifeline. Now all I have to do is go home, pack up the things I want to take with me, which isn’t much, and leave. Just leave it all behind.

Freedom is on the horizon. My freedom.

For the first time in a long time, I am genuinely excited. I have a small plan in my head. Get my stuff and move into one of my hotels. Start shopping for a home. Maybe Grace would want to do that too. She seems to like the idea of any type of shopping. Email Dr. Hart my progress. I can do this.

I will do this. For me.

Chapter Seven

Individuals ruled by the throat chakra are humble people. They are very good at controlling their ego and their emotions, which can also come off as blasé or lacking compassion when in reality, they don’t tend to engage in self-flattery.

NICHOLAS

I’m jittery as fuck when I pull out my phone three days after I scheduled a date with Honor. I can’t seem to control my knees from bouncing all over the place as I sit on the bench in the locker room at my gym. I’m raring for some action of the physical kind. I need the release that comes with sparring in the ring or fucking the hell

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