Chapter 12 #3
In the ten days since Maddie’s birthday, Anja has visited twice, and I have seen Dad every morning with Matt by my side for what remains my only real outing.
I have also reorganized Tristan’s kitchen, clearing one drawer for myself and filling it with the little things I used to keep hidden under my bed.
Dried flowers. Ribbons. Small, useless things I collected from the garden and around the house over the years, kept safely for no purpose other than having something beautiful to look at when I needed it.
Mom used to collect teacups, and if I could, I think I would too.
There is something reassuring about having a handful of treasured items that belong only to you.
I have even made a few attempts at cooking, which, since it was only for me and Tristan, turned out to be fun and oddly calming rather than a chore. And also…
We have not gone further than that night after the chess lesson.
Not that I do not want to. If only he knew the doors he opened, removing a blindfold I had been wearing for years, showing me mountains and valleys and rivers I ache to discover and experience.
I am determined to learn more, if he is willing to teach me slowly enough.
The only thing standing between us is the weight of what happened in that cell, and Dr. Fost is here to help me understand it, or do the thing doctors do that I hope will fix, or at least bandage, my still-fresh wound.
I am hopeful. Not all the time, but today, I have decided to be.
Not only does she seem extremely competent, but she is fluent in sign language, which means that for one hour, I can just… be.
“At first, I got scared,” I sign. “He told me right after I woke up the next day, and I appreciated that he didn’t keep it from me.
That he trusted me, I guess. Even if it was terrifying.
” Tristan could have hidden Cole’s threat from me, creating friction and conflict between us.
He did not. And I fell in love with him even more when he told me the truth.
Dr. Fost nods, her gaze following my hands with full attention.
“As we’ve discussed before,” she signs back while also speaking, her rhythm calm and experienced, “your situation is unusual. Almost fairy-tale-like in structure, if I may, though not in its consequences. A hidden girl, a Prince Charming, a villain. Several villains, really.” Her mouth softens slightly.
“I know this may feel like I am pressing on a bruise, but we need to go there carefully. How are you managing day to day, knowing Cole is still out there?” My fingers tighten in my lap.
“Tristan told me something that helped,” I sign. “Something like, be where your feet are.”
“I’ve heard that often in my work with veterans,” she remarks with an appreciative gaze. “And are you?”
I look down at my feet.
Well, technically, they are here, but…am I?
“I’m trying,” I sign. “I still get flashes. In details. Stupid things. Like the hose in the garden, and all of a sudden, I’m back there, being peeled raw by the water they used to wash me with.
” Dr. Fost does not interrupt, but her expression changes almost imperceptibly, pain passing beneath professionalism and disappearing before I can call it pity.
“When I’m with him, I forget,” I continue.
“I mean, not forget, not exactly. It just gets…smaller. Then it’s in a sound, or a smell, or when something touches my skin the wrong way, and I’m back there again.
” I brush my knuckles together. “It’s like Tristan is a shield, but I can’t stay protected under him.
I keep slipping out of it on my own. I keep reliving it, again and again, almost like I am looking for it.
” My hands tremble, and I hate myself more than I think I ever have.
“It’s like when people break up, and then everything reminds them of the person.
Except for me, life reminds me of captivity.
Water. Concrete. A door closing. Someone laughing in another room.
The smell when I throw leftovers in the trash, because it used to…
” I stop, wincing. “My hair. I couldn’t wash it.
” Dr. Fost remains still. “A butterfly. The sound of my own footsteps. Everything reminds me how much I used to take life for granted. How careless I was, getting into a stranger’s car.
How stupid I was. How weak…” I pause, on the verge of tears.
Her pen stops mid-air. “I let myself cry on the concrete floor thinking no one would come for me,” I sign, faster now, because if I slow down, I will stop.
“I let my father down because I didn’t protect him from Mara.
Because I thought she would come around, love me, love him.
I let Tristan down because he trusted me to stay safe, and I still went out to see Dad.
And I let myself down so badly, Doctor, I can’t… ”
Tears roll naturally, like they were already there, waiting.
“I can’t look in a mirror without wanting to cry.
” A familiar blur glazes the room. “I saw parts of myself I can’t live with.
Parts I’m ashamed of. And when Tristan touches me, when I can feel how much he loves me, all I can think is how empty I am.
Like the walls of me are rotten and he just doesn’t see it yet.
” I look away, but my hands keep moving because there is nowhere else for the truth to go.
“How can I be fully intimate with someone when the only thing I can feel about myself is disgust? How can I let him look at me like I am precious when I know what I was in that cell?” My breath breaks.
“I’m not a survivor,” I sign. “I’m a stupid girl who should have known better.
” A minute stretches, then she places her pen on the notepad and leans forward.
“Ella,” she says, like she is speaking to someone waking after a decade-long coma and gently telling them what year it is. “If all of this had happened to your friend Anja, would you tell her she was stupid?”
“God, no,” I sign, horrified, running the back of my hand beneath my runny nose.
“Then why would you say it to yourself?” My throat tightens.
“In every traumatic experience, especially one that involves helplessness, our brain tries to create logic. But sometimes there’s just…
none.” Her voice remains crystal clear. “You were targeted by people who meant to hurt you. There was nothing you could have known in time to prevent it. You were trying to help your father, which is something anyone with a beating heart would have done. Something happened to you, Ella.” Her eyes hold mine and I am grateful for her strict, emotionless tone.
“You were not careless because you entered a car. You were deceived, Ella. You were not weak because you cried on a concrete floor. You were terrified and alone. And you did not fail your father by being abused under the same roof as him. Mara failed him. She failed you. People who harmed you failed every moral obligation they had.” My hands curl against my thighs.
“What about…Tristan?” I sign, his name hurting in a different way, making me feel like an anomaly next to a whole, complete human being, the most handsome, patient, and charming kind.
“Does he seem like someone whose hand can be forced into doing something he does not want to do?” I shake my head.
“Why not trust him then ?” she says. “Responsibility matters, Ella. He’s a grown man, aware of his world.
From what you’ve told me, both of you understand there are risks attached to this relationship, and still, both of you are staying. ”
“Will I always feel like he is going to wake up one day and see me the way I see myself?” Dr. Fost’s expression softens with something almost maternal.
“That is the work, Ella. Not convincing Tristan to love you. From what you have told me, he already does. What we’re doing here,” she waves at us, “is teaching your mind to believe that you deserve the love you keep seeking in other people.” I look down at my white socks again.
Be where your feet are. “As for intimacy,” she adds gently, leaning back, “you can want him and still be apprehensive. You can change your mind halfway through a moment and still have been honest when you began it.” The tightness in my chest loosens by one painful inch.
“With time, you will begin building your own library of safe experiences with him. They’ll add up.
Small pieces of evidence your body can return to until, little by little, it learns that things can be different now.
You are already gathering that evidence, Ella.
Give yourself time.” She pauses, clasping her hands, a thick golden ring shining. “Have you thought about the ball?”
“I did.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
Whatever shampoo I am using here seems to make it shine and feel soft like silk, nothing like the five-in-one gel soap I used to buy back when I was…
home. “I need to be there, at the ball,” I sign.
“Tristan is still opposed, but I’m working on it.
I feel like if I never go, if I don’t see him cuffed and trapped, I’ll never get the closure I need. ”
She nods, stern and focused. “The only cell left is the one in your head, Ella,” she states. “I want you to understand something because getting closure isn’t always external. Seeing him arrested may help you. It may give you a sense of completion. But, what if things happened differently ?”