As soon as I passed through the door into Rebecca's office, a pair of thin arms enfolded my upper body, strangling me with every last bit of strength they had. Feminine, trembling breaths took over my hearing as her arms and fingers physically gave the same quaking that her breathing had spilt. There was no way I could move within the warmth of that embrace, there was no way I could separate myself from a feeling I hadn't felt in so long.
I almost couldn't control myself as my own arms lifted themselves up and just as quickly found the middle of her back, moving slowly upwards until they met the blades of her shoulders, where my fingers clung to the soft fabric of her top. Grasping, tightening by the second, my grip on her shirt only grew stronger as I began to fall into the feeling that I had been desperately missing for what felt like so long.
The cradle created by her arms had told me just how wrong I really was. Without a lone word to accompany her actions, she told me how worried she was about me. Without a single sound to enforce her feelings, she told me how much she missed me. She had always loved me, and that night in the hospital said as much, but it just always felt like she was so far away all the time. It felt like I was never needed.
I felt like an unnecessary existence to everyone and everything.
That feeling only became more prominent after my dad seemed to make a concerted effort to never come home. I always tried my best to involve myself in her work, even when she was busy. It was simple stuff like organizing documents to getting her something to drink, or as little as getting her laptop charger. I took every angle I could think of, but every time I was pushed away without even being looked in the eyes.
It made me feel like trash, that I was just another burden and another bother in her life. I was just another mouth to feed and another back to put clothes on. Sometimes I just felt that I was a regret, and not a child of theirs. That was why I distanced myself, because it was made clear that I just causing people trouble. That was why I started to fall so hard for Grace, because she gave me the attention and the affection that I lacked, that I craved. What I hadn't known or foreseen was that our relationship would have blossomed into so much more.
As my head fell into her shoulder, it became clear that my self-control switch was turned off. Her touch, the warmth, and even the hair that swept passed my ear had become too much. I shut down for what had been at least several minutes, and I didn't have a reason why outside of just losing control. Perhaps it was being shown the attention, the affection that I had likely lacked my entire life, or maybe I had just gotten overwhelmed and this was my first reaction. I wasn't sure at all, and I'm still not. All I had known was that I lacked the capacity to think right at that moment.
After what felt like minutes of me holding her in a still silence, my mom slowly, if not hesitantly, seemed to pull herself away and revealed Nathan to me. That was when my feelings started to get a little mixed up, because I was angry that he did all of this without ever saying a word. He never gave me an option to agree willingly, yet he cared enough about me to do it, to help my mom get me thrown in here.
"He wanted to see you, honey." she began to rub the knuckle of her thumb with her index finger. "Your brother is in New York for a fight tomorrow, so he couldn't make it."
It kind of stung not seeing Brian there, if I was being honest. Maybe he really did have a fight, but I wouldn't have blamed him if that was a lie. No brother would want to see someone he tried so hard to keep away from drugs in rehab for that very thing, and after what I had heard about him, it might have been for the better. More than that, did I even want him around when I told my mom what happened?
Brian was liar and a hypocrite, but I still loved him just the same. He was my brother, that much would've never changed.
"Okay, Mrs. Owens. Let me start by prefacing a few things here." Rebecca sat on her desk loosely, looking at my mom and smiling. "Let's all take a seat first, though, shall we?"
Immediately, my eyes made contact with Nathan's as I passed him on the way to the couch. I wasn't especially angry, but I wasn't exceedingly happy to see him. He was the boy who put me in here and caused this situation, yet he seemed like the only one who cared enough to go this far for someone like me, even if it was my mom who was paying for it. He had always been there through the good and bad, and that was something I would have always been grateful for, but I wasn't sure how to feel towards him right then.
It was when my mom sat down that I realized how different she looked. She lost weight and had bags under her eyes. Even the hair she always kept jet black had grown passed her shoulders and was now just above her chest. I hadn't seen her in months, and it had been longer since I last spoke to her, yet so much with just her alone changed. I had fallen behind, and in the blink of an eye, everything seemed to have changed.
