10. Worth It
10. Worth It
~ SAM ~
God, she fought for it. She fought for it hard.
That first hour or two she spent with one leg tucked under her, the other down so her foot was on the deck, her heel bouncing. There was a lot more time staring out at the trees and tapping her pen on the page frowning, than anything else. I had to swallow back the urge to talk to her, to offer advice, even encouragement. She’d asked to be alone, and not have to talk. I was asking her to relive the worst of her trauma, the least I could give her was that.
But it was so fucking hard to watch her huff and claw a hand through her hair and mutter curses.
It was worse when her chin trembled, though.
I doubted myself too. Who was I to ask her to do this? What if I was wrong and this would only make it worse? Gerald, her psychologist, had thought the exercise was a great idea—but warned me that he’d attempted something similar more than once before and she’d flatly refused.
For those first couple of hours, when she battled and shivered and looked so afraid and uncertain, I almost pulled the plug. Almost told her not to do it—that we’d try again in a few months, maybe at home. I prayed she’d find the courage, or at least, not hate me if she couldn’t. I prayed we’d find a way through this whether she was willing to write it down or not.
And I prayed she’d heal. I begged God to touch her with even a portion of the healing He’d given me. She needed it so desperately.
But my head spun with doubts—it was the wrong time, I was the wrong person, I would ruin this beautiful thing we had, it might send her dark and then how would I get her back?
I’d almost convinced myself of that last one when I watched her drop back in the chair, eyes screwed tight, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, the hand holding the pen slack on the page…
But at some point around midmorning, her brow pinched into lines and she wrote something with her jaw tight, pressing the pen hard into the book like she was angry with it. Then she read it back, frowned harder, wiped her eyes… and wrote something else.
Then, even though her expression remained serious and dark, the pen started moving. And this time, it didn’t stop.
For hours.
I brought her food. Water. Coffee. I stayed silent and didn’t ask her to speak.
I went swimming alone and lay on my back in the water, begging God to help her. I walked the beach looking for shells and brought back a beautiful one with iridescent blue on the bottom that reminded me of her eyes.
I took away her dirty, half-eaten plates and replaced them with new meals.
I went to sleep in the bed alone, only to wake up hours later when she slipped under the covers, dropped her head to my chest, curled herself into a ball, and breathed fast against my collarbones.
I held her all night, but she didn’t speak, so neither did I.
I woke up to her slipping out of bed and going back outside, the pen and journal in her hand.
And then we did it all again.
I went to bed alone again the second night… and woke up to find her sitting at the dining table, staring at me. Her hair was wet—she’d either showered, or gone swimming. The deep shadows under her eyes looked like bruises. Her eyes were bloodshot, but clear.
The journal was closed on the table next to her.
I blinked and our eyes locked.
“Babe?” I rasped.
“It’s done,” she whispered. Then tore her eyes away from me to look at it on the table next to her, then back at me, wary.
I swallowed and sat up, letting the thin quilt fall to my lap. “It’s okay. I won’t take it unless you give it to me,” I reassured her. Gerald had been really clear on that point: She had to decide to give it up. To let me into it.
Her shoulders moved in a tense little shrug. “You already know the story…” She looked down that the journal again and frowned. “Why does it feel scary to let you have the rest? I know you won’t tell anyone.”
I swallowed. Help me. I need wise words here. I cleared my throat. “I think… I think sometimes it’s hard to let go because it feels like… it feels like giving up control of it. Even though we don’t have control of it, babe. That’s a lie we tell ourselves. But it feels like that when we give it up to someone else. And with me telling you’ll I’ll watch out for you… I know that’s a risk. Like, it might come back to bite you because you aren’t the one watching out anymore. But…”
I pushed out of the bed and walked over to her, squatting next to the chair and looking up at her. She stroked her fingers through my hair and stared at me, but her brow was furrowed, and she was so tense.
“I’m going to watch it for you, babe,” I breathed. “I’m going to make sure the world can’t destroy you. I’m going to make sure he never comes back. I’ll stand in that gap for you, and if there’s even a threat… I’ll protect you. I promise.”
Her face crumpled and she fell forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and burying her face in my neck.
“I’m so fucking sick of feeling scared all the time,” she breathed against my skin, her breath hitching and her body trembling.
“I know… I know.” Leaving the journal on the table, I held her tightly, picking her up and carrying her back to bed so we could lay down. “Just rest for now. Let’s lay here and rest.”
She scooted onto the bed when I set her down, but her eyes were wide open and when she reached her side, she was still sitting. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, biting her lip, and staring at the journal laying there on the table.
I slipped into bed next to her, waiting. But she was sinking deep, I could see it.
I put a hand on her arm and she blinked, then turned to look at me.
“I won’t take it, Bridget. I won’t take it unless you give it to me. You can put it away and choose when it happens. You get to choose if it happens. You don’t have to do this right now. You don’t have to do it ever, okay? Writing that all down… that’s huge. I’m so proud of you, because you got it out. That’s so important.”
She nodded. “I can feel that,” she whispered. “I hated it and it felt good at the same time.”
I nodded. “So, it’s still yours, okay? That’s your journal, and your words. And you get to decide if I ever get to read it. Or Gerald. Or anyone else you want. It’s all yours.”
Her eyes welled and she nodded. But then she looked back at it like it was a vicious dog that might bite.
“Bridget, have you slept?”
She shook her head.
I sighed. “Lay down. Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing’s going to change. Just lay down and we’ll rest together.”
I laid back down myself and opened my arms, and to my relief, she took a deep breath, then laid down next to me, curling herself into my side and laying her cheek on my shoulder.
Thank God, she was asleep in seconds.