“Hold the elevator!”

The mechanical doors come dangerously close to my outstretched hand but spring apart as a man in black shoulders between them. The scent of leather wafts off his knee-length coat. I glance over, but his raised hood conceals most of his face, save for the swath of onyx hair poking out from beneath.

My insides twist as we take the ride in silence. Having lost control in my session weighs on my shoulders. I don’t enjoy showing the pain that lives inside me. When you’ve been subtly taught that your opinion doesn’t matter, it makes it difficult to give even when it’s asked for. Besides, my feelings aren’t really that important. There are so many people in this world who have had it worse than me. Who am I to complain?

The whispered sound of my name floating from beside me pulls me from my reverie. I turn to look, but the guy in black just stares ahead.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

It takes a beat for him to respond. “Excuse me?”

“You said my name.”