Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Emory
Four days. Four long, exhausting days without giving in, without getting a deliciously toxic high, without punishing myself. I rode my motorcycle today, anything to get that emotional high that would distract me from wanting to carve into my flesh.
Enoch had hovered since he discovered my secret, although he’d already known about the tendency, just didn’t know the extent of my self-affliction.
We’d spent the entire weekend together, and the second I got off work this afternoon I rode to the drugstore.
I spent forty-five minutes pacing the aisle with the razors.
I caved, purchased a pack of cheap disposables that I’d stashed in my backpack.
They were calling my name, as I sat in the waiting area of Sarah’s office.
I felt like I was carrying around my gun, not a harmless pack of razors.
I considered walking out, but the guilt stopped me.
She’d graciously offered to see me between two other patients today when I’d texted her on Saturday asking to see her sooner than Friday.
Enoch had pressed about me seeing her and I wanted to prove to him that I was serious about stopping. I didn’t want to disappoint him.
The door to her office suddenly opened and my eyes jumped from my bag to the man leaving. He seemed surprised to see me sitting there, and quickly averted his gaze, rushing to the exit.
Sarah stepped into the doorway, her eyes casting over me before she smiled.
“Come on in.”
I sighed and followed her into her space. The familiar essential oils were already trying to work their spell on me as I sat down on the leather couch and placed my bag between my legs.
I cleared my throat, glancing around the room before landing on Sarah’s face. “Thank you for squeezing me in.”
“Of course,” she said, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. “I’m glad that you reached out. Did you make that list?”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten.
“Um, mentally. I didn’t write it down.”
Sarah nodded and reached toward the small table beside her, tearing out a sheet of paper from her notebook. She slid it across the coffee table with a pen.
I sighed, glancing at my backpack. Maybe I was a coward, but I couldn’t tell her. Not yet. I would. Maybe.
I leaned forward and picked up the pen, quickly jotting down a few things that had triggered me recently.
‘I’m sorry’
Bathtub
Shoulder
Cutting my hair
Baptism
Javi
I sighed again before sliding the paper in her direction, trying to brace myself for whatever the hell she was going to say.
I stared as she read the list, trying to glean something from her passive expression. Sarah suddenly looked at me from over the paper, and I tensed, my stomach swirling.
“This first one, ‘I’m sorry’?”
My heart thudded and I swallowed thickly. I watched her study my reaction as she put the paper down.
“Why does that phrase scare you?”
“Scare me,” I repeated, shaking my head as I ground my molars together.
“Yes. Tell me about it. Why does that phrase make you afraid?”
I cracked my knuckles as I flicked my gaze to my backpack again. Fuck, I needed it. I didn’t want to fucking talk about it. Talk about how I’d let them taint me, screw up my brain.
“So fucking stupid,” I muttered to myself.
“What’s stupid?”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Me. Me. I’m fucking stupid. Hell, I was so fucking stupid.”
“Why?” she asked.
I threw my hands up with frustration. “What the fuck did I think I was going to achieve? Six weeks of some Bible studying, a happy marriage for a year or two, and then I’d be done.
How bad could it fucking be? Nothing worse than Los Siete, right?
Easy. Easy.” My knee bounced as I breathed through the anger rising in my chest. “Fucking stupid girl.”
My molars ground together as I shook my head.
I was back there, hiding in the manager’s office of the grocer’s as I called Agent Nguyen.
The sweat was pooling under my arms as I stared at the door, terrified that someone would walk in and catch me on the phone, that I’d have to endure a punishment.
Took me nine months to finally get the courage to use the landline to call her.
I needed a light at the end of the tunnel.
Needed to know that something good was coming.
“I told her I didn’t feel safe… and she just left me there. She knew I was trapped, and she didn’t fucking get me out until I was useful, until I was worth something to her. Like my sanity didn’t fucking matter. I was a means to an end.”
My jaw ached with the force at which I swallowed my rage. Fuck Agent Nguyen. Fuck her.
“I’m sorry, I’m not quite following here, Emory.”
“Those fucking words. You’re not being sincere, Miss Olivia. You’re not truly remorseful, Miss Olivia. You’re not being humble, Miss Olivia. Repent, Olivia. Take responsibility, Olivia. Accept your punishment, Olivia. Fuck those words. Fuck. Those. Words.”
