Adam has no idea how terrifying sorting out court documents and dealings would be. He spent most of the hearings just staring out into space, and every court order handed to Archie made him let out a deep sigh and clench his chest. So far, he could rest easy knowing that he now had a restraining order on the man. The rest of his sentencing would come slowly over the months as was explained to Adam by the company's attorney.

Over the next month and a half, Adam looked into taking his mental health seriously. He had booked an appointment with a psychiatrist who had confirmed Assad's guess about his anxiety being triggered by something else—C-PTSD. He had been given medication but had been recommended to see a therapist who could help him unpack some things. He also had to see a dietician, since eating well for a handful of months wasn't enough to reverse years' worth of damage without supervision. The woman had given him a diet plan, and some supplements to help.

Now all that was left was for Adam to start regularly seeing his therapist, which he was going to do today. He stood by the entrance of the small practice, letting the sound of his heart beating flood his ears as he tried to muster up the courage to go in. Assad wasn't here with him since the man had a project to finish, so he had come here all by himself with a cab.

When the late afternoon sun became too harsh to handle, Adam finally made his way past the front door and into the small waiting area. There was no one around aside from him and the woman behind the reception desk.

"Can I help you?" she asked Adam, turning to face him with a small smile as her fake lashes moved with her eyes. "Are you here for an appointment with Dr. Ross?"

Adam stayed quiet for a bit before nodding his head. "Yes," he said, approaching the desk. "Yes, I am."

The lady checked him in and led him to a uniformly white room with black modern furniture.

"He'll be with you in a few minutes," she said, making Adam nod his head as he watched her close the door behind herself.

Adam sat in the room by himself for the next quarter of an hour. He stared at the posture reinforcement stickers on the board on the wall, before casting his eyes at the goldfish swimming in the clear bowl on the center table. He was watching the fish when the door to the room creaked open.

"Hello, sorry for being late," A deep male voice said, making Adam shoot his head up to find a man who looked to be in his fifties approach the seat across from him. The man settled down, taking out a notepad, running a hand through his greying brown hair before adjusting his glasses.

"Adam?" the man asked, peering over at the artist.

"Yes..." Adam muttered as he folded his hands on his lap.

The doctor nodded. "I'm Dr. Ross, it's nice to see you today."

Adam didn't say anything in reply.

"In the file that you sent in, I can see that you have C-PTSD, and from your own words you think it's from a relationship gone bad?" Mr. Ross asked, making Adam nod his head.

"Yeah." The artist nibbled on his lower lip. "I think it was the stretch of the relationship. It gave me a lot of anxiety," Adam muttered, not too sure where he was going with this. Dr. Ross nodded his head, scribbling into his notepad.

"If it's not too much to ask, can you talk about the relationship a bit, and how it made you feel, and what you think went wrong," the man continued, and Adam wanted to melt into his chair. He tasted bile in his mouth and his eyes watered. "It's okay if it's a difficult topic for you..." the doctor said after a while when he looked up at Adam.

"It's okay," Adam said, lacing his fingers together. "I can talk about some of it."

The doctor smiled at Adam, resting his back on his chair. "Go on then, take your time."

Adam recounted how the two had met in a class, and how he and Archie had started texting. The relationship was fine at first, but Adam admitted that there were some red flags that he had ignored. Archie isolated him, discouraging him from attending any social event, and insisting that they were a waste of time. He also talked about how the man would constantly gaslight him to make him feel like he was crazy. He also mentioned how the man had exaggerated his own faults to him to make him more insecure. 'You're a shut-in', 'you can barely talk', 'you need me to display your art for you instead' slowly but surely reinforced themselves.

At a point, Adam stopped talking to let out a wheeze as a string of memories that seemed alien but familiar flashed through his mind. It was then that Dr. Ross explained the concept of memory repression/selective forgetfulness before encouraging Adam to keep a journal.

"It's a small assignment, but I think it'll help to know the events that have compounded to cause your case of C-PTSD," the man said, scribbling into a tab. "Even though your mind is working on overdrive to forget mentally depressing things, you can keep them fresh by writing them down," he continued. "There's a lot of assurance and affirmation that comes from knowing why things happen to you."

