Jay's POV
I knocked on Ciel's condo door.
A few seconds later, it opened.
I stepped inside.
Ciel was there.
Chantelle was there.
And the doctor.
He looked at me immediately.
"You're late."
I exhaled slightly. "Yeah, I know. My phone died. I couldn't tell you I was coming."
He nodded once. "Alright."
The room felt normal. Too normal.
Ciel gave me a small look like you okay?
I nodded back.
Then the doctor spoke again.
"For today's session, I would like to be alone with Jay."
I stiffened slightly.
I looked at Chantelle.
She looked at Ciel.
Then she shrugged lightly. "Okay. Sure. You can do it."
"No problem," Ciel added, though her eyes lingered on me for a second longer.
The doctor gestured toward the hallway.
"Let's use your room," he told Ciel.
Ciel nodded. "It's open."
I followed him down the hallway.
Every step felt heavier.
We entered Ciel's room.
He closed the door behind us.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
The air changed.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small hand clock.
The ticking was soft.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"Jay," he said calmly. "Follow the movement of the clock."
I swallowed. "Okay."
He began moving it slowly.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Back and forth.
My eyes followed it automatically.
The ticking blended with the motion.
Left.
Right.
My breathing slowed without me noticing.
His voice became steady. Even.
"Jay… if I snap my fingers…"
The clock kept moving.
"You will go back to the day everything started."
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
"To the day your blood trauma began."
My fingers twitched slightly.
"The cause. The memory. Everything."
The clock stopped moving.
The room felt silent.
Too silent.
"With the snap of my fingers…"
My heart thudded once.
"One."
I blinked slowly.
"Two."
My vision felt distant.
"Three."
He snapped his fingers.
*********Doctor's POV***********
I have treated trauma before.
Car crashes. Assault victims. War survivors.
But there is something uniquely fragile about a teenage girl trying to remember the worst day of her life.
The snap echoed softly in Ciel's room.
Jay's breathing shifted instantly.
Her shoulders loosened. Her eyes stayed open, but they were no longer seeing the room. They were seeing something else. Somewhere else.
I lowered my voice.
"Jay… tell me where you are."
Her lips trembled.
"I'm… home."
Her fingers curled into the blanket beneath her.
"How old?"
"…Seven. Maybe six."
Her voice had changed. Softer. Fragile.
"What do you see?"
Her lips parted slowly.
"The living room. It smells like smoke."
I wrote quickly.
Smoke. Environmental trigger.
"What else?"
"The curtains are closed. Even though it's daytime."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"There's someone there."
"Who?"
She swallowed.
"My mom's husband."
I kept my tone steady. "What is happening?"
She shook her head faintly.
"He's angry. He's always angry."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
I reached forward gently and wiped it away.
"You are safe here," I reminded her. "You are only remembering."
She nodded faintly.
"He says I'm annoying. That I cry too much."
Her breathing grew uneven.
"What happens next, Jay?"
She hesitated.
Then—
"He presses something on my arm."
Her body flinched slightly.
"It's hot."
Her fingers curled toward her sleeves as if shielding herself.
"It burns. I try not to scream."
I moved closer and handed her tissue. Then another. When she couldn't wipe her tears properly because her hands were trembling, I did it for her.
"I'm here," I said quietly.
She sobbed harder.
I wrote it down carefully.
Cigarette burns. Physical abuse. Pain association.
She remembered someone calling her name.
"Jayjay."
A man's voice.
Not Aries.
She said she turned around because she thought maybe it was someone Angelo knew.
The man asked her something.
"Do you know Aries?"
Her voice trembled when she repeated that part.
She told him yes.
Then she heard Aries' voice from inside the house.
"Jayjay!"
That was the moment everything shifted.
She said she saw Aries coming toward her.
And then—
She paused.
Her breathing changed.
Her fingers started trembling.
I snapped my fingers gently near her eye level.
Not aggressively. Not loud.
