Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Emory
I cracked my knuckles, waiting for Sarah to open the door and let me in for my therapy session.
I was anxious to speak with her. Worried about having another flashback, worried that I might hurt myself while I was out of it. Today marked day seven. If I made it through today, I’d have kept my promise to Enoch that I wouldn’t hurt myself for one week.
The urge was still there, even now. It was fucking second nature at this point to just dig my nails into my skin any time I felt anything. He’d FaceTimed me last night, his nightly question before bed to check if I’d self-harmed at all.
He might have been shirtless when he called, and I might have spent the whole time trying not to stare at his muscles.
I sighed, biting my cheek, trying not to smile like an idiot.
The door opened and I jerked out of my thoughts, meeting Sarah’s gaze.
“Emory,” she said with a smile, stepping inside her office. “Come in.”
I took my usual seat on the shitty leather couch, trying to relax when all I wanted to do was dig my nails into my skin. My knee was bouncing in the silence of her room as she settled into her chair.
“How are you doing today?”
“Fine,” I shrugged.
She raised a brow.
“Scared.”
She nodded, waiting for me to expand.
“Today is day seven without self-harming and I’m scared I’m gonna fuck it up. I don’t want a repeat of last week.”
She nodded with a smile. “That’s understandable. How have you been coping without the self-harm?”
I cleared my throat, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Um, I’ve been staying with my boyfriend and just been distracting myself I guess.”
“What do you do to distract yourself?”
“I’ve got, like, one of those squishy ball fidget things for my desk at work.
And if he’s nearby I’ve squeezed his hand instead of digging my nails into my skin.
We also, kind of, just got into a routine.
Like, we exercised every day, ate meals together, and then went to bed at the same time.
I guess…I just filled my day up with so many things that I didn’t really have as much time to do anything else.
He kind of understands what I’m going through. ”
“Yeah? How so?” She asked with intrigue.
Shit. Is it a confidentiality break if I tell her he has an alcohol addiction?
“Um, I dunno if I’m, like, supposed to share this with anyone…”
“It won’t leave this room,” she reminded me.
“He got sober last year. Alcohol addiction.”
“I see. So, that’s been helpful then, having his support?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have made it this far without his help.”
She smiled and sighed. “And have you had any problems with flashbacks this past week?”
The nausea returned full force as I visualized the marks I’d left on Enoch.
“I…had another sleepwalking panic attack.”
I grabbed the pillow from the couch, squeezing the fuck out of it in an attempt to stop myself from doing something I’d regret having to show Enoch later.
“And what happened this time?”
“I hurt Enoch.”
Her brows twitched. “What happened?”
I let out an anxious breath, bouncing both legs. “I woke up and choked him out, then proceeded to scratch his chest to hell before he finally pinned me down and knocked me out of it.”
She pursed her lips, crossing her legs as she studied me.
“I’m assuming you didn’t mean to hurt him?”
“Of course not,” I said with an outraged scoffed. “I thought…I thought he was someone else.”
She tipped her head, silently asking with a curious gaze who exactly I thought it was.
“My ex-husband. I was threatening to kill Enoch because I had dreamed my ex-husband had taken our child and was keeping her from me.”
Her brow rose with shock. “Do you have a child with your ex-husband?”
“No. It was just a dream. But…I clearly didn’t realize that when I was fucking trying to kill my boyfriend in his sleep.”
She sighed, grabbing a water bottle from her side table and taking a sip. The silence made my skin crawl and my hands ached from the grip on the pillow, but I was scared to let go and give in to my dark desires.
“Okay. I’m going to make a proposition here, and just hear me out before you say anything,” she paused waiting for me to agree so I nodded with subtle eyeroll.
“I think we should be doing two sessions a week. And I think we need to really dig in here with talking about your past, about these fears.”
I flexed my fingers, digging into the pillow once more.
“And what if I have a flashback again?”
“I’ll be here. You’ll be safe. And I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
I rolled my shoulders, the tension in my body turning painful.
“You trust me?” she asked.
I took another deep breath, trying to expel some of my anxious energy. “Yeah. Mostly,” I muttered.
“Okay. Do you want some water?”
I shook my head and she nodded, picking up her notepad and reading over something for a moment.
“How about we go back to the fear of apologizing.”
I groaned and threw my head back. “I’ve been working on that one. I actually said it a couple of times this week.”
