“Don’t, Jesse,” I growl as I scoot away from him, trying to keep another wave
of tears at bay and failing. “I won’t let one bad night ruin me.” I tug my hair out of my ponytail. “It wasn’t my fault. I’m not going to suffer for it for the rest of my life. I won’t!” I press my fingers hard on my forehead.
At Jesse’s shocked expression, I shut my mouth. He’s never seen me like this, frantic and shouting and full of angry desperation. Even with the panic attacks, I’m never mean. I never lash out. Tears are cascading down my face, but I take a deep breath. Jesse doesn’t deserve my wrath. When I open my mouth to speak again, I keep my voice low and as calm as possible.
“I can’t undo what happened, Jesse. I can’t change it, but I refuse to believe that the damage is irreparable. I won’t let these scars shadow everything I do. I’m not going to let him take away my ability to live my life. I wasn’t given a choice before. I’m taking that choice back now.”
“But is this the best way to do it?” he questions, and my anger flares hotter and my tears flow faster.
Curse my overwhelmed, chaotic emotions.
“Don’t you dare judge how I deal with my trauma,” I scold him. “Because I am dealing with it. I see a therapist. I’m in a support group. I’ve taken years of self-defense classes. It happened, it’s part of me now, and I’ve accepted that. Now, I’m choosing to do what I think is best for me. I’ve chosen to come back stronger. It’s my choice, Jesse, and you don’t get to tell me how to heal. You don’t have a say in how I choose to conquer my demons.”
“I know,” he says on an exhale and gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “I know, V. I’m sorry. You want me to take you to Kelley?”
“No. Definitely not.” I shake my head quickly. My best friend would definitely soothe the ache in my chest, but I’m not ready for him to see me like this. I’m not prepared for him to know everything. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.” I apologize to Jesse with a shrug. “You can go back out there. I’m okay now.”
“Nah, girl. Queens before Peens.”
I snort out a laugh, and he grins.
He gives my shoulder one last squeeze, then gets off the bathroom floor and offers me his hands.
“What do you say we head to your place and see what magical cookie concoction Bailey has conjured up?”
I smile and grab his outstretched hands, letting him pull me up off the floor, literally and metaphorically.
“I think that sounds great.”
Hours later, I wake up in a cold sweat with tears streaming down my face, my breath ragged and gasping. I can’t recall the dream, but I never can.
Sometimes I wish there would be a lingering memory of the nightmare that has such a violent effect on my body, for answers or closure or regaining some semblance of power. But tonight, I’m happy for the darkness. I grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time.
4:06 a.m. It’s always 4:06 a.m.
It’s been a while since this has happened to me. Eight months, to be exact, and I feel a niggling worry that tonight’s events have caused a regression in my progress. I take a few steadying breaths to calm my racing heart and decide there’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep.
I guess there’s comfort in this breakdown, considering it’s always the same. Triggered panic attack, followed by the nightmares and a few extra therapy sessions with Dr. Joyner. It’s just been so long since it’s happened that I started to let myself believe I was over the worst of it.
Naive, really.
Dr. Joyner has always been clear on that topic. There is no real cure, and all I can do is work to manage the symptoms.
My first desire is to call Kelley—just the thought of hearing his comforting voice calms my nerves a bit—but I remind myself of all the reasons that’s a bad idea. I’m not ready for him to know, and I definitely don’t want to disclose it all when I’m a mess like this.
Instead, I open the browser on my phone and click the bookmark for my support group forum. After posting on the forum, I click over to my email app and send a message to Dr. Joyner’s office, my therapist in Bowen. It’s been a few weeks since our last check in, and I know she’ll want to know about this episode.
When that’s done, I pull up an LSAT practice test and do my best to block everything else out.
7
12th Grade
I’m at lunch, sitting at my table in the back and flipping through the magazine I “borrowed” from the health department last weekend. I say borrowed because I’ll probably return it on Saturday. I’m starting to feel guilty. I don’t want to be the reason some poor single mom has nothing to read while she and her three kids are waiting to be seen.
At the time I didn’t consider that, though.
I was irritated because I had to wait with Jacob for two hours before anyone would see us, and then I had to throw a fit to even be seen without a parent.