"Lynn has had a few incidents here. Some have been violent, and some have been more psychological and emotional." Rebecca picked up a slip of paper, and leaned towards my mom with her arm extended. "I'm thinking that Multiple Channel Exposure Therapy may be good for her, but it'll mean that she's going to be coming back for a little while, even after she's done with her stay here."
She looked back. "Why would she need therapy? Lynn's never been the violent type."
"Well, in her case, MCET is about more than being just violent." Rebecca's nail tapped the desk. "Multiple Channel Exposure Therapy is a combination of techniques that is typically used to treat Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Panic Attacks, both of which Lynn has shown very clear signs of."
"PTSD? Why would Lynn have that?" her fingernail began to dig into her thumb's knuckle. "And why am I just now hearing about this?"
Rebecca's feet hitting the ground could be heard through the dead silent room. "Lynn."
As I stared at the ground, I could feel my mother's eyes burning into me. Even without looking at her, it was easy enough to tell that she had more questions than any kind of answers, and it also told me that Rebecca really hadn't said a word at all. Honestly, Rebecca would have made my life a lot easier if she just told my mom for me, but I knew she wasn't going to make it that easy. It never was, especially with her.
I took a deep breath and lifted my head, only to be met with my mom's intense gaze. Where was I supposed to even start? Was I supposed to tell her everything? Did Rebecca seriously expect me to relive the whole thing again and let my mom hear about all of it, or did she just decide to leave it up to me? She never told me to give her just a sentence or all of what happened, all she wanted me to do was tell her. She claimed that it was for closure and openness, but that almost felt like a lie. It was almost like she had something else in mind.
"Um, Mom, do you remember that party I texted you about?" I asked.
She nodded.
"I-I took a drink from Devin Herrera and I just started getting dizzy. I couldn't move, Mom. . .I c-couldn't even say anything." my hands to began very lightly tremble as I brought my left hand to my elbow. "Um, he took everything off of me and. . .and. . ."
Inhaling all the air my lungs could handle, my jaw seemed to followed the lead of my hands as it began to rattle in unison with them. With the vocalization of every word that escaped my mouth, a bead of sweat followed. With every letter that fell off my tongue, the fringing tears had found themselves that much closer to falling. Syllable by syllable, the words progressively became harder to force out.
The reason for that was her expression. It was almost as if some small part of her already knew what was I was going to say, but her brain hadn't quite caught up yet. I sat completely still, frozen as I looked into my own mother's bulging, expecting eyes. It took every last shred of my being to stay in that office, to sit right across from her and not run out through that door, because I wanted to. I really, really wanted to run as far away as I could.
Bringing my fingers to my lips, I stared into my black Vans with yet another deep breath.
"He raped me."
Moments of a desperate silence hit the room as her eyes bounced in every last direction while the side of her fist was planted against her mouth. I had seen that expression before. I saw it on Grace that night as she was being pulled away by her dad and I saw it on the night Brian left Ely. Their eyes shook, ricocheting from side to side, pinballing in every direction as they searched desperately for some kind of answer or solution. Anything to not look at the person, the reality right in front of them.
What made hers different from Grace or Brian's was that I had no idea what she was thinking or how she was feeling, towards me and what I said, or anything at all. The only thing I could do was sit and watch with rapid breaths as she remained looking lost in a deep train of thought. Finally showing movement, she buried her eyes into her palms and took a slow, calm breath.
". . .And I let him into our house?" she spoke with covered eyes, and then looked back up. "Was that what you were trying to tell me?"
I nodded.
"Why didn't you say something, anything?" she asked. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"I. . .don't know." I answered.
I was given a surprise as she bolted upright and seemed to laser herself towards the cushion next to me, where she enveloped me in her arms for the second time that morning. I had finally spoken the three words I tried so hard to say back then, and this was the result it brought. It wasn't pity or wholly sadness, it was comfort. She spent my whole life working and working, never there when I needed her most. Yet, now she was. It was late, but it was better than never.
