ZAYNE’s POV

They say therapy is about healing. To me, it felt like standing under a floodlight, naked, while someone scribbled notes about all the cracks in your skin.

I hated it.

But I kept showing up.

The office smelled faintly of peppermint and old paper.

The same plant wilted in the corner, like even it was tired of hearing me circle the same story.

My therapist Dr. Whitman sat across from me, calm as always, notebook resting lightly on her lap.

Her pen rested in her hand, but she ...