Just enough to anchor her.
Her eyes blinked rapidly. She wasn't fully gone, but she was drifting into the memory too deeply.
"Stay with me," I told her calmly.
She nodded.
Then she continued.
She nodded faintly.
"I tried to leave. He grabbed me."
Her breathing quickened.
"Jay," I said firmly but calmly. "Slow breath. You are here with me."
She inhaled shakily.
"Then… I saw blood."
Her breathing became uneven again.
I snapped my fingers once more.
"Look at me."
Her eyes focused on me slowly.
She wasn't crying.
But her body was reacting as if she were reliving it.
Her shoulders were tight.
Her pulse visible in her neck.
"Take me to the next memory."
Her face tightened.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Where?"
"On the floor."
Her whole body stiffened.
"Whose blood?"
"I don't know."
Her breathing became erratic.
"I thought it was mine."
Her breathing hitched.
"I couldn't see properly."
Pause.
"I just wanted it to stop."
Tears streamed freely now.
"I stabbed."
Silence.
"I didn't realize…"
Her voice shattered.
"It wasn't his father."
Her breathing turned uneven.
"It was Aries."
The room felt suffocating.
"What happens next, Jay?"
She hesitated.
Then—
"He stepped in front of me."
Her hands slowly unclenched.
"The knife went into his side."
Her voice was barely audible.
"He looked at me."
Pause.
"He didn't look angry."
Another tear fell.
"He looked… relieved."
The doctor swallowed. "What happened next?"
"I blacked out."
Silence.
Her hands began trembling harder.
"That's when it happened," she said.
"What happened?"
"My body… shut down."
Her voice shook.
"My head felt loud. Everything blurred."
Blackout response.
I wrote it down.
"When I see blood… I feel like I'm there again."
Her tears fell freely now.
"It's not the blood."
"It's the feeling."
"Helpless."
"Trapped."
"Burning."
Her words spilled out faster now.
"I can't breathe."
"I can't move."
"I feel small again."
I moved my chair closer.
"You are not small anymore," I said gently. "You are not trapped."
She cried harder.
"I hate it," she whispered. "I hate that it controls me."
I took a slow breath.
This was the core.
Blood had become the symbol of danger.
Not because of the substance itself.
But because of what it represented.
Pain. Loss of control. Fear.
Now we began the healing.
"Jay," I said calmly, "look at the memory."
She trembled.
"See it as a screen in front of you."
Her breathing slowed slightly.
"It cannot touch you."
A pause.
"I see it," she whispered.
"Shrink it."
Her fingers loosened slightly.
"Smaller."
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.
"Now place it inside a box."
She swallowed.
"It's in a box."
"Close it."
She nodded faintly.
"It's closed."
"It is in the past," I told her firmly. "It cannot reach you."
Her breathing steadied.
"Blood is not danger," I continued. "Blood is not him. Blood is not that house."
Her face softened slightly.
"Blood is life. Blood is healing. Blood is survival."
Silence.
"You survived," I said gently. "Your body protected you."
Her shaking reduced.
"When you see blood now, your body remains calm."
Her lips moved slowly. "Calm."
"You are in control."
"I'm in control."
"The past is contained."
"It's contained."
Her pulse steadied.
The fight-or-flight response was quieting.
I continued reinforcing.
"You are no longer that child."
She exhaled slowly.
"You are safe."
Another breath.
"You are strong."
Her face relaxed.
"You are free."
Silence filled the room.
I tested carefully.
"Imagine a small cut on your finger."
She paused.
Then:
Tears began sliding down her cheeks.
I reached for a tissue and gently wiped them away, keeping my voice steady.
"You're safe here. You're only remembering. It cannot hurt you."
Her body trembled.
"He said it was my fault…"
Her hands moved slightly toward her arms, as if shielding herself from something invisible.
I felt my jaw tighten, but I kept my tone calm.
"What happened next, Jay?"
"…It burned."
