Archetype Read Online Free

taking deep breaths and concentrating on the web-thin cracks in the white paint overhead. I like to imagine they form an elaborate message I have yet to discern.
    A speaker clicks on and his voice sounds above my head. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, Emma, all right?”
    “Yes,” I say so quietly I am sure he cannot hear me, so I clear my throat and repeat myself. “Yes.”
    “You may find some discomfort, but I need you to try very hard to be brave,” he says in a soothing tone. “Can you do that?”
    “Yes.”
    But I am not brave. I am frightened. What does he mean to do? Can he force me back into the nightmare? Would he? I cannot go back there. Noah will kill me. I know he will.
    It is not real,
I tell myself, and I do not realize I have spoken aloud until Dr. Travista says, “Did you say something?”
    “I will be brave,” I tell him.
    Silence fills the room before the speaker clicks once and he says, “Let’s start with your favorite memory. Do you have one?”
    This will be easier than I thought. “Yes.”
    “I want you to focus on remembering it for a moment. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
    I do as he asks and recall the first kiss with Declan, which happened several days ago but is still fresh in my mind. I want to feel his arms around me like that always. Feel his lips on mine and so much more. I want to go home if for no other reason than to do more.
    Dr. Travista chuckles. “You must be thinking of your husband.”
    My cheeks warm. “Yes,” I whisper.
    He chuckles again. “I won’t ask you to elaborate. I only need it for a baseline reading. Let’s compare it to something else, though. I understand you like walking through my gardens.”
    “Oh yes,” I say. “Very much.”
    “All right, let’s picture a nice stroll, shall we? Let’s see how this looks.”
    I imagine the garden, my fingertips brushing over indigo buds. I recall the cloying scent as I walk into the area for the first time and how the sweet smell overwhelms me.
    Too late, I realize my fingers are making small circling motions over my thighs and pull them into tight fists at my sides.
    “Very nice,” he says. “Let’s do one more. How about something you dislike.”
    This is easy. I imagine his teal shirt. His pockmarked skin. My daily breakfast of dry toast and tasteless fruit. No way to see the stars after months of isolation.
    “Well, it seems you have a few things to complain about.” He says this in good humor, so I have clearly not insulted him.
    “Let’s begin,” he says after some time. “Tell me something about your nightmare.”
    I swallow nervously, wondering if these wires attached will catch my lie. “There is nothing to tell,” I say and am happy there is no obvious tell to my tone. I sound perfectly at ease.
    “Come now, Emma. We both know that’s not true. You must remember something. No matter how small. How about the setting? Where are you? Outside? Inside?”
    Surely there is no harm in telling him this much. I open my mouth to answer but it is difficult to find my voice. It is a simple answer and I should have no trouble with it.
    “Picture it in your mind,” he says. “Remember, you’re safe, Emma.”
    But I cannot picture it. There is a wall around my nightmare I cannot penetrate. And my voice feels locked behind a lump in my throat. After some struggle, I strain to say, “Inside.”
    “Inside? Okay, excellent, Emma. What else? What do you see inside?”
    Don’t you tell him,
that voice sounding very much like mine tells me.
Lie. Lie your goddamn ass off.
    I startle and suck in a deep breath. “I—I do not know.”
    “Emma, I asked you not to move.”
    “I have not moved, just as you asked.” My voice pitches surprisingly high, and my heart, already pounding, stutters. Each breath hitches in my chest.
    “Hm.”
    Holding my head as still as I can, I allow only my gaze to dart around the room. “Is something the matter?”
    “What were you just thinking