Chapter 12 #2
I choose the couch and sit near the armrest, setting my purse beside me instead of on the floor like I usually would.
My knee still starts bouncing almost immediately.
My hands twist together in my lap, fingers pressing into each other like they’re trying to burn off nervous energy. My throat tightens. My palms feel warm.
Dr. Palmer sits across from me and looks up from her tablet, her expression open and calm. “So,” she says, “what brings you in today?”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I swallow, my chest rising too fast, and try again. “I’m not really sure how to start,” I admit, my fingers tightening together in my lap.
“That’s okay,” Dr. Palmer says easily. “You don’t have to get it right. Just start wherever feels least uncomfortable.”
I let out half a laugh. “That’s a weird way to sell it.”
Her mouth tips into a small smile. “Most honest things are.”
I glance down at my hands. “I went on a date,” I say finally. “It didn’t go well.”
Dr. Palmer nods gently. “In what way?”
“He didn’t listen,” I say, the words coming out flatter than I expect. “I told him no, more than once, but he kept pushing.”
Her pen stills against the tablet. “Were you hurt?”
“No,” I answer quickly, then slow myself down, forcing myself to be honest instead of defensive. “Not like that. I wasn’t sexually hurt I mean. I got out of there before it went that far.”
She watches my face carefully. “But you were hurt.”
I swallow and my chest tightens. “Yeah. I got a few bruises, nothing serious.” I hesitate, my fingers twisting tighter together. “It’s not my body that feels messed up. It’s everything else.”
“Tell me about that,” she says softly.
“My head feels scrambled,” I admit. “My trust in people and the world. It’s like it all shifted overnight. I’m walking around fine on the outside, but inside I feel… off. Like something broke and I don’t know how to put it back together yet.”
Her voice stays steady. “That sounds really disorienting.”
“It is,” I say quietly. “I’m fine, technically. But my spirit feels cracked. I don’t feel safe the way I used to.”
She lets that sit between us for a moment, giving it space to breathe. My shoulders creep up toward my ears without my permission.
“What happened after you left?” she asks.
“I went straight to my sister’s house,” I say. “I just… needed to be somewhere I wasn’t alone.”
Her expression softens. “Were they home?”
“Yeah. Both of my sisters were there with their husbands.” I hesitate, then add, “They were actually in the middle of game night with a couple of our friends.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Were you supposed to be there?”
I nod. “Yeah. I would’ve been if not for the date.
” My fingers tighten together in my lap, the memory still sitting weird in my chest. “I remember standing in my bedroom debating what to wear, thinking maybe this could finally be… something,” I admit quietly.
“Like maybe I might’ve met someone who could actually be the one.
Someone solid. Normal. Someone who fit into my real life. ” My throat tightens. “I was so wrong.”
Dr. Palmer lets that sit for a moment before speaking. “That sounds like a loss on top of the fear.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “It wasn’t just about being scared. It was realizing how wrong my judgment was. How fast something I thought was good turned into something that wasn’t.”
“And instead of game night with people who love you,” she adds gently, “you ended up in a situation that made you feel unsafe.”
I nod, my jaw tightening. “Exactly.”
“What happened when you got to your sister’s house?”
“They took care of me” I say.
“Have you talked to your parents about what happened?” she asks gently.
The question lands strange in my chest. I shake my head. “They died when I was nineteen.”
Her expression softens immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It’s just me and my sisters now. That’s it. I’m the oldest, so I’ve always been the one who handled things. Took care of everyone.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility to carry at such a young age.”
“It is,” I admit. “I’m used to being the steady one. The one who doesn’t fall apart.”
“And how does it feel to be the one who needed protecting this time?” she asks.
The question sticks in my throat for a second before I answer. “Uncomfortable,” I say honestly.
Dr. Palmer studies me carefully. Not suspicious. Just attentive. “Did you contact the police?”
The question hits like a small punch to the chest. My throat goes dry and I have to swallow before answering.
“No.”
“Can you tell me why?”
I shift in the chair. My fingers tighten together until my knuckles ache. “Because I didn’t want to deal with it. The paperwork. The questions. The whole… aftermath.” I hesitate, my fingers tightening together in my lap. “Can I ask you something kind of… important?” I say.
Dr. Palmer looks up from her tablet. “Of course.”
“This is confidential, right?” My voice drops a notch without me meaning it to. “Like… you can’t tell anyone what I say in here?”
She nods. “Yes. What you share with me stays private unless there’s a safety concern.”
I swallow. “What kind of safety concern?”
