36. Treat yo self
Chapter 36
Treat yo' self
LETTIE
“ A na? Oh my gosh.” Tina’s sweet face lights up, and she bolts across the room into my arms.
A slight oomph leaves me from the impact, but I shrug off the pain. Hers is another one of those hugs worth the ache. Such a sweet girl. Wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again.
She pulls out of the hug and pins me with an affectionate stare that warms my aching heart. “Are you staying here now too? Or here for day therapy?”
Tina’s the fourteen-year-old who woke up in the same room with me at the nightmare house. The last time I saw her, she was being carried into the emergency room by one of Tomer’s coworkers, tears streaming down her battered face. As I smile at her now, I find myself wiping her cheeks with my thumbs, utterly grateful there are no wet streaks this time.
I nod, swallowing around a jagged lump in my throat. “Um, yes. Staying here for a few days to try it out and see how it goes.”
“You’re going to love it here. They have everything we could ever need. It’s like staying in a fancy hotel. But with therapy and lots of security.”
My eyes catch on a flurry of activity behind Tina. More girls, some of whom I recognize, head this way excitedly. Some of them are clapping and waving. Some are practically squealing in delight. What in the world?
Electricity zaps from my chest through my limbs. Not from fear, but from a bone-deep sense of belonging. It’s like being wrapped in a quilt of comfort.
And for an extra special bonus... there isn’t a man in sight.
No twig and berries to be seen.
I’m sure the whole place isn’t sans dick, but it’s still nice.
“Look who it is!” Tina hollers to the others, bobbing on her toes.
Laughing, I find myself bouncing a little too.
Sabrina brings me in for a hug. She has an air of peace surrounding her, which I certainly never expected. Especially after the horrors she’s lived through for years. Either she’s happy as hell to see me, or this place is magic.
Tears well in my eyes.
Damn. I didn’t think seeing these girls again would affect me this much. On the contrary, I expected to be hit with horrible memories of screams and suffering. But there’s none of those so far.
There’s still time for that, I suppose. After all, I’ve only been here for about thirty minutes.
Correction . Only been on my own for thirty minutes. Stella and Freya did a one-hour goodbye ritual in the lobby. Said ritual involved them asking me in no less than twenty-seven ways if I was sure about staying here.
Do you want us to sit with you?
Why don’t we go to lunch first and think it over some more?
Blink twice if you’re under mind control.
And then trying not to blink was impossible.
I cried silently when I walked away from them, but I did it without collapsing onto the floor as a blubbering mess. I insisted they let me do this on my own. Reluctantly, they agreed. Pretty sure if I walked back out the front door, they’d still be standing by the entrance, peeking through the windows.
Stella said she has no plans to leave town any time soon, staying until she’s certain I don’t need her any longer. It eases my mind to know that Freya won’t be alone.
Fortunately, I don’t have much time to dwell on the sadness of leaving my friends behind because I’m pelted with questions from the girls surrounding me.
Once their curiosities are sated about how I’ve been, where I’ve been staying, and what made me decide to come here, Sabrina takes charge of the moment.
In an odd move, she wraps her arm over my shoulders and waves her outstretched palm in front of me in a sweeping motion. “Back up, Betties! Give the girl some breathing room.” To me, she whispers, “Did you get the grand tour yet?”
“No. I just got here. Did the paperwork up front, then they brought me to my room so I could unpack. They said to come down here whenever I was ready. And here I am.”
Keeping me under her wing, she walks me through the recreation room. It’s a large, sprawling space filled with comfy spots for relaxing and functional areas for activities. The decor is cozy meets cheery with a blend of neutral earth tones and bright accent colors.
It’s so inviting. And what is that smell? It’s sweet. Like freshly baked sugar cookies.
“This is where we sit and bitch about men,” Sabrina says, gesturing to the first sitting area we pass. Two plush recliners box in an L-shaped couch, creating a cozy space. There’s a teal blue fluffy carpet that I want to roll around on. Throw pillows coordinate with the rug.
“And over here is where we sit around and bitch about men,” she jokes, pointing to another seating area. This one has about six oversized bean bags surrounding a low-to-the-ground coffee table.
I’m hit with a memory of cuddling up on a similar-looking bean bag with James in an after-care room at Bask. Well, I thought he was James at the time.
Shaking off the intrusive thought, I point to a cluster of tables on the other side of the room. “And is this where we’ll sit around and bitch about men while doing arts and crafts?”
“No, silly. That’s where we bitch about our childhoods while doing arts and crafts.” Sabrina’s laugh is surprisingly pleasant. A velvety purr that gets choppy as it grows. Never heard it before. Hope I get to hear it a lot more. Mine too.
