Therapy

By Abby

Note: This story is propety of Abby. Any publication of this work without the author’s permission is strictly forbidden.

Please, don’t make me repeat it. I was told I only had to talk to the officer. No one said anything about a counselor. I just want to go home, pretend that none of it happened, get my life back to normal. Not like that has worked the last 10 days. Images keep flashing through my head at night, too, so I don’t even get much rest then.

My sister tried to call me today, I know, because I checked the caller ID. I didn’t answer, so she left a message. Haven’t listened to it yet. I’m quite sure she and everyone else are trying to figure out what’s going on. They don’t know. I don’t want to talk to them yet.

I bet you that mom will show up at my door tomorrow. It would be just like her. She always assumes that the worst has happened. And of course she never trusts me. I tried to walk home from school once back in seventh grade instead of taking the bus, and by the time I got to the house, she had already called the police. Paranoid, right? I had been angry, because she was stupid to think that anyone would try to kidnap me in our safe little town. She told me that there were a lot of weirdos out there who would love to steal me away, and they would only have to drive five miles until they were across the Canadian border and then I would be gone forever. I didn’t really take her seriously. She was always coming up with stuff to scare me like that.

That’s probably why I don’t want to talk to her right now. I would have to tell her what happened, all the while knowing that she had warned me properly about not trusting people, and I hadn’t listened. She would never say ‘I told you so’ straight to my face, and I doubt she would even think it after I told her the news. I just know she’ll weep and wail and hug me and then I would start crying too. But that will only be because she’s crying. Not because I’m really tramatized or anything. I’m alright.

Really, I am.

I mean, I feel violated, I feel like an idiot. But that will go away over time, after all. I think I’ll be ready to go back to work next week. I told my boss that a family emergency came up, so I think I can pull off not showing up for a little while at least. For now I just think I’ll take some time, let my body heal, get used to being around people again. I’ve just been so jumpy lately. I have every right to be, having gone through what I’ve gone through.

I think it’ll be nice going back to the office, going through old routines, losing my mind in paperwork. Perhaps if I work long enough hours all thoughts in my mind will be replaced with due dates, meetings, memos. Perhaps if I do it long enough I’ll forget the gleam in his eye, his yellow teeth, the taste of stale vodka in my mouth, the overwhelming pain, my own screams silently ringing in my head, his cruel, low laughter, my pleading prayers to God, the stealing of my soul…

Oh, God. I am not alright.

I think I’m ready to talk to you now.