Chapter 4
“Why do you call them demons?”
Today was my first appointment with my new therapist, who I would have sessions with after I left the center. Dr. Jones had come out to the center today, but after I was discharged next week, I’d see her in her office instead.
She was an attractive woman in her forties with sleek dark hair and small wire-framed glasses, and I expected her to be just like all the other therapists I’d talked to in the past few months.
At first I liked her well enough, but some of her questions were annoying.
Like this one. “I don’t know. It’s just a way to describe how I feel.
I don’t really think I’m demon-possessed or anything. ”
“I didn’t think you did. I was just wondering why you chose the word ‘demons’.”
“I don’t know. It just feels like demons. When the thoughts are in my head, I mean.”
“You mean thoughts and memories of the rape?”
I felt a familiar shudder of fear and nausea—as I always did when that night flashed though my conscious mind—but I pushed it back to the little dark corner the way I’d learned to do.
“Yeah. It’s not just like thinking about it.
When it comes into my mind, it consumes everything.
And I can’t stop it. Then it’s like I’m…
I’m reliving it. They told me it was normal.
PTSD or whatever. But it feels like demons. ”
“Yeah. I can see why. So you were saying that moving back into your apartment would make the demons rise.”
“Yeah. I know it would. I don’t think I can do it.”
“What about being in your old apartment would be so hard?”
“It just would. It reminds me of all of that. All the stupid things I used to be so obsessed with—clothes and antiques and shoes and everything. Seeing all of it again now would make me feel… I don’t know. I don’t want to remember her.”
There was a pause, one so long that I looked up from my hands, which I’d been staring at. Dr. Jones was just watching me quietly.
“Do you realize that you’re dividing yourself?” she asked at last.
“What?”
“You’ve referred to yourself as ‘her’ now three times. You call your own thoughts and memories ‘demons’, as if they’re external to you. Do you realize you’re doing that? Dividing yourself?”
I hadn’t realized I was doing it. I just shook my head. When she didn’t reply and was obviously waiting for me to say something, I mumbled, “It’s just that the girl I used to be doesn’t feel like me anymore.”
“Okay. I understand that. You feel like your previous self is entirely different from who you are now. So tell me this. In your mind, is the Diana who was raped the Diana you used to be or the Diana you are now?”
I had no idea how to answer that question either.
* * *
“Are you sure about this?” Gideon asked, shifting the box he carried from arm to arm and looking around the simple living area with a slightly wary expression.
“What do you mean?” I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“Are you sure you want to live here?”
I’d left the center that morning and was moving into a vacation cottage my dad owned outside of the city. It was already furnished, but Gideon had volunteered to help me bring over the personal things I needed.
“Why not? It’s in good shape and comfortable, and I don’t need a very big place.” I tried to sound casual, but I felt rather irritated and defensive about the question. It was bad enough for Dr. Jones to ask me all about my living choices. I didn’t need Gideon nagging me about it too.
“But it’s so isolated and far away from everything.” He set the box he held on the table since it was full of kitchen stuff. “Are you sure you want to be so disconnected?”
The cottage was only about forty-five minutes outside the city—not even as far as the center had been. But it sat on several acres of property, so there weren’t any houses or businesses close by.
“Yeah. I’m sure. I can’t move back to my apartment. I can’t… I can’t be that person again.”
He leaned back so he was propped on the edge of the table and watched me quietly for a minute, in a way that made me very self-conscious.
The afternoon sun streamed in through the window, burnishing his light brown hair almost gold.
He wore short sleeves and his cast was off at last, so I could see both of his forearms. He’d had the tattoos that used to be there removed.
“Okay,” he said at last. “But what about finding a new apartment in the city? I’m just worried that you won’t feel safe here.”
I shook my head, trying to force down my annoyance.
I really wished this stupid conversation would end, but I couldn’t bring myself to be rude to Gideon.
In a voice of artificial calm, I replied, “I was kidnapped off a city street. That… that row house was in the city. Why would I feel any less safe here?”
