“Because it reminds you of him?” he queries, moving into my domain.

Wondering, as always, what his angle is, I ask, “Why would you say that?”

“He was a history teacher. They usually like books.”

“He liked art too,” I make sure to mention.

“Did he?”

“Yes, and photography,” I reminisce.

Doc walks around to stand behind me and places a hand on the back of my chair. “Anne Boleyn?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t she lose her head over a guy?”

I lift my face so I can find Doc’s eyes, and I can’t stop the burst of laughter. “Is that your version of a joke?”

“It was kind of funny, right?”

“No,” I tease. “He beheaded her.”

“Yes, he did. But to be fair to him, he was upset.”

“So? Divorce her, don’t behead her,” I suggest.

“Maybe that was the only way out he could see.”

“Then he was blind. I’m sure there were other ways than death.”

“Perhaps he was desperate…”

As those words left his mouth and hung in the air, my old anxiety started to creep up.

“You’re annoying me. I’m trying to write my paper.”

“Why did you pick Anne?”

I don’t bother looking over my shoulder as I state matter-of-factly, “Because I think she’s interesting.”

“What about her appeals to you?”

Jesus, he’s relentless today, not giving me an inch. He’s making me talk, making me think and remember things I’d made myself forget.

“Her strength. Her ambition.”

“That’s appealing to you?”

“Yes,” I tell him, exasperated.

Doc makes his way around to the other side of the table, but instead of sitting, he just stands there, appearing deep in thought. “You don’t think that too much ambition is dangerous?”

“It can be, if used for evil.”

“And did she use it for evil?”

“I don’t believe so, not intentionally. She wanted to be the queen. I’m sure many others also desired that honor. She just happened to go after it and succeed.”

“Hmm,” Doc muses, and the sound grates on my nerves. “It’s said, you know, that King Henry the Eighth moved heaven and earth to be with her, but his obsession, his lust, blinded him to the main reason he wanted her in the first place.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Her intelligence. Her mind is what ensnared him and in the end, was also her undoing. You didn’t pick her because of her ambition, Addison. You picked her because he was teaching you about her in school. Your mother told me. Somehow in your mind, she brings you closer to him.”

Did I? Is my mind trying to tell me something subconsciously?

Instead of accepting that insane logic, I sputter out, “No…I just never got to finish it before.”

Doc grins and it seems somewhat mischievous. “Then you better keep going. I’ll see you at three.”

* * *

Past…

“Addison! Come on!”

It was Monday afternoon, and I felt as if I’d been trapped in my house for a year. Mom watched me like a hawk every time I left my room, so I only came out for meals. Except for this time. Right now, I was coming out because it was time to—

“Hurry up, or we’ll be late to Dr. Wolinski’s!”

—visit my therapist.

The drive over to Doc’s led us through the snooty neighborhoods in town. Each street was lined with big trees and even bigger houses. This was the first outing I’d had since I’d been out of school for three full days and wouldn’t be returning until Thursday.

That’s if I survived until then.

Mom pulled the car to a stop by the curb and turned to me. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

No shit, I thought as I pushed open the car door.

“Addison?”

Without answering, I waited for her to continue.

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret later.”

Knowing exactly what she was referring to, I licked my lip that was slowly healing but still obvious to anyone looking at me.

“So now it’s okay to lie?” I asked. “Make up your fucking mind.”

Before she had a chance to reprimand me, I climbed out and slammed the door shut. I walked up the pebbled path to the side of Doc’s house where he had a private office and turned to watch her drive away. For a moment, I wished she’d never come back.

I tried to shake off the thought and knocked on Doc’s door. When he opened it, I couldn’t help but laugh. His crazy hair was all over the place, and I had to admit that other than Grayson, this man was the only other positive force in my life. He was the one person I truly trusted and relied on.

“Addy, it’s so good to see you.”

Still laughing, I stepped through the door and made my way over to the comfy couch by the window. “Really?”