It took me being raped for her to do this, or was this the topic that unlocked something that was already there, that had always been there? It was communication. We hadn't known how to speak to each other, we hadn't ever taken the time to sit down and really gotten to know each other. The only things that had ever been wrong between us was the lack of understanding and the lack of wanting to talk, sprinkled with her work.
Fingernails combed my hair with words unspoken. Had anything at all changed? It was hard to say for sure, probably because I hadn't fully processed any of it myself. She was trying to comfort me, but it was a different feeling than the one from that night in the hospital. It was beyond words, beyond touch. It wasn't something that a person couldn't explain, yet it was something, a feeling that I had lacked ever since that night. A sense that had been stolen from me.
That feeling and that sense, it was safety. It was security.
"I'm sorry. . ." I fell into her as my body went limp, finally giving in on what had always been a relentless, futile struggle. "I'm sorry. . ."
"What he did is not your fault." the arms around me tightened. "None of it. If only I paid more attention to you, then I would have seen how much pain you were in, I would have noticed how different you were acting. I should've asked you why you were crying that night, even if I got the same answer I always did. It's not your fault, and it never will be."
I knew that it wasn't my fault, but that hadn't been why I was apologizing. The apologies were for everything I, myself, did - everything that I put the people closest to me through. My actions were selfish, conceited. I did what I could to make myself, and myself only, feel better. Not once had I thought about how I made anyone else feel.
I was sorry for what I had put the people closest to me through. I was sorry for being wrongly selfish and thinking what I had been doing was the right thing, when it had only been clearly hurting me. I was sorry for disappearing from the person who loved me through everything, from the person who raised me and fed me, from the person who put the clothes on my back and always pointed me in the right direction.
I was sorry for running away from the person who needed me most while she lied in a bed. I was sorry for using and abusing the kindness of the boy who soaked up every tear that leaked from my eyes, the boy who wrapped up and cleaned every scar I put on myself. I was sorry for burying myself away and pretending that I was okay. I was sorry for hurting the people who tried to care about me. I was sorry for myself, and absolutely everything I had ever done.
"I'm sorry. . ."
The mountain of everything I never said and never did had finally caught up with me, and the avalanche was starting. Slowly, my head was being buried alive by the all actions I should have taken and suffocating me with every word I should have said to the people around. I was being swallowed up by nothing, yet I was being eaten by everything. Every regret and unspoken feeling only piled onto me, leaving me incapable of saying anything other than those two apologetic words.
All of my darkest parts had come to light, all of my buried feelings had come back to the shore. I was now forced to take a deep look into a metaphorical mirror without an avenue of escape, and I wasn't sure of what I was going to see. Would I see a monster in my reflection, or would it be myself? Even then, what was me? At some point, throughout all of the drugs and running, I had gotten lost and was nowhere to be found.
My reason for running, my reason for staying silent wasn't only selfish, it had been foolish. Why would Grace or my mom have looked at me differently, and how would hiding something like that protect them to begin with? What was I really protecting? That much had been obvious. I was protecting myself from my own fear and my own shame, my own feelings of disgust and guilt. I didn't run or hide my feelings because I was afraid of the judgement or having people know.
I hid everything because I didn't want to relive being raped by him.
The disgust of being invaded, forced to do whatever he wanted. The guilt of not trying to fight back, not being able to do more than just lie on the cold, deadened ground. The shame and regret of knowing that I could have done more, that I could have avoided everything and stopped it before it even started. The fear of not being believed, the fear of reliving and retelling every detail to people who would doubt me every step of the way. Those feelings almost killed me, and I wasn't going to give them another chance.
"Shh. . ."
Her soft whistle blew past my ear as my head fell deeper and deeper into her shoulder. I was being brought to my knees and broken down by everything I hid from her, by every feeling I tried to bury. The weight I had been holding up on my back for so long was too much to handle, and it was crushing me. Had it been okay to let go of it all, or was I condemned to being buried by the very things I tried to bury?
"Shh. . ."
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