His face twisted briefly, and I knew he was bothered by my words. “I don’t know. You’ll just be all by yourself.”
I took a breath to force back rising impatience. I knew he was trying to help, so it wasn’t right for me to want to scratch his face off for his persistent intrusion. “That’s what I want. It really is. I feel safer when I’m alone. Why won’t you believe me?”
“I do believe you. It just seems like it would be better to have other people around.”
“I’m not going to move in with my dad or something. What the hell are you thinking?” I wasn’t doing as good a job at hiding my annoyance now.
“For Christ’s sake, I’m not expecting you to—” He cut off his initial answer and tempered his tone as he started again. “I didn’t think you’d move in with your dad. I just think it would be better to have people around.”
“You already said that.”
He swallowed off his reply and went back out to his SUV to get another box. Or get away from me. Or something.
I was plugging in the blender I’d taken from the box when he came back in lugging a small potted tree. “Where should this go?”
I gestured toward a sunny space on the wall between the table and the living area, relieved the earlier conversation was over. “There would be good. Thanks.”
He put the tree down and then shifted it slightly so it was more centered. When he glanced back to check for my approval of his positioning, I nodded with a smile.
He smiled back as he straightened up. “So when do you think you’ll go back to work?”
My spine stiffened again as I realized the earlier conversation wasn’t actually over. It had just taken a slightly different direction. “I don’t know.”
“It might help. To feel like things are more normal.”
“Would you just shut up?” I snapped, giving up on my attempt to be patient and reasonable. “I’ll go back to work when I’m ready.”
He tightened his lips and turned away. I could see tension in his shoulders as he headed back to get another box from the car. I knew he was annoyed with me too and wanted to argue.
But you evidently don’t get mad at a delicate, damaged flower, no matter how much she deserves it.
When he came back in, he’d restrained his instinctive response, but I knew he was still thinking about it.
So I replied to what I knew was going on in his mind.
“I’m not going to feel normal, Gideon. It’s all I can do to get through the day and hold myself together. I’m not ready to go back to work yet.”
“Okay.”
“People deal with things differently. You can’t expect me to need exactly the same things that someone else might need to recover.
You need to give me enough space to deal with this in the way that works for me.
” I’d found in the past few weeks that this was an excellent response since it left whoever was nagging me no room for argument.
“I said okay.”
He was saying it, but I could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe it.
I took my favorite pasta pot out of the box and banged it onto the counter next to the stove.
It made more noise than I was expecting.
“I’m serious, Gideon. I don’t want you to be arguing with me in your mind.
This is what’s going to work for me. I’m not going to feel safe.
I’m not going to feel normal. This is the best I can do. ”
I hadn’t meant to say that. I knew better than to say that.
It was exactly the kind of thing that made people worry, that made them think they needed to help me.
I could see the reaction on Gideon’s face.
His expression had been tense with suppressed frustration, but it seemed to crack at what I’d said, softening into concern, emotion.
“Diana,” he began, his voice slightly hoarse.
“No!” I raised a hand to emphasize the word. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean that. I just feel that way sometimes. I’m sorry I’m being so rude. I really appreciate all your help. I just need some more time.”
“Okay.” His blue eyes were searching my face urgently, looking for something I had to hide. “Okay. I understand.”
I wasn’t convinced that he did.
* * *
After we unpacked the car and set things up, I fixed us sandwiches, grapes, and cookies for dinner. I was actually ready for him to leave, but I figured he at least deserved to be fed after helping me move all my stuff.
He didn’t seem inclined to leave afterward, and I ended up having to make a number of obvious hints about being tired. He finally got up and headed to his car, and I released a sigh of relief as his SUV disappeared down the long drive.
The cottage was surrounded by trees. There was nothing else in sight in all directions, except the pool in the back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so completely alone.
I’d wanted it. It was why I’d moved out here. I wanted the kind of freedom that came from having no one looking over your shoulder, judging your actions, assessing whether you were healthy or not. But now that I was here, the silence was oppressive. It closed in on me, bringing darkness.
And in the darkness the demons lived.