"So, how are you?"

"Fine."

The leather chair moans as my therapist re-distributes her weight and levels me with a look that would scare even The Rock. She's a no-bullshit kind of person but she's actually really quite lovely. Her bob swishes backwards as she crosses her legs and balances her notebook on her knee.

"Now, I thought we were past the stage where you lie to me and I pretend to believe you. Remember I'm not here to judge you, I'm here to help you. Redistribute the load on your shoulders. I can't help you if you don't open up to me Atlas." She tilts her head with a small smile and waits for me to say something, the fraying end of my sweater sleeve suddenly becomes rather interesting. Every emotion in my arsenal has been spent this week, I'm tired of feeling. I'm not sure what to feel. I'm fed up of being in pain and I'm fed up of crying. I'm done with being me. The mousy little girl that was never truly gone, just hibernated for a bit.

"I'm scared I'll never be truly loved because I don't love myself. I can't love myself."

A sad smile spreads across her cheeks, she sets her notebook down and leans back in her chair, a small breath escaping her lips like she's been waiting for this declaration for a while.

I'm drained, everything in me spent. The last flicker decimates with that sentence and my body crumples, all the light is gone and I don't know how to bring it back. I need help.

I need help and for the sake of me and everyone else, I need to let go and get fucking help.

Help me.

"So Blaze, why are you here? Tell me a little bit about you and why you've decided to start up therapy again." The guy across from me pours a glass of water from the large jug on the table to his right. His round glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. He's young, probably only a few years older than me but he's already got a bonus point for the ink I can see swirling out of the top of his white shirt. Not your average snooty-ass therapist then.

"Why don't you tell me a bit about you instead," I say sarcastically. I don't want to be here. I've done this before and it didn't work. I exhale and try and remove those thoughts from my brain. Think about Atlas, think about mom and Gemma. Brady and the relationships you're trying to hold onto. Last time I was forced into this. This time I chose to be here. I guess slightly reluctantly but nothing will get better if I can't let go of the past and trust. I can't even start to mend things with Atlas until I start 'mending' myself. Whatever that means. I need to learn to deal with my anger in a safe way and open up, trusting myself and everyone else. Atlas might have set me on the right path and she keeps... she keeps my demons away, she's my saviour in so many ways but there are still so many underlying issues and trauma I need to address on my own.

You can cover a wound with a bandaid but it still takes time to heal underneath. Whilst the bandaid may assist with healing and stopping infection the body still has to work out how to heal itself on its own.

For my relationships, my career and my sanity I need to face my past head-on. If she can do it, I can do it too.

The man before me chuckles slightly and relaxes more into his chair.

"What do you want to know." He runs a hand through his hair, blonde quiffs smoothed back much like mine, faded slightly at the side. A few more tattoos dot his hands that poke out from the cuffs of the ironed shirt. A woman's name written along the inside of his ring finger.

"What the ink on your back," I say pulling on the string of my football hoodie, my name printed on the back. Zak casts his eyes downward a smile tugging at the corners then pulls slightly at the corner of his shirt.

"Something incredibly cliche I'm afraid. It's a phoenix. Chained at the base of my back." He shrugs taking a sip of the water he poured.

"Why'd you have it?" I prod more, it was cliché I guess but a lot of mine are too. He doesn't look like the kind of guy to get meaningless ones either.

"Well... it reminds me that even being chained I have the strength to rise with flames. It also covers a large majority of scars courteous of my own father." I look up catching his eye, not expecting him to be so open. I grunt in appreciation and I think he gets the message. "I've grown enough to be happy in sharing my story with my clients' Blaze. It might not be the most ethical thing but looking through your notes... you remind me of myself and my own journey." He smiles softly and something strikes through my chest. This guy looks like he's got his shit together. Maybe I can have mine together too one day.

"What's with the name." I gesture to the finger he rubs absentmindedly. His eyes brighten even more and a small sigh escapes his own lips.

"Someone very special to me. someone who helped me escape the chains, protected me when the fire got too hot." He stares down at his finger, the cursive name, for a little longer like he's lost in his thought before he jolts up and clears his throat. "You're not paying to hear about me Beckett so come on, why are you here." He picks up his laptop but his eyes never leave mine.

Fucks sake. This is it, the start of my unchaining, I can rise with my fire too. I sink deeper into the chair, tears clouding my vision as I look dead on at him.

"I've fucked up man."

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