Chapter 5
5
ZORA
“ I saw my bully today. You know they say that these kinds of people peak in high school and their lives go downhill from there. But she looked amazing. And she had two beautiful children with her and she seemed happy. And here’s the kicker, she saw me too. She came up to me like she was happy to see me and wanted to catch up on old times time. It’s like she’d completely forgotten that she’s tormented me to the point where I slashed my wrists.”
The redhead self-consciously rubs the dulled scars on her wrists as she glances out the window. A lonely tear cascades down her cheek, so I grab the box of tissues at my side and discreetly hands it to her.
With a sniffle she plucks one from the box and gently dabs the corner of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m being a big baby. I’m going to be thirty in a month, and I can’t stop crying over something that happened over 15 years ago.”
I place my notepad on the stand next to my chair and lean forward to make eye contact with my client. “Your feelings are completely valid. There’s no time limit on how long it takes to get over something that was understandably traumatic to you. It’s okay if you need to cry about it. And I can imagine how triggering it was to see her after all this time.”
Kara clenches her hands in her lap and bows her head in reflection. “You probably couldn’t imagine, how I’ve actually dreamed about seeing her again. In my mind, I’d be triumphant in all aspects of my life. I’d be at the top of my game career wise, I’d be well traveled, financially stable and adored by the love of my life. And in each scenario she’d be miserable with her life, so miserable that I’d take pity on her and hold back all the angry words I’ve wanted to reign over her head. I’d be magnanimous in my victory and pretend she was simply a blip in my life while she’d never be able to forget about me.”
“But she robbed me of the very fantasy that’s been keeping me going. I hate my job. The only reason I’m keeping it is for the health insurance to cover my therapy. My last boyfriend was a serial cheater and I haven’t left the country. Hell, I don’t even own a passport. I feel like I’m still stuck in high school and she’s been able to live the good life. That’s not fair. It’s not fair!” Kara yells as she swipes at another stray tear.
“How can someone ruin your life and pretend it never happened? I don’t get it? What happened to the universal rule of karma, or is that all just bullshit? Where’s my justice?”
“And justice to you would be your former bully leading a bad life?” I gently prod.
Kara shrugs. “I don’t know. She doesn’t deserve to be happy after what she did. I mean I guess if she would have shown a little bit of contrition, I wouldn’t be so pissed.”
“I’ve read somewhere that everyone is the protagonist in their own story. People rarely see themselves as the villain. There are times when suppressing trauma and memories is used as a coping mechanism. The same can be said about events where we’re not seen in the most flattering lights. To you she might have been pretending and she very well may have been, but it’s also possible she’s distanced herself from those memories because she hasn’t fully come to terms with what she’s done. I’m very sorry you had to relive some of those unpleasant experiences because of your impromptu meeting.”
“Kara, you may not think so, but you’re doing amazing. The very fact that you’re here in therapy signifies you’re on your way to healing. It’s a journey that may take weeks, months or even years, but each destination begins with one step and I’m honored you’ve chosen me to be your partner in this journey.”
“Unfortunately, that’s our time for today but I think we made some great progress. This visit is a marked improvement from your first few sessions where you barely spoke. Your homework before our next session is to write a letter to your bully. I want you to say everything you didn’t have a chance to when you saw her. This isn’t for the purpose of sending it to her. Ultimately that’s up to you, but it will help you organize your thoughts and to better process some of your trauma. Bring it with you at your next appointment and we’ll discuss.”
Kara stands up and dabs her eyes with the tissue again. “Thanks Zora. Time seems to zoom by with each session. Thank for listening to me ramble for an hour.”
“It’s my pleasure. Take care of yourself, okay?”
She nods before leaving my office.
Once the door closes behind her, I slump in my seat and release a heavy sigh.
This session hit so close to home for me, while Kara was telling me about some of the things she’d suffered in high school, I was experiencing flashbacks. She’s not the first client of mine who’s spoken of a traumatic experience due to bullying but so much of Kara’s story paralleled my own, except hers was slightly different. A popular boy had taken interest which made some of the other girls so jealous they started a campaign of hate against her.
The only difference between her story and mine is the boy at the center of my nightmarish high school experience bullied me because I didn’t belong and in turn his followers seemed to think it was okay to make my life hell.
The catalyst for Kara’s bullying was teenage angst, not that I’m minimizing what clearly affects her to this day but it makes me think about memories I’ve fought so hard to overcome.
My life has no way been perfect since graduation but I’ve managed to leave that town and get my bachelor and masters degree in psychology and I’m a licensed mental health counselor. I make a decent living, have an active social life, and have even dated. My love life hasn’t been particularly stellar but I’m far removed from the isolated outcast of my high school.
Oddly enough, I’ve run into a few of my former classmates by chance and none of those encounters have ever sparked any particular traumatic response. But then again, none of them were Jackson Champion.