Big brown eyes, short black pixie hair, and a pleasant face attached to the tiniest body I’ve ever seen for an adult. This woman shouldn’t go outside without ankle and wrist weights, or a breeze could blow her into the next county. Not even a stiff breeze.
Literally any breeze.
Man alive. If someone turned on a hair dryer half a mile away from her, she’d likely be pushed back a dozen feet.
Her smile is nice, though.
My new therapist, Simone, sits across from me in a well-lit and soothingly decorated room. White walls with sky blue curtains and accents. Pictures of various beach scenes line the walls. Every empty surface has an ocean-themed trinket or dust collector on it. Small colorful shells inside a larger shell on the coffee table. A lighthouse on the windowsill. A wave-shaped glass or acrylic paperweight on her desk with ocean blue crystals inside it to make it look like water. It’s even got tiny fish. Not real ones of course. That would be weird for a paperweight.
Simone clears her throat, drawing my attention away from my assessment of the overly pleasant surroundings. “Before we begin, I’d like to remind you that you’re in a safe place. There are no wrong answers. There are no stupid questions or bad reactions. You’re free to feel anything you feel. Okay?”
I nod, unsure what to say. For once in my life, the words aren’t there.
What is there?
A racing heartbeat and sweaty palms. Most likely, some serious bags under my eyes because I didn’t sleep well last night. At breakfast, Sabrina said she only sleeps about half the night. Despite feeling safe here, the nights are rough. Makes sense. They were rough at the apartment. Rough here.
Oddly enough, not so rough when I was with... him .
But we’re not thinking about him now because he is a dickhead, unworthy of my thoughts.
Even as I think it, I know it’s untrue. However, it makes me feel marginally stronger to be mad at him. Perhaps almost twenty-four hours away from the cock-cursing sisters—Stella and Freya—have left a void of Tomer bashing that I must fill.
Bah . I shove that thought away.
I don’t want to hate him or anyone. I simply wish to be myself again.
Sugar-sweet Lettie bear. Not this sourpuss.
Simone folds her hands in her lap. “Tell me what brings you here, Violet?”
“Call me Lettie.”
“Sorry about that. What brings you here, Lettie ?”
My face crinkles up so much I can see my cheeks. “Huh?”
Her chuckle is soft and meek like her. “I’m just curious why you’re here.”
My hands splay out in front of me. “In therapy? Or in this facility? In Florida?”
She shrugs. “All of those topics are fine places to start. Dealer’s choice.”
“Don’t you have a file on me?” I point my chin toward her desk, where a few manila folders are stacked neatly, and shimmy my brows.
“I do.”
My inner brat is thrashing around my psyche, chomping at the bit. “You didn’t feel like reading it? I get it. Maybe wait until the movie adaptation.”
She’s neither amused nor annoyed. “I read it twice.”
It takes all my strength—and I mean absolutely all of it—to avoid asking if she has reading comprehension struggles. Being a bitch to my therapist in my first session probably won’t set the tone for a healing journey.
“Well. Hmm.” I drag my palms along the tops of my thighs, then work my arms around my midsection to give myself a hug. “I came to Florida about a year ago, after the man I thought was my father died. I decided I needed a fresh start. On his deathbed, he confessed that he was my grandfather. He said my birth mother died shortly after childbirth from complications. So he and my grandmother raised me as if I was their own.”
“So they were your grandparents?”
“Yes.”
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
“Yes. She’s in Climax.”
Simone’s face blanches over comically while her mouth and eyes widen to the size of oranges.
“Sorry for dropping the name of my hometown on you like that. It’s usually better to build up to it and let it come gradually. It’s a small town in Georgia. In between Arousal and Letdown.” I snort into my hand.
Freaking nervous energy always makes me say dumb shit and think I’m funnier than I actually am.
“Sorry again. Kidding. It is the name of my hometown, though.” I cup my hands over my rapidly warming cheeks.
Her laugh is a bit bigger this time, easing my embarrassment a tad.
Once I can meet her eyes again, she asks, “Your biological father wasn’t in the picture?”
Two husks of a morose chuckle escape me, followed by a lengthy groan. “ No . Papa said he died on a deployment in Afghanistan.” I can’t hold back my eye roll and clicking of my tongue.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because surprise ! He’s alive.” I flash jazz hands because it’s clearly what the situation calls for. “My father lives in Clearwater, believe it or not. I only found out a few days ago.” I glance at my non-existent watch. “How long is this session going to be? We’ve got a lot to cover to get you up to speed.”
A full ninety minutes later, I’m getting twitchy and ready to go. Simone looks like she’s about to tap out. Perhaps out of this line of work entirely. Can’t blame her. I’m a bit much.