“Really?” she said with a pleased sound of surprise.
“Yeah. It’s…fuck,” I rolled my neck again. “It was a conditioned response, I wasn’t allowed to say…” Fucking say it, you weak puta! “I wasn’t allowed to say, ‘I’m sorry’.” I released a breath of relief, squeezing the pillow harder. “I was punished if I didn’t apologize properly.”
She hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m glad you’ve started breaking that conditioning. Keep at it and it will get easier each time. Let’s work on another one then.” She glanced down at the list, lips twisting in thought. “How about the bathtub?”
My heart raced and I shook my head. “No. Not today. Please.”
She studied my reaction before finally nodding. “Okay. Cutting your hair?”
I took a breath, waiting for my heartrate to return to something that didn’t make me lightheaded.
“My dad. He buzzed my hair off when I was in elementary school. And I’ve refused to cut my hair since.”
“You’ve not cut your hair in, what? Ten? Fifteen years?”
I shook my head, reminded of my flashback while I was with Enoch on our first non-date date.
“No, I cut it about four years ago, but it wasn’t my choice.”
She nodded. “Okay. Okay. So, even if you decided yourself to cut it, that still scares you?”
I closed my eyes in thought for a moment. “Yes? I’ve not really ever considered cutting my own hair.”
“Alright, why don’t we talk through that time you got your haircut by your dad.”
I sighed. “Um…I was…seven, I think. It was second grade, just before Thanksgiving. I remember because I cried every night of school break when I woke up each day and it hadn’t magically grown back.
I had to go back to school with a buzz cut.
Half the class thought I had gotten lice and refused to stand near me.
The other half thought I had cancer and was dying, which didn’t mean they were nice.
Just meant the whispered about me wondering when I was going to die. ”
Sarah shook her head with a frown. “Why did he cut your hair?”
I shrugged. “Decided I was being a brat during one of his come downs. Busted my brother’s face when he tried to stop him and forced him to help pin me down so he could finish.”
I shook the memory from my mind, running a hand through my waist-length hair, as if to remind myself that I wasn’t bald anymore.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she sighed, shaking her head again. “And this other time, the more recent haircut?”
“Someone cut it while I was sleeping.”
“And how did you react?”
I could hear the sound of the shears like Mrs. Nortuck was here in the room.
My eyes stared at the pile of red hair on the floor, nose burning with the urge to cry.
I ignored the mirror that she held out for me to look at her work, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to keep my tears and panic at bay if I saw myself now.
I only had so many minutes left before I had to get dressed for the ceremony.
I ground my teeth together, shoving the memory away.
“Emory.”
I jolted, blinking, focusing my gaze on the hand that was attempting to unfurl my fist, locked around my hair.
“Shit,” I muttered. Looking over to find Sarah studying me.
“Hi. You with me?”
I blinked, looking back down at my hand as I pulled it away from my head, several red strands following.
“Y-yeah. Forgive me for…” I trailed off, swallowing, trying to get myself back to the present.
Fuck, I ripped out my hair. I didn’t even feel it.
Surely that doesn’t count as hurting myself, right?
“Here,” she said, holding out a cup of water.
I nodded, taking the cup and sipping the cold water.
Sarah stood, giving me space, and returned to her seat across from me.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, still clutching the pillow with my other hand.
“What…what had you asked me?” I asked, trying to get my bearings.
“I asked what happened four years ago when you cut your hair?”
“Right,” I nodded, opening my eyes, and placing the water cup down. “Right. Um, I cried afterwards, but I survived.”
The silence dragged and she eyed the clock.
“Okay. I want you to think about cutting your hair. You don’t have to do it.
Yet. But just think about it. Imagine yourself with a pair of scissors, or maybe a friend, or even a hairdresser if you think you’d prefer that but just imagine it.
Sitting there, choosing the length of hair you’d want to have, seeing the hair as it’s cut, and how you’d look once it was over. ”
I nodded, feeling numb and a little spaced out.
“You did good today. Let’s pick up on Thursday? Can you do one?”
I closed my eyes, trying to think what my work schedule was.
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
I’d have to use my lunch hour, but I’d make it work.
She nodded, standing from her chair.
“You okay to drive? You’re welcome to sit in the waiting area as long as you need.”
“No, I’m good.”
She nodded again and I finally released my death grip on the pillow to stand.
“Bye, Emory. See you soon.”
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