Wild Thing

40. Forty

Forty

DYLAN

Present Day

I know this session will suck.

But I need to be here because I still hate my fucking guts. And I hate no matter how I hard I try, I can't seem to let go of the belief that I deserved what happened to me.

Imagine thinking you deserve to be sexually assaulted? How fucked up is that?

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Crowe asks gently.

Her voice is neutral, like it always is, but there’s a softness in her eyes that's not normally there. She’s always calm, but I could tell when I first told her about the assault, she wasn’t expecting it. Her eyes had flickered, just briefly, with shock, then empathy.

I look away from her now, staring at the carpet.

“I’m… okay,” I say finally. “It feels good to talk about it.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Rehashing the memories to Dr. Crowe feels like peeling off a scab. Painful, yet necessary. Talking about it, even though it sucks, does help.

“It's a very traumatic incident to experience Dylan.”

It still blows me away that I was sexually assaulted by a work colleague.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m embarrassed too.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” she says firmly. “You were assaulted, Dylan. What happened to you was not your fault.”

Her words are so assured, so absolute, that for a split second, I almost believe her. But then the guilt creeps back in, and I remember who I am: a worthless, selfish, cheating bitch.

“It feels like punishment,” I say. “Like karma. Choices don’t go unchecked, right? I fucked around and found out.”

Her face softens, but she doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she notes something down in her notepad. I’m familiar enough with her methods to know what this means: she’s giving me space to keep going.

I sigh, rubbing my temple. “The karma didn’t stop there, either. Marie removed me from the Studio Pase project. She said it was ‘best for the team,’ but we both knew it was because I’d become a liability to the company. And then she made me take mandatory stress leave. Four weeks of it.”

“That’s not unusual,” Dr. Crowe says. “After something like this, it’s common for workplaces to recommend leave. It’s not a punishment, Dylan. It’s a chance for you to rest and heal.”

“Yeah, I just…” My voice trails off, and I shake my head. “I don’t know. It still feels like I’m being punished.”

“I want you to hear me, Dylan,” Dr. Crowe says, her tone firm. “What happened to you was not your fault. It wasn’t karma. It wasn’t a punishment. It was a choice—someone else’s choice—and that’s on them, not you. Not ever.”

Her words settle over me. I nod, but I guess it'll take time for me to believe that. It's going to take more than just one session to stop hating myself.

If I ever can.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to let go of the blame yet,” she says, as if reading my thoughts. “Healing takes time. But I want you to remember this: you deserve compassion. Especially from yourself.”

I nod again, this time with a little more conviction. I’m not there yet. But for the first time, I think I might be able to get there someday.

Dr. Crowe tilts her head slightly, her expression focused. “So, paint me a picture of the next day. After the assault. What happened next?”

I take a deep breath and try to piece it together. It’s all such a blur still.

“I woke up with the worst hangover of my life,” I say finally. “My head was pounding, partly from the alcohol, partly from my head being slammed into the mirror."

Dr. Crowe nods, encouraging me to continue.

"Brax stayed with me through the night. He called Marie in the morning," I recall. "He told her everything. Our history, our affair, what happened at the gala dinner, what Steven did to me… how Brax came to be in my room. He told her all of it.”

"How did you feel about him telling her?"

"I felt relief, actually."

Dr. Crowe notes something down in her notebook. Her silence spurs me to continue.

“Marie came to my room not long after their phone call. She was calm, but I could tell she was shaken. She said she had no choice but to report the assault to the police. I didn't want to at first."

"Can you talk to me about why you didn't want to go to the police?"

I take a moment to consider how to explain my feelings. "I'm ashamed to admit this, but it was because I didn't want anyone to know about the affair. I knew if I went to the police, I'd need to explain everything to them."

"Would you say you were trying to protect yourself?"

"I was in reputation management mode," I say truthfully. "I knew news would spread throughout the workplace once a formal complaint was made. Marie convinced me to do it though. I can't remember everything she said… I just knew she was right."

Dr. Crowe leans forward slightly, her pen poised over her notebook. “After you pressed charges, how did you feel?"

How did I feel? Like I wanted to fucking die.

Still do, actually. Fuck, I am so fucking sad and lost.

"Numb. Empty. Traumatized."

"What happened next?”

I pause, exhaling slowly. “I saw Brax for the last time.”

“And how did that go?”

I sigh and close my eyes.

I'll tell you how it went: Not well, bitch.