Adam had blankly stared at the man, blinking when the man looked up from his notepad to make eye contact with him. "In the next session, if you feel comfortable enough you can share some of your memories with me, and we can talk them through," the doctor said, and Adam nodded his head.

"Well then, you can get going," Dr. Ross said, gesturing towards the door. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

"T-thank you," Adam stuttered, getting up from his chair before walking out of the room. He chatted about the details of his next visit with the receptionist a bit, before texting Assad and walking outside when the man told him that he would be in the area in a few minutes.

Adam wasn't sure what he had expected going into the therapist's room, but what he did know was that he stepped out with a greater sense of direction. Through the years anxiety attacks just happened to him. He didn't know why, even though he had his guesses, and that had just compounded his anxiety because of all the gaslighting he had been put true.

"There's a lot of assurance and affirmation that comes from knowing why things happen to you."

Adam smiles remembering his doctor's words. He still had anxiety but knowing where it stemmed from made things easier to handle, that much was true.

With a sigh, the artist rested his back against the wall as Bd waited for Assad at the entrance of his new therapist's practice. He had his hands folded across his chest and his eyes watching the semi-busy road. Assad had told him that he was nearby. The man kept squinting into the road until he noticed the red SUV, he had become familiar with driving up to the pavement. He grinned, walking over to it as he waved and adjusted the strap of his bag.

Assad rolled down the window and grinned at Adam who mirrored the man's smile.

"How was it?" Assad asked as Adam made his way to the other side.

"It was fine," Adam said, climbing into the front passenger seat before shutting the door behind him. He hummed along to the music that was playing through the radio and fumbled with the heater as Assad drove back into the main road.

Taking over Archie's job also meant taking over the benefits of the job, like a company-issued car and work phone. Adam had never learned how to drive since he didn't need to and had spent most of his early twenties having a mental breakdown, so the car went to Assad by default. It made moving around easier, and the long nights of waiting for Assad to get back from campus using public transport were no more.

"So, how was your therapist?" Assad asked, turning to look at the man with a small smile.

"He was good," Adam said, biting the nail of his thumb. "He told me that blocking things out, complicates things, and makes it harder to find what triggers my anxiety and breakdowns."

Assad nodded. "That makes sense."

"So, he told me it's worth keeping a journal to write things down, so I don't forget them. We talked about trauma-induced memory loss, and a lot of things make sense now—" Adam paused talking as his gaze fell to his lap. All those gaps in his memories with Archie. All of them were just editing out the worst of his verbal and mentally taxing abuse. It was great to realize that he wasn't crazy, but it also felt odd that he hadn't been able to handle that.

"What are you thinking about?" Assad asked, making Adam blink.

"Oh..." the older man trailed. "I was just a little surprised that I couldn't handle verbal abuse..." Adam trailed. "Like, it's not exactly that bad. It's not like Archie ever hit me or anything—"

"Adam," Assad called out in a firm voice, making the man turn and look at him. "Abuse is abuse."

Adam sucked in his lower lip, nodding his head. "Yeah." He knew that Assad was right. He knew that his therapist was right. He just couldn't help feeling weak, but that was okay, he would grow past that sooner or later—he was sure of it.

The conversation had made the car fall into silence. Assad drummed a neat of the steering wheel when he had to stop at a red light. Adam looked over at the younger man, smiling at him.

"Hey," Assad said, smiling back before looking up ahead at the road. "I forgot to ask. My mum and aunt invited me to an eid al fitr dinner, and I wondered if you'd like to come."

Adam blinked. He had not been expecting that. "Sure," he said, nodding his head. "I'd like that," he added. He had no clue what an eid dinner would entail, but he knew that he wanted to meet Assad's family.

"Don't worry, it's not religiously heavy or anything. It's like going for a Christmas dinner. You've been to a Christmas dinner, right?" Assad said, making Adam nod his head. "Also, you're going to love the food, I just know it."

Adam snorted, laughing out loud for the first time the whole day. He had been a nervous wreck for the most part, and it was nice to have a laugh.

"Hey, I know you like food," Assad said, defending his statement.

Adam grinned. "I know," he said, reaching out to hold Assad's free hand. "I know," he repeated, giving it a squeeze as the traffic light switched to green, and Assad continued to drive them back home.