I walked through the door to the therapist my mother walked me to. As soon as I sat down in the office I realized I wasn't doing great. I just didn't think it was bad enough to warrant this. My father was mad because I refused to tell him who kidnapped me. I couldn't bring myself to do so because had I been in his shoes, I probably would have done the same thing. He wanted to bail his Uncle out of jail. My kidnapper wanted to prove his Uncles innocence.

"So Miss. Carter, you're mother and I spoke briefly on the phone. However she's not my patient. Can you tell me why you are here?" I look at her desk trying to get a name and don't spot a tag. Great, one more thing I need to feel horrible about. Even though I'm stressing out due to not knowing my therapists name all I can think about is Ryan. How he was so desperate and angry about his uncle being unjustly accused. I was wondering if this was really the right thing to do because if I say his name he could be turned in for kidnapping.

"Miss. Carter, is everything okay?" My therapist asks bringing me back to reality. A reality that I have been finding it hard to stay connected. A reality where I don't want to admit that I want Ryan to be a part of my reality. He was a part of my reality past tense but I was not wanting to admit I wanted him as my reality present tense.

"I'm sorry. My mom is forcing me to come because she thinks that I am insane for protecting the man who kidnapped me. I am twenty-three. I should be allowed to keep some things secret right?"

"How does that make you feel?" My therapist asks. "The whole thing from being kidnapped to your mother."

"How am I supposed to feel about it? Should I feel elated for still being alive or should I feel embarrassed because I'm in here talking to you about what happened to me?" I ask as I look around her office. I was straining to find anything with her name on it. I found a certificate hanging on the opposite wall but it was too far for me to see any of the writing.

"There is no need to be upset or embarrassed. I have many patients who have sillier things or problems,if you will, than what you deal or are dealing with. I want you to start where ever you feel comfortable."

"I'm not entirely sure where I should start. This whole situation has me nervous." I say honestly and feeling pretty useless at the moment. "Can you please tell me your name? My mother walked me in here but didn't tell me anything about you. I do have to say though this building is architecturally gorgeous." I say slightly breathless due to my thoughts and because I feel like I'm suffocating. My thoughts are like a whirlwind. They haven't settled since Ryan let me go. I'm exhausted all the time. The room wasn't small per say but it wasn't the biggest either which was pushing towards my feeling of suffocation. I could feel the energy radiating off of me. A nervous, insane feeling of helplessness and like im chained up again.

"I'll let my husband know. He designed and built this building. You can call me Pat but for professional reasons my name is Patricia Reynolds." I watched her as she crossed her legs in her pencil skirt and looked at me with genuine interest. I was really wondering how she was able to sit with her legs crossed in a pencil skirt. My brain latched onto her name and forced me to not forget.

"Okay." I nod. I breathe in trying to decide where to start and can't figure it out. My mind was clouded with thoughts of Ryan. That's all I've been able to think about since he let me go. He became so sweet after possibly beating me within an inch of my life. My parents told me I was missing for seven or eight months. My mother being dramatic made it seem like she hadn't seen me in ten years. My mother has always been dramatic. I had to remind myself of that fact. He originally had me in the cellar with the wine before he moved me into the bedroom across from his upstairs. I think it only happened when one of his buddies happened on me and tried to make some moves. That was the first time he scared me and showed me what he was capable of but even though I was scared his anger would then be taken out on me. I also knew that he wouldn't let anyone but him hurt me. It was as if it was a false sense of security. A false sense of security that I became very well adjusted to. One that I grew to love. A sense of security that at first was false turned out to be true. I was safe with him against others at least. I didn't realize he was waging a war within himself.

"It's okay if you don't want to dive in right now. You can just talk to me about your family." Pat says breaking my thoughts and struggles, once again, away from Ryan. His hair is such a dark brown and curly it looks black with deep brown eyes and a stoic, calm face to go with it. He seemed to have trouble expressing his emotions. Well he seemed to have trouble with emotions in general but when he didn't beat me it was nice. It was always nice when he treated me like a human being and not a money pool.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying to figure out where to start." I say half lying. I really was but I kept getting distracted by thoughts of him. Where he was , how he was doing and if he thought about me. Mainly why he didn't just try to keep me when he told me he had feelings for me and needed to let me go. I guess he just wanted me to come to terms with it or maybe he didn't want me to be brainwashed into being with him. I wasn't sure but I felt empty and that was one emotion I didn't know how to handle.

"How about we start with your Mom?" Pat says. "Maybe your Dad too. How do you feel about them and what they do or how they act?"

"Oh god. My Mom is a paranoid freak who won't let me have control of my life. Once she started staying home it just got worse. My room wasn't even decorated the way I wanted it to be decorated. It had to be her style, taste, and colors. My dad I've always been proud of him for being a judge. He mainly worked with big drug ring busts, sex trafficers, you know more high profile cases. The last guy he put behind bars was actually part of the mafia. I was proud but it didn't feel right. It felt like the police were blaming a murder on Mr. Carson rather than trying to find the real culprit all because he was part of the mafia." I forced myself to say Mr. Carson instead of Uncle Chris.

"Mr. Carson? It sounds like you respect him." Pat scrunches her eyebrows together. It was as if she wasn't sure what to think of me. She wasn't even writing anything down. What was I coming here for? Thinking to myself that if I had called him Uncle Chris then I would have had to explain that they are like family to me. I rolled my eyes knowing it wasn't a smart move. I wasn't trying to end up in the loony bin.

"Well, not necessarily respect- nevermind it's complicated. I don't even understand it myself." I said and ending my sentence by pointing to myself. In truth, I didn't understand it myself. It could have been due to Uncle Chris not hating me for my fathers decision. A decision that deep down I hope haunts my father forever.

"Did you get to know this man during your captivity?"

"A little. I was let go by my kidnapper not long after his Uncle came home."

"So you're kidnapper let you go? But-"

"Well, he said he started to have feelings for me. I guess for the last four months he was better. I'm guessing on the timeline not the way he acted."

"He liked you?"

"Yeah. He said he trusted me to do what I felt was right whether it was turning him in or leaving him be. He seemed to feel bad for everything he did at the beginning and I was over it by that time. I was resigned to dying and I'm grateful he didn't kill me."

"How about we start with your kidnappers Uncle and when he was caught."

"Okay. Yeah that sounds good. I'll do that."