“If you tell me you’re planning to seriously harm yourself or someone else,” she explains calmly, “or if a child or vulnerable person is being abused, or if a court legally requires records. Those are the situations where I’m obligated to act.”
I nod slowly, absorbing that. My knee bounces faster for a second before I force it still. “Okay,” I say. “I just needed to know.”
She waits, giving me space instead of pushing.
“My brothers-in-law,” I add carefully, watching her face.
“They’re members of the Iron Reapers MC.
” Her expression doesn’t change much. No shock.
No judgment. Just attentive. “And they’re the ones who handled the guy who hurt me,” I continue.
“I trust them. Completely. They’re good men.
They protect their families. But I didn’t want to leave that out. ”
“Thank you for telling me,” she says evenly. “I’m not here to judge the people in your life, Brooke. My focus is you and how you’re feeling.”
Relief slides through me, quiet but real. “I just didn’t want to get anyone in trouble by talking about it,” I admit.
“You’re allowed to talk about your experience,” she says gently. “You’re not responsible for other adults’ choices.”
I nod, my shoulders dropping a fraction like something just unclenched inside me. “Okay,” I say again, this time meaning it.
“What are you feeling most right now when you think about that night?” she asks.
I take a second before answering. “Tired. And… jumpy. Like my body hasn’t caught up with the fact that it’s done.”
“That’s a very normal response to a boundary violation,” she says. “Your nervous system learned something it hasn’t unlearned yet.”
I nod slowly. That tracks.
“What’s helping, even a little?” she asks.
I think about Bella’s couch. Baby Jax’s sticky hands. Walking around the neighborhood with my headphones in. The quiet weight of Rev sitting beside me that night without trying to fix anything.
“Being around people I trust,” I say. “Keeping busy, but not too busy.”
She smiles softly. “That’s a good place to start.”
On Friday I stand in my closet holding a blazer and heels and feel absolutely nothing but exhaustion at the idea of putting on armor again.
I shove them back and pull on leggings and an oversized hoodie instead.
Soft. Loose. Forgiving. I don’t recognize this version of myself yet. I don’t hate her either.
That afternoon I catch myself standing in my living room staring at the couch again, fingers rubbing absently over the fabric like muscle memory hasn’t gotten the memo yet.
I picture Rev leaning back into the cushion, boot hooked over his knee, eyes scanning the room like a habit he doesn’t bother apologizing for.
My chest tightens in that quiet, annoying way. I don’t text him like I want to. Instead, I grab my keys and head to Bella’s.
Bri’s already sprawled sideways on the couch when I walk in, baby Jax draped across her stomach like a tiny king surveying his domain. Bella’s hovering in the kitchen pretending not to hover. The house smells like garlic and something sweet baking.
“Wow,” Bri says, eyeing my hoodie. “Look at you. Who are you and what did you do with my sister?”
I flop down beside her and steal a handful of popcorn. “I’m in my soft era. Don’t judge me.”
Baby Jax immediately lunges for my sleeve and squeals like he’s caught prey. I laugh before I can stop myself and let him climb halfway into my lap, his warm weight grounding me better than any breathing exercise ever has.
Bella watches us from the doorway, her smile soft and careful like she’s giving me space without hovering too close.
I lean back into the couch cushions, leggings stretched out, hoodie sleeves covering my hands, surrounded by noise and warmth and clutter and people who love me even when I’m not shiny or polished or productive.
By the end of the weekend I feel like the crack that’s fissured through me isn’t as big. That I can get back to my life and move on.
Somewhere in all of it, Rev keeps sneaking into my thoughts when I’m not trying to think about him.
The way he sat held me on the couch like he wasn’t going anywhere.
The quiet steadiness of his presence, like he didn’t need to talk to make me feel safe.
I catch myself reaching for my phone more than once, almost texting him something stupid and small just to hear back from him, then stopping myself because I don’t know what that means yet.
I miss him. Not in a dramatic, sweeping way. In a low, steady way that hums under everything else, like muscle memory hasn’t caught up with the fact that he’s not right there anymore.
Somewhere between my therapy appointment, long walks, and too much time alone with my own thoughts, I start actually looking at my life instead of just moving through it on autopilot.
My work. My routines. The way I say yes to everything and leave very little room for myself.
The way I’ve built something solid and stable but maybe not something that really feeds me emotionally.
I ask myself questions I haven’t slowed down enough to ask in years. What do I actually want? What feels like safety versus what feels like settling? What kind of life am I building if I stop running from hard things and start choosing them on purpose?