Chapter 14
Breaking the Trance
I emerge from the regression, shaken and tearful, struggling to separate memory from imagination as the hypnotist asks what I saw.
The light came back not as a dawn, but as a slow, reluctant tide. It crept across the edges of my vision, a pale, watery gold that seemed to bleed into the darkness behind my eyelids. I could feel the weight of my body again, the press of the chair against my back, the cool air on my skin. I was returning, being pulled back through layers of something thick and warm, like surfacing from the bottom of a deep, sunlit sea.
And with the return came the tears.
They were there before I even opened my eyes, hot and unexpected, tracing paths down my cheeks. A tremor ran through my hands, and I heard a sound—a shaky, ragged exhale—that I barely recognized as my own. The world reassembled itself around me: the faint hum of the air conditioner, the scent of old paper and lavender, the soft ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. The hypnotist’s voice, calm and steady, was a lifeline.
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