26
I wash my long hair and think about what Liam told me yesterday. Wars… game rules… people killed… there’s no way I have anything to do with all that. I just want to study in peace. Why the hell does he have such a great impact on me? And how can I escape this chaos? Why can’t I imagine myself without the man who declared yesterday that I belong to him – without even asking me if I agree? It’s not just about giving myself to him physically, it’s also about truly giving myself to him mentally and emotionally. No, my mind refuses again to accept last night's turnaround. I better talk to him , I try to encourage myself. He’ll understand that I need time to process our strange relationship and decide what I want.
I braid my hair and go downstairs. Liam is sitting in the dining area, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. The complete contradiction between the animal side of his face and the angelic side, as always, makes my heart miss a beat.
“Good morning,” I say to him nervously as my body wants to devour him.
“Mmmm,” he grunts and doesn’t look up from the paper. I roll my eyes in despair.
“It’s weird living with a man who has a split personality.” I mutter angrily and open the cupboard for a glass. The cleaner has rearranged them and I cringe. I take out all the glasses and arrange them by height in two straight lines. “You really are Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” I chuckle to myself as I shut the cupboard door, satisfied. “The perfect man by night and a bundle of nerves by day.”
“Someone will be here any minute,” he says, ignoring my muttering.
“Who?” I ask and hear knocks on the front door. Liam gets up and opens the door.
“Dr. Cruz,” he greets her affectionately, and a short woman with brown, curly hair and casual clothes walks in. “Dr. Cruz is a psychologist I know. Let’s call her a friend of the family.” He says to me, and this time I get a smile from him.
“Great,” I shrug indifferently. “Maybe she can help you with your split personality.”
“She’s not here for me.” He comes closer. “She can help you handle your disorder.”
“Because of the glasses?” I shout and flinch backwards. “It’s not really a disorder, it’s all about aesthetics—”
“Not because of the glasses,” he says softly.
“The napkins?” I draw away from him again, until I feel the kitchen island behind me. “Because that’s also about—”
“Not the napkins, either.” He is standing close to me and I have nowhere to escape.
He raises his hand slowly and just before he lays it on my hair, I shake my head and shout “Not my hair!”
“Because of that,” he winks and turns around to the psychologist.
“It’s not about you,” I stutter as I catch my breath. “It’s not a disorder—”
“Elena,” the psychologist smiles at me warmly, “come sit on the couch so we can talk for a while.”
“I don’t want to,” I raise my shoulders angrily.
“Stop acting like a child,” Liam says angrily. “Dr. Cruz came here for you, so be polite and sit down and talk to her.” He walks over to me. “I really want to touch you all over,” he whispers in my ear and I push him away.
“I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet,” I fume and start pressing the buttons on the coffee machine irritably.
“Sit.” He orders and goes over to the machine. “I’ll bring you coffee.” I’m still fuming as I go and sit on the couch. I sit up straight and look at the woman suspiciously.
“Let’s get straight to the point.” She sits down opposite me. “Let’s talk about your hair.”
“Why don’t we talk about yours?” I ask rudely. “What’s the deal with those crazy little curls?”
“Well, maybe we won’t start with your hair…” she studies me intently. “Let’s start with a topic that you like talking about. Tell me about your university.”
“Why don’t you tell me about yours first?” I look at her stubbornly. “Where did you study? Where were you an intern? How long have you been working as a psychologist?”
Liam bangs the coffee down in front of me and I look at him angrily.
“Elena,” he says harshly, “don’t waste Dr. Cruz’s time. She’s very good at what she does.”
“Ohhh!” I fume again, but realize that for this to be over, I need to play along. “Fine,” I fake a small smile. “Here, I’m cooperating.”
“Do you remember when you first started feeling uncomfortable when people touched your hair?” She doesn’t beat around the bush.
“On the fourth of August, thirteen years ago,” I reply automatically, and I feel like the walls are closing in on me.
“And when did you start braiding your hair?” she asks, without taking her calm brown eyes off me.
“On the fourth of August, thirteen years ago,” I say as I struggle to breathe.
“What happened that day?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.” I glance at Liam and shrink into my seat.
“Leave us alone,” she orders him, her gaze still fixed on me.
He doesn’t argue and goes out to the yard. I have to admit that it’s interesting to see him obey her so calmly and quickly.
“Elena, what happened that day?” she repeats, and I lower my head.
“It wasn’t just that day.” I look down at my bare feet. “It started about a month before that, but I'm not comfortable talking about it.”
“Are you ashamed?” she asks. Her voice is still calm, but it manages to shake me up badly.
“Yes.” This is the first time I’ve ever had to deal with this, my head is spinning. I’ve buried it so deeply for thirteen years, and now she expects me to just let it all out?
