Savior

The Boy and the Epilogue

*EARLY UPDATE SO MAKE SURE YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER "THE GIRL AND THE BONFIRE*

"So, are you happy, Scarlett?"

Dr. Nguyen's smile is genuine but tentative, her almond eyes trained on my expression -watching for any ticks or tells. I keep my face stoic, but her question does give me pause.

Today was our last session. At least, last official session.

After nine months of sitting in this squeaky leather chair, surrounded by tissue boxes and diagnostic manuals, it has finally come to an end.

I went through three different therapists with all different specialties until I found Nancy Nguyen, a psychiatrist who specializes in PTSD and who interned with women of domestic abuse.

A petite woman with kind eyes and a kinder heart she has sat across from me -first, twice a week, then once a week, until we only met once every two weeks.

She helped me form coping mechanisms for my multitudes of panic attacks, put me on a light dose of anti-anxiety medication (after trying about half a dozen different kinds), and even helped me push along the documentation to change my name.

Or, change my name back.

It was a decision I had a long and hard time coming to. One that I discussed thoroughly with my friends, but was ultimately my decision. I loved "Layla." I love the strength it gave me, the power it gave me to leave Louis and move on.

Layla was valiant and brave, Layla was a fighter.

But, she was just temporary. She was just a façade, something I needed at the time to escape my abuser. To create a new persona in order to disappear from his orbit.

One I needed to start my new life. But, I've started my new life now. And she isn't needed anymore.

"Scarlett" was the name my mother chose for me and I let Louis take that away from me.

I let him strip me of one of the only things I had left from my mother. When the dust settled and I was stable enough to make that choice, it only felt right to take that part of myself back.

Though, the name change was harder on Harry than it was for me. He's just settled on calling me "Red" most of the time. I don't mind it -he can call me whatever he wants, as long as he's calling me at all.

Scarlett Layla McLaren.

That's me. The new me. The better me.

I was far from healed; my heart still bruised, my bones still brittle, my mind still weak. But, cutting myself open every session and bleeding out all my hurt and regret has helped heal my wounds.

Now, the river of blood has run dry, there is nothing more for me to purge.

Am I happy?

I spend my weekdays at university, taking classes for a degree in social work. Something I always wanted to do and now felt like fate after everything I had been through.

I spend my weekends working at the café and spending time with the people I love. I am no longer afraid of my photo being taken, of laughing too loudly, of leaving my mark on people.

I spend most nights in a restful sleep, the nightmares now only occurring on particularly hard days. They don't happen often, but when they do I am debilitated for days.

Life had gone back to normal, normal for me at least. A normalness I had never quite had the pleasure of finding. Now, I find comfort in the banality of day-to-day life.