11. Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
— BUSYHEAD BY NOAH KAHAN
It’s been two weeks of nothing but silence.
Besides the noise in my head, no notes have been left, no creepy packages, and that scares me more than actually getting stuff from Ralph.
I’ve gone on two more dates with Alex, and they’ve been fine. Nothing has made me have a panic attack like the first time. His company is still not the best thing ever, but I’ve barely seen anything in the media about Ralph, so I guess Connie was right.
Love and relationships can distract the general public. Still, I hate that I basically had no choice in this. My entire life doesn't really feel like mine anymore, and I don't know how to make it feel like I’m in control again.
Ralph has taken so much from me—my safety, sanity, control, but the worst thing he took was my ability to just exist. I was twenty when he did what he did, still a girl trying to figure out who she wanted to be, but he made that choice for me. I will always be a victim. I will always be the thing that happened to me. That’s why I refuse to talk about it online. People can speculate all they want, but it’s my story to tell, and I’ll tell it when I want to. That day may never come, but it’s my choice to share it, and nobody is taking that away from me.
He has already taken so much. He doesn't get to share my story with the world. He’s just the man who hurt me, but I will always be the terrorized girl who watched him walk into my house with a gun at his side.
I’ve never been a big relationship girl before, but now, I can’t see myself ever having any type of relationship with someone like everyone else can. I don't see myself ever experiencing that feeling of choosing to be with someone despite it all, of growing alongside someone else as you age and experience life together. That will never be in the cards for me because if Ralph gets caught, someone else could just as easily take his place.
I’m never going to be safe again, and nobody would ever choose this life over a quieter and more peaceful one.
As my brain starts to spiral, I dial my therapist. She picks up almost immediately. “Hi, Bree. It’s wonderful to hear from you.”
I scoff at that. “As if I didn't call you yesterday.”
“You call me every single day, but it’s always good to hear your voice. How are you feeling today?”
The question seems so simple, but it has a thousand different answers to it. “I’m here, I think.”
Anna always makes me say that when I can feel myself wanting to slip into a safer reality—whether in my head, in books, music, or anything else. It’s my coping mechanism, according to her. When I feel unsafe and scared, I bolt to another place that will make me feel safe.
“That’s good to hear. Is there anything specific you wanted to talk about? Anything on your mind today?”
Anna’s a very question-led therapist. She likes to get me talking, even if none of what I’m saying is making sense. She understands that my brain and my thoughts can often get overwhelming, and this helps me to just speak and not have time to lie or keep it hidden. I learned the hard way that if you try to bury everything, it doesn't end well.
“I’m feeling scared, a bit guilty. Same old shit, just a different day.”
“That’s part of the process, Bree. Remember what I told you on our first session? ”
“That my mind is like a pot of boiling water. Sometimes, the temperature is high and everything overflows, and other times, it’ll be on a low simmer, and those are the days I feel okay.”
“Good. Today feels like an overflow day, so what’s on your mind?”
“I’ve been thinking about this one conversation I had with Teagen two weeks ago.” Anna is very familiar with Teags. She thinks it's good that I have someone like her, and I always agree. Even though Teags isn't a big emotional person, she’s always there when I need her.
“And what did you two talk about?” I can hear her scratching something down on her notepad over the phone, and I let the words flow out.
“She told me how she thinks about running away sometimes, just the two of us. And I told her I think about that too, but I wasn't honest with her.”
“Why?”
“I didn't tell her that what I think about is running away so the people I love aren't in danger, how I want to run away and have Ralph follow me and stay away from them.” I’d do it in a heartbeat if I was brave enough, but the selfish part of me wants to stay surrounded by the people I love, even if it means Ralph could go after them to get to me.
“That’s perfectly normal to feel, Bree, especially with everything you have going on, but remember what I told you. The people you’re surrounded by, even though they might not understand what you’re going through, are your lines. You’re the kite flowing in the wind, whipping around and feeling like chaos, and they are the lines that anchor you back to reality. You have to have a support system while you heal.”
Tears stream down my face. “But what do I do if one of them gets hurt because of me? How do I deal with knowing I was the reason?”
“Bree, these people have chosen you. They know all about your situation, and they stayed. They stayed by your side because they love you. If they didn't, they wouldn't be here—like your parents. They don't deserve to feel your love, but your sister and Teags do.”
“But what happens if it gets to be too much? What happens if they leave, if nobody stays?”
“Don't let the what-ifs cloud your brain, Bree. Come back to right now with me, okay?”
I take a few steadying breaths before I feel my mind start to clear. Sometimes, I hate my mind. Scratch that—I always hate it. My anxiety and PTSD feel like this gigantic invisible thing in front of me, but I can't physically fight it because it’s all coming from my own mind. All of these thoughts and feelings are just me. None of these feelings exist outside of my body, and nothing that I do will ever change that.
I am my own worst enemy. Every single day, I’m fighting a war within myself, and I can't get it to stop. I can only turn the burner off until something knocks into it again and my water starts to overflow.
“Did I lose you?”
I sniffle before I wipe some tears from my face. “No. I’m still here.”
“Let’s turn the stove off, okay? Do you have cold water near you?”
“I’m going to get some.” Take some deep breaths. I get off of my desk chair before I head to my bathroom. I grab the cup I keep in here for emergencies and fill it up with cold water. When I sip it, I don't feel relaxed, so I try the next best thing—I start to fill the tub up with freezing water. I only fill it a few inches, just enough for my ankles to be under the water, before I grab my phone again. “I’m back. My feet are in the tub.”
“That’s good, Bree. Is it helping?”
I take a breath, focusing on the cold beneath my feet. “Yeah, it is.”
“Good. Now, earlier, you mentioned feeling guilty. Is it about the same things we talked about yesterday or something different?”
“The same thing.” I hate that my mind won’t stop making me feel like this, but I can’t stop it. “I keep coming back to this one thing.”
“That you weren't raped? That it could've been worse?”
Her voice says the thing I can't say out loud, but it filters through my thoughts every single day. “Yes. I’m sorry, I feel like we have this conversation every time we talk.”
“Don’t apologize, Bree. It’s a hard thing to grapple with.”
“People have it so much worse than I do, yet I find myself constantly falling apart over what happened to me.”
“You’re a survivor, Bree. You went through something traumatic, and you survived . No matter what you went through, you’re still here. Comparing trauma is not healthy. No matter how bad it was, no matter if other people have gone through worse, your trauma changed you. It changed you in a way that only you know, and you’re allowed to feel however you want.”
Tears are dripping into the tub like rain falling into a puddle. I know I shouldn't compare, that everything she’s saying is making sense, but I can’t stop the guilt from peeking through.
“I’ll tell you that as many times as it takes, Bree. You survived something horrific, and yes, it could have been worse, but it wasn't, and thank God for that.”
“You’re right.”
“I always am. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m out of my head.” I unplug the drain before I get out of the tub and dry my feet. “This helped. Thank you.”
“It’s what I’m here for. Call me anytime, okay?”
“I will. See you next time.”
“Keep what I said in mind. Baby steps, Bree. Even the smallest ones can be huge leaps.” And then she hangs up, leaving me standing in my bathroom while I stare at myself in the mirror.
My eye bags are worse than before since I’ve barely slept the past month. I look…tired, yet I can’t sleep. Every time I sleep, I feel his hands around my throat, grasping at my ankles as he drags me out of my old closet. I feel his warm breath on my face, saying all the things he did to me while he touched my body as I tried to kick him off me.
It’s been four years, and I can still remember every minute detail, every word he said to me, and nothing about that night will ever be forgotten, no matter how hard I try.