I'm not quite sure how I got here. 

White walls. Grey socks with white nubs for traction, the kind I saw on the feet of my mother her last days in the hospital. A single window. Fogged up, the strips of paint curling at the seams, flaking to the ground as the thunder rolls outside of the wide. The drab red curtains remind me of home, in some strange way. Not the homes I've known recently... real home. That small house tucked away inside of suburbia, the one no one knew veiled secrets I can't even bear to face today. And yet, here I am.

My only way out is through. 

I've spent how many years? Damn near 18 years trying to forget, and here I am being forced to remember. That's not something that's easy to reconcile. My mind is racing and I'm not sure I can do this. Do I want to do this? The walls are closing in on me and yet they haven't moved. 

My only way out is through. 

His voice pulls me out of my own head. I take him in. The over-starched collar of his blue checkered shirt sits in stark contrast to the salt and pepper scruff along his jawline. My eyes trail along his jawline, taking in the small scar along the right side. I see the edge of his lips turn upward, a smirk, as he watches me study him in silence. His lower lip is reddened, cracked slightly, a pattern I know all too well from my own bad habit. He bites his lip. I smirk. His left front tooth has a small chip in it. I know he chipped it as a kid playing baseball, a bit too distracted kicking the dirt to look up in time as his coach yelled out his name. His skin is fair, but not sickly. Not like mine. His radiance stands in contrast to the pale blue rivers visibly coursing under my skin. His nose is sharp, rounded down slightly as if he's always just a bit disappointed in you. 

I let my eyes wander further, across his perfectly flushed cheeks. They're that pink that graces you when you first wake up from a deep sleep, the color interrupted only by the three freckles that seem out of place on his right cheek. He clears his throat, his adams apple rising and falling, but my eyes dart upwards to his. A mistake. I find myself face-to-face with those same eyes. They're green, flecked with this indescribable hazel. Have you seen a photo of polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons? Yes, that gorgeous glowing space fog that they show you in fifth grade science class to make STEM seem cool? That. That's what his eyes are like. It kills me. He knows it kills me. In that moment of eye contact my world shatters, a smile emerges on his face. 

That face I once thought was so gorgeous, so mesmerizing. Now it brings me catatonic. I never thought I'd have to see those eyes again. I never wanted to. And yet here I am.

My only way out is through. 

"You haven't been here the whole time. It's Day Zero for you in this head of mine. So, where do you want to start? Do you want the quick rundown? The story of what got me here? How did a girl who had everything going for her end up breaking?" 

Well, breaking is putting it lightly. 

"Regardless. I know you're curious. You want to know, but you're afraid to ask. You don't want to push me because God forbid I be another black mark on your lovely white walls. Another mar to your name. Another girl who couldn't be fixed." 

My voice falls heavy in the room, but I know he's listening. I've played this game before and I've won. I'll win again. It'll just take time. I have time. You have all of the time in the world when the only thing that was keeping you going is gone. You want to be gone too, but you're here. I'm here. 

"It's Dr. Bradford," he says. A formality. He knows me, and I know him, but no one else knows that. "It seems like you know why you're here, and I'm glad that you're willing to open up about everything. I know it can be difficult, but you'll be better for it on the other side. Once you're back out in the city, and back at your job, not hiding all of this so deep inside of you you've forgotten what it's like to feel, you'll be stronger." 

 I have heard this before. If my calculations are right, I heard it exactly 272 days ago. But I didn't hear it from Dr. Bradford, I heard it from John. The difference stings. My eyes start to water, spilling over as my eyes go glassy. He has me, for better or worse, I'm stuck in his care once again, and this time I don't have a choice. 

My only way out is through.