“I promise you that no matter what you tell me, I’ve heard worse.” Her words shock me with their simplicity, and all the tension and embarrassment I feel turn into anger.
“Worse than my best friend’s dad inviting me to his garage and then sitting down and playing with himself as he stroked my hair?” I hear myself talking about my nightmare, and clench my hands. I'm still looking down. “Worse than him doing it at least twice a week and nobody knowing about it?” I raise my head slowly and the walls close in on me. I pant and clutch my chest. “And then…” the tears start falling and my utter helplessness makes me feel even worse. “And then, when I finally found the courage to tell my mother, she didn’t do anything. She just told me not to tell anyone.” My voice is hoarse, and I hug my knees to my chest. “She told me that a woman’s hair is her crowning glory, how a woman seduces men. She braided my hair and then…” I fall silent as the pressure explodes inside me and I start crying and wailing.
“And then you decided to hide your hair from the world so nobody would ever want to hurt you again,” she completes my sentence and I rock back and forth in distress. She goes to the kitchen, pours a glass of water and brings it to me. I take the glass with shaking hands as water spills on my clothes.
“Your mother made a mistake,” she says harshly and sits back down. “Your mother made several mistakes,” she corrects herself, and I sniff but I can’t stop the tears. “She should have filed a complaint. She should have told you that you were just a little girl. She should have told you that there are sick, perverted people in this world.” She falls silent and I look at her wearily. “And she should have told you that it wasn’t your fault.” She gets up from her seat and sits down next to me. “You look like a very smart young woman,” her voice is soft again. “When I say all these things to you out loud, can you understand and accept everything I said?”
“I think so,” I murmur, still crying quietly.
“If I touch your hair now, do you think I’ll hurt you?”
“I don’t know…” I stutter and the walls start closing in again.
“Will you let me try?” she puts her hand on my shoulder, and I cringe and start breathing heavily. “Elena, can I put my hand on your hair?”
“I don’t know…” I shut my eyes tight and hug my legs until my hands redden.
“If you don’t tell me it's all right, I won’t do it,” she says softly.
“Okay,” I say, before I won't be able to speak.
Her hand caresses my head and my body freezes. Even if I'd want to move her hand, I don’t think I would be able to. She pulls her hand away. “That’s it.” She pats my knees. “See? I touched your hair, and nothing happened.”
I burst into hysterical tears again and the French window slides open.
“Why is she crying like that?” I hear Liam’s terrified voice. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she strokes my knee gently. “But now, if she'll allow me, I’ll undo her braid. I promise to be gentle.” I’m so exhausted and dizzy by now, my body feels like a rock. “Elena?” she looks at me questioningly, and I manage to nod only once. She stands behind me and I feel her pulling the elastic band. My crying turns into harsh howls. She strokes my head and very slowly undoes my braid until my hair is loose. I feel totally exposed and I cover my eyes, trying to persuade myself that this will help me disappear from the room and their watching eyes.
“Once again, nothing happened,” she says and sits down opposite me again. “I touched your hair, I undid your braid, and nothing happened. Elena, you are a smart girl.” I move my hands away and peek at her as she smiles at me. “No matter how hard your past was, don’t let it threaten your sense of freedom.” She strokes my head, and this time my body can take it without flinching in agony. “You’re not a child, you’re a grown, confident woman. If anyone tries to hurt you, I’m certain you’ll know how to protect yourself and, in any case, it won’t be about your hair.” She pats me on the shoulder affectionately and I lower my head to my knees as I cry uncontrollably. I don’t know if I'm relieved, nauseous or terrified, but this is definitely a turning point in my life. My body feels beaten and broken and I have to catch my breath.
“I’m done here. You’ll be just fine.” She declares as she stands up. “Call me if she suddenly has a major setback,” she says to Liam.
“Isn’t this a setback?” he asks nervously.
“No. This is just processing and accepting the events after a long period of repression.” She’s talking about me as if I’m not in the room, and strangely enough I feel fine with it. Now I just want both of them to go away so that I can give in to my heartbreak. But she leaves and he stays.
Liam kneels down in front of me. “Elena, how can I help you?” he asks and I hear the pain in his voice.
I stand up slowly. I can’t stop the tears. I ignore him and walk to the stairs slowly. Climbing them seems like the hardest thing in the world right now, but my legs carry me forward and after what seems like an eternity, I fall down on the bed. The harsh scenes from my childhood overwhelm me and I close my eyes. My hair falls over my face and I don’t even have the energy to lift my hand and move it aside. My memories are mixed up with formulas, rules and equations, as I cry myself to sleep.