“Why don’t we take a break, hmm?” Sarah stood from her chair, walking to the water cooler on the other side of her desk. She returned with a small plastic cup in tow, holding it out for me to take.
It was only then that I realized what I’d done to myself. As I reached for the cup and saw the blood beneath my fingernails.
I glanced at my bicep to find the bloody gouges I’d left behind.
Great. Just fucking great.
Apparently cutting them down two nights ago did nothing to dull their effectiveness when I actually tried.
I gulped the cup of water before setting it down on the coffee table between us. I barely registered the sting of the cuts on my arm, my pulse still strumming with racing thoughts. We sat in silence for several long, painful minutes and I contemplated just getting up and walking out.
Finally, Sarah released a deep breath and cleared her throat.
“How are you feeling?”
I clenched my teeth, taking a measured breath before I said something I didn’t mean.
“Angry, tired. Mostly angry.”
Sarah nodded and I turned my attention back to my bloodied fingernails.
Four fucking days. I couldn’t last four fucking days. And I hated myself because I knew it wasn’t the last time I was going to do it. I was already staring at my bag, ready to get the hell out of here and get the release I craved.
“How about we try something?”
I flicked my eyes back up to Sarah’s hopeful smile and shrugged.
“Alright. Were gonna start at our toes–” I blinked, slowly, in a ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ way, and Sarah shushed me.
“We start at our toes, and I want you to concentrate on tensing the muscles there. Curl your toes in as hard as you can, hold it, and then relax completely. Now your feet, press them into the floor as hard as you can and hold it. And release. Good,” she said with a smile.
I rolled my eyes to myself.
We continued like that, working our way all the way up to the muscles in my face.
If I was kinder, I would’ve told her that it was actually sort of doing something.
It certainly wasn’t making me angrier. Honestly, it made me want to take a fucking nap.
She made me take a few deep breaths and then we sat in silence for another minute.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Tired,” I shrugged.
She nodded like that was a good thing. “Now, about that pain. Is that your usual method of coping when you’re upset?”
Enoch’s voice rang in my ears, telling me to be honest. Telling me that the more people I had in my corner the easier it would be to actually stop.
I nodded.
“Do you use anything else to cause pain?”
I closed my eyes, the shame bubbling up, making my face hot.
I nodded again.
“What do you use?”
My hands sought out my flesh on reflex, an escape from all the uncomfortable emotions constricting my vocal cords from admitting it out loud. I forcefully unfurled my fists and reached for my backpack at my feet. I unzipped the larger pocket and reached inside for the razors.
I placed them on the coffee table between us.
“Anything else besides razor blades and your nails?”
“Not usually,” I ground out.
I’d gotten creative in the past when I was desperate. The sharp corner of a TV remote, a plastic fork, a pen.
Sarah hummed in response, and I wiped my palms down my jeans, trying not to explode.
“Hmm? What’s that mean?”
“It means, thank you for being honest. I can imagine that it’s difficult to share this with me.”
I blinked and she continued.
“I can’t say I recommend that you continue self-harming, but I understand that it’s a difficult behavior to stop. It can be addictive for some.” No fucking shit. “Is your boyfriend aware of how your coping?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. “Yes. He accidentally found out about it this weekend. Convinced me to text you to meet with you.”
“I see.”
My skin felt hot, and I drummed my fingers against my thighs.
“I’d like to offer you some alternatives, some options that might be helpful that don’t involve hurting yourself. Are you open to hearing them?”
“Sure,” I sighed, opening my eyes to stare at the dried blood beneath my nails. I didn’t even get to fucking enjoy the high of the pain I’d caused myself. What a fucking waste.
“Can I dispose of these razors?”
I eyed them, my heart jumping at the thought of not having a method of escape after this appointment.
“Fine.”
“Okay,” she said with a pleased smile despite my lack of enthusiasm. She stepped behind her desk, grabbing a binder and flipping through it until she pulled out a piece of paper. She placed it on the coffee table between us. I leaned forward to read it.
“TIPP?” I said with a raised brow as I looked up at her.
“Yes. You just practiced that last one. Progressive muscle relaxation. The others such as holding an ice cube against your skin or doing jumping-jacks can also be helpful. It’s important to have a distraction available to ride the wave of emotions out until you’re feeling calm again.”
I sighed and nodded, picking up the paper and folding it up to put into my bag.