If she doesn’t type up her resignation letter the moment I leave, I’m sure she’ll think twice before giving me free rein of a session again. I suspect her questions for me will be more direct when we meet again tomorrow—yes, we’ll meet daily. I’m not mad about it either. This is why I came here. For professional help putting my life together. And I like her.
After a break in the conversation that goes on a bit longer than the rest, she smiles warmly. “Well, I think we’ve built a nice foundation for our work together. Don’t you?” She reaches behind her, pulling out a bowl of M&Ms and offering it to me.
Naturally, I decline.
“Watching your figure?”
“Nope.”
Her brows lift in sharp arcs, highlighting how perfectly groomed they are. “If you don’t have a sweet tooth, what can I get for you instead? I always like to end our sessions with a little treat. A reward. Nothing too crazy. Therapy is hard work. I don’t want to create an unhealthy coping mechanism, but a little treat is nice.”
“Treat yo’ self,” I joke.
“Exactly.” Her smile fades. “So what would you like for your treat? Within reason, I’ll try to get it here tomorrow.”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
I don’t need a reward for therapy. Getting better should be enough of a prize, right?
She sets the bowl on the coffee table and refolds her hands in her lap. Her face sobers, all traces of humor or amusement evaporating almost instantly. The entire session felt like I was talking with a friend. She let me ramble on about my life story, laughing a few times at my silly Lettieisms and southern phrases. That vibe has certainly shifted. While it’s a tad unsettling, I don’t feel any fear since she’s the most nonthreatening woman on the planet.
My head juts forward, lowering slightly. “Did I do something wrong, Simone?”
“No, sweetie. Remember how I told you there were no wrong answers or reactions? I meant it.”
“Then why the vibe change?”
She sighs. “To be honest, I got a little sad.”
“Therapists have feelings?” I tease, avoiding the pressing question of what suddenly made her so sad. “If you want me to have a treat so bad, just say so. I’ll take some stickers. Gold stars, please.”
Ignoring my joke, she asks, “Did you eat today, Lettie?”
Busted.
She’s sad because she’s noticed my little issue with taking food or drink from others.
“Sure.”
It’s not a lie. I did eat.
In my room. Three protein bars I brought from home.
“And did you have anything to drink?”
“Yep.”
Water bottles from home.
“What did you have?”
“Protein. Fiber. Water,” I hedge, offering a sweet smile to sell it.
“Lettie, I promise to do my best to help you through this shitty, unfair nightmare you’ve found yourself living through. I need you to always be honest with me, though.”
I exhale, flapping my lips in a raspberry. “Fine.”
After I confess to my pre-wrapped and sealed smuggled nutrition, she thanks me for being honest. The silence settles again. Neither of us makes any effort to wrap things up. She’s not done yet. I can see her thoughts swirling behind her intelligent eyes.
A few seconds later, my theory is proven correct.
“Lettie, remember at the beginning of the session when I asked why you were here?”
Lips pressed tightly together, I nod, waiting to see where she’s going.
“That was an intentional question.”
Why is she looking at me like I failed a test? Rude.
I quirk my head. “I thought you said there are no wrong answers.”
“Nothing you said or did was wrong,” she reassures me. “But I do find it very telling that in all the things we talked about,” she pauses to glance at the clock on the wall, “for almost two hours, you never once mentioned the abduction or captivity.”
I have no response to that.
We touched on my raising, religious trauma, the sorrow of losing Papa, and the shock of finding out my parents were dead, only to later find out my father is alive. I even touched on how devastated I’ve been since finding out my boyfriend was lying to me.
Never once mentioned the trauma that truly led me here.
She doesn’t let me stew in the heavy moment for long. “I always start that way with new patients because it’s a great way to get insight into where they are in their journey of processing trauma. Some girls can only focus on that, speaking of nothing else. Some avoid it, much like you did. And others can’t stop crying. A small percentage rage or outright refuse to talk. Healing is a spectrum. Now I know where you are.”
My eyes mist over, but I hold back the tears.
For once.
“You’ve had a lot of reasons to lose faith in humanity lately. I absolutely won’t find fault if you don’t trust me right away. But I promise you, I’ll do my best to help you heal. Have some patience and faith, okay?”
Unspeaking, I nod and wipe away a single tear that escapes.
She reaches over the coffee table, offering me her hand. I take it eagerly, letting her soft skin soothe me.
“In the meantime, I’ll ask the dining manager to ensure your food and drinks are sealed. Will that make you comfortable enough to eat and drink?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I choke out, voice shaky.
When we stand, I give her a big hug. Turns out, Simone’s hugs are worth the pain too.