Her breathing became uneven.
"He… he pressed it…again..."
She couldn't finish the sentence.
I didn't need her to.
I wrote carefully.
Cigarette burns. Repeated trauma. Association formed.
She began shaking harder.
"And your mother?" I asked softly.
"She didn't see. Or… she didn't want to."
Tears kept coming. Silent. Continuous.
I wiped them again, slowly.
"You are not that child anymore," I told her gently. "You survived. You are here."
Her breathing steadied slightly.
Then her expression changed.
Fear deepened.
"Now where are you?" I asked.
She swallowed.
"Dark… it's dark."
Her fingers gripped the blanket.
"He took me…"
Kidnapping.
Her pulse visibly increased.
I moved my chair closer.
"Jay. Listen to my voice. You are remembering, not reliving."
She nodded faintly.
"There was blood…" she whispered.
Her entire body stiffened.
"That's when it started."
The connection clicked into place.
The abuse. The helplessness. The kidnapping. The fear.
Blood became the symbol.
Not just a liquid.
A trigger.
A door to everything she never processed.
Her subconscious had linked blood with danger, violation, loss of control.
That link needed to be broken.
I shifted the session carefully.
"Jay," I said gently, "you are no longer seven. You are not in the dark. You are safe."
Her breathing began slowing.
"Look at the memory," I instructed softly. "See it as a screen in front of you. It cannot touch you."
She frowned slightly, concentrating.
"Good," I continued. "Now shrink it."
Her fingers relaxed a little.
"Smaller," I said.
Her breathing steadied.
"Now imagine placing it inside a box."
Tears still rolled down, but her shaking reduced.
"The box is closed."
She nodded faintly.
"It is in the past," I said firmly but calmly. "It is not happening now."
I watched her chest rise and fall.
Slowly.
Evenly.
Now came the rewiring.
"Blood is not danger," I told her softly. "Blood is life. Blood is healing. Blood is survival."
Her lips parted slightly.
"You survived," I continued. "Your body survived. Blood kept you alive."
Her brow relaxed.
"When you see blood now, you feel calm. You remain in control. Your body listens to you."
Her breathing deepened.
"The fear response is quiet. Your heart stays steady. Your hands remain steady."
Her fingers no longer trembled.
"The memory is contained. It is past. It has no power over you."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
I watched carefully for signs of distress.
There were none.
Only calm.
I continued reinforcing.
"You are safe. You are strong. You are in control."
Her shoulders dropped fully.
The tension left her jaw.
The association was weakening.
The fight-or-flight response was being retrained.
Her subconscious was learning that blood no longer meant threat.
I tested gently.
"Jay… imagine a small cut on your finger."
Her face remained peaceful.
"No fear," she murmured.
"Good."
"You remain calm."
"I remain calm."
Her voice was steady.
No shaking.
No panic.
No hostility.
"It's fine."
No tremor.
No panic.
No hostility.
"Your heart stays steady."
"It stays steady."
"Your body listens to you."
"It listens."
The link was breaking.
The subconscious association was weakening.
Years of terror tied to one visual trigger…
Untangling.
Slowly.
Carefully.
"Jay," I said softly, "when I count to three, you will return calm, clear, and free from the fear."
"One."
Her fingers twitched gently.
"Two."
Her eyelids fluttered.
"Three."
Her eyes opened slowly.
She looked around the room.
At me.
Then down at her hands.
She flexed her fingers.
No shaking.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
She blinked.
That her brain was not broken.
It was protecting her.
The fight or flight response had been wired to blood. To danger. To survival.
The sound was soft.
But final.
"From this moment forward," I said clearly, "blood does not control you. You are safe. You are steady. You remain conscious. You remain calm."
Her face softened completely.
The tightness drained away.
She shook her head slowly.
"Okay "
Her body sank slightly into the bed.
Emotional exhaustion took over.
Within moments, her breathing deepened.
She fell asleep.