I haven’t set eyes on him in person in 12 years, not since the night of the graduation party when he…
I shake my head to dispel unwanted memories. I refuse to think about my past…or him. However, when I go back home to visit my Dad, the local newspapers write about the financial wunderkind who branched out into venture capitalism to build his own financial empire. Thankfully I’ve never physically run into him. Last I heard he was bicoastal, splitting his time between Los Angeles and New York City. Not that I’m keeping up with him. I read it somewhere by accident. Otherwise, I couldn’t care less.
How coincidental that Kara felt some kind of cosmic betrayal to see her tormenter doing well in life while mine seemed to be thriving as well. To be fair, I expected nothing less. Men like him always seemed to get by in life while people like me have to live with the scars and try to make it through each day without falling apart.
I’m a survivor though. If I ever see him again, it will be with my head held high. He no longer has any power over me.
A light tap on my door brings me out of my silent musings.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door opens and Dr. Becker, the owner of the practice sticks his head in. “I saw your client leave. Do you have a minute?”
I paste a smile on my face and beckon him inside. “Of course, Dr. Becker.”
His affable smile slips for a moment. “I thought we established that you’d call me Owen.”
As bosses went, I can’t complain. At the last facility I worked at my boss Dr. Miranda Paul put on a big act that everyone was a big happy family. I saw right though that act right away. She was the type to get friendly with everyone so that she could learn about their personal lives and then weaponize any secret shared with her. I wanted to keep my work and home life separate. So I was polite but kept a respectful distance.
In the end that got me labeled as anti-social and aggressive. The aggressive label I’m certain had more to do with the fact that I was the only black woman in that practice but nonetheless, once I landed on her bad side, she found ways to nitpick everything I did, from the way I interacted with my clients to how I filled out forms.
When I was removed from the website with no explanation, I knew it was her way of telling me to she wanted me out. Lucky for me, by then I’d already started looking for other places of employment and landed here.
Dr. Becker’s practice is smaller with only three other therapists, but I appreciate his professionalism. He’s friendly without being too intrusive and he allows his subordinates to do their jobs freely without having to worry that every decision we make will be scrutinized under a microscope.
But lately, I’ve noticed he’s gotten a little too friendly. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he’s interested in me in a romantic capacity. He’s not a bad looking guy. Tall and lean with russet hair and sherry brown eyes. I wouldn’t call him classically handsome, but he has a pleasant face. If he wasn’t my boss, I might be interested but it was never a good idea to get involved with coworkers. It rarely works out.
“Dr. Becker, I’m not certain that would be a good idea. Besides, you deserve the proper respect for your title.”
He chuckles lightly. “You know I don’t stand on formality here but you always insist. However, if we’re ever outside of the office you can drop the title. Anyway, I wanted to check in on you to see how you’re doing. You seemed a bit distracted when you came into the building this morning.”
“Did I? “ I shrug with a nonchalance I don’t feel. I’d tried hard not to overthink the phone call I’d received this morning as I headed to work.
“Yes, you’re usually a lot more upbeat.” He holds up his hands and waves them frantically. “Not that you have to be cheerful whenever you come in. Everyone can’t be in the best of moods at all times or else we wouldn’t be human. I’m just concerned is all.”
I’m not close enough to anyone at work to confide my concerns to, especially my boss so I don’t know what compels me to blurt out, “I talked to my father today and he seemed, different.”
Dr. Becker cocks his head to the sides and rubs the pad of his thumb across his chin. “Hmm, different in what way?”
“I don’t know? I can’t put my hand on it. But I was thinking since I don’t have anyone scheduled for Monday and two sessions in the morning, I can drive down to visit him for the long weekend.”
“How long has it been since your last visit?”
“A few months ago. It’s probably the longest it’s been in between visits so this is my sign to head down there.”
“That sounds like a plan. If you need anything while you’re down there, please don’t hesitate to call me. I know you only see me as your boss, Zora, but I’d like to think we could be friends as well.”
I give him a noncommittal smile. What could I say to him without either hurting my feelings or jeopardizing my job?
Thankfully he seems to take the hint but not before giving my shoulder a light tap. “It’s okay. Just know that I’m here for you.”
“Thank you.”
I breath a heavy sigh of relief when he closes the door behind him. Maybe I’ve misinterpreted his actions and he’s just being friendly. I’ve been known to overthink things more than I should.
A knot forms in my stomach as I think about heading home and I can’t exactly pinpoint why. My father is the most important person in the world to me and I enjoy our visits. But our last few phone conversations have worried me.
My father’s jovial personality radiates wherever he goes, even through the phone but lately I’ve picked up some weird undertones. I know my dad well and he’s always been strong and lively. But this morning, he sounded…old.
It’s pointless to call my brother about my concerns because the only person Langston Knight cares about is himself. It’s hard to believe someone as wonderful as my dad could breed such a selfish creep. For Dad’s sake I try to be as cordial as possible with him on the rare occasions our paths cross but that man could test the patience of a saint.
I ’m always eager to see my dad, but for some reason, I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I can’t quite shake it. Something is going on with my father that he isn’t telling me and I’m almost certain that something is bad.