“Always. You know that.”

I sat down and looked around his cozy office.

Doc had certificates hanging all over the walls, and photos of his wife and three daughters adorned his huge desk. As always, he made his way over to the chair across from me and sat down.

“Isn’t that kind of an insult? If I’m here to see you, it means I’m crazy. Doesn’t it?”

“Do you feel crazy?”

“Not lately.”

Doc’s eyes creased at the sides and the lines around them made me think he laughed a lot. This man was happy—truly happy.

“What do you feel lately?”

“Are you happy?” I asked out of the blue, curious to know if I was right.

Doc thought about it for a moment and then grinned. “Yes. I can honestly say that I am happy. Are you?”

My answer was easy. “No.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I was happy. I’m not sure that anyone cared enough to ask—except Doc, and he was being paid.

“Then how do you feel?”

I contemplated my answer before I spoke. How do you tell the man your parents have employed to fix you that what makes you happy and content is something that’s crumbling apart in front of you?

“Trapped,” I finally replied.

“Hmm.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “I hate that response.”

“Why? It’s neither positive nor negative.”

“It’s indifferent. I hate that.”

“Well, what would you like me to say? You said you felt trapped. You already know my next question.”

I began to twirl my hair around my finger, a habit I’d started while sitting here under Doc’s close scrutiny.

“You’re going to ask me why.”

“Exactly.”

Seeing no other way out, I sighed. “I got suspended for five days.”

Doc brought his pen to his mouth and chewed on the cap. A habit of his, I’d discovered.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Your mother called and told me. She also mentioned you were late getting home that day.”

“What else did she say?”

“She said you lied about where you’d been.”

I let go of my hair and clasped my hands in my lap.

“Well, she’s not wrong.”

“So…” Doc paused, and I knew what was next. “Do you want to tell me where you went?”

I really wanted to, but I couldn’t. So I didn’t say a thing.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a no.”

Doc knows what my silence means. I’d been coming to him long enough that he knew now was not the time to push.

“Will you talk to me about how you got that split lip?”

My eyes connected with his, and I could hear my mom’s voice in my mind, threatening me.

“Again, I’ll take your silence as a no. Some other time, perhaps?”

Feeling agitated, I stood and walked over to the photos on his desk, picking up a silver frame of his wife and daughters.

They were sitting along the trunk of a fallen tree with their arms interlocked at the elbows. Each of them was laughing, and their eyes were lit up with pure happiness. I envied the ease they shared with one another and the love that was directed at the person taking the photo.

Her husband, their father—their rock.

I’d had that once, during the blind acceptance of youth, until one shattering moment ripped it all away to reveal it was nothing but veiled innocence. It was a lie created to make me feel safe because my rock wasn’t something I could hang onto—but something that inflicted pain.

Grayson also had photos, ones he’d taken himself. However, they were of places, not people, and now that his father was gone, I had a feeling he was as lonely as I was.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Doc seemed to process that before recommending, “Let’s start with the basics.”

“Okay.”

“You said you’re feeling trapped. Can you tell me what being trapped feels like or means to you? That’s not hard, right?”

“I guess.”

But the more I thought about it, I realized I wasn’t the one who was trapped. He was.

I trapped him. Didn’t I?

“Addy, what are you thinking? Tell me.”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Addison,” Doc stressed. “You can evade the question, you can choose not to answer, but don’t lie. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

I leaned back against the desk and whispered, “Someone I know is in trouble, and I feel like I can’t do anything to help. So I feel trapped.”

“Trouble how? At school? With their parents?”

I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of this conversation. It wasn’t as if I could tell him who or what I was talking about, but maybe…no.

“In life.”

I stopped and pleaded with my eyes not to push any further.

“Okay. They’re in trouble with life.”

“Yes. This person is going through some issues and I want to help, but no matter what I do, it isn’t going to be right. I can’t talk to anyone. All I want to do is reach out and make them feel like they make me feel…”