I blink a few times, feeling myself pale and rebel at the same time. I want to run. I want to fight. I want to escape, but some part of me wants to do this too. I want to talk without having to pick my words carefully.
At the same time, what am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to out everything my own father did? That he killed my mom, that he spent years and years hurting me physically, emotionally, and verbally? That he encouraged others to hurt me? That he recorded himself… doing worse and shared it with the world? That I…
“No,” I breathe softly.
“You need this,” Jax says evenly, no sign of gentleness. “Be a good girl and try it.”
“Something has to change, sweetheart. You need a place to talk openly,” Knox echoes.
Dimitri brings me a tablet. “You need to answer these questions.”
They swim in front of my eyes. They’re multiple choice, but I don’t know what they mean. I know what I’m supposed to say. That I’m fine. I’m okay.
But when I get to questions about eating and sleeping, I hesitate. Jaxon leans over and speaks in my ear. “Be honest. It will come out either way.”
I grit my teeth together, close to grinding them. I start from the beginning, honestly answer everything, then return the tablet just as a woman with graying blonde hair walks out. She adjusts the glasses on her nose. She looks professional, put together, but in a cozy and open way. A knitted burgundy sweater and a gray pencil skirt give her an odd mix of straightforward and welcoming that I can’t make sense of.
She motions me forward and guides me to a nice room. I don’t trust it. Terrible things could happen in nice places and this one seems fake. The fake plants, the perfect candles, the slightly messy, but all organized décor.
“Hope,” the woman greets, then motions to the couch. “Please, have a seat. We’re just going to get to know each other today. No pressure. We’ll just talk a bit about why you’re here, what you’d like to work on, and you can ask me anything.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She pauses, then cocks her head to the side as she grabs a tablet and stylus. “Josephine Grant. You can call me Jo. I like to keep things casual.”
She writes something down and I rub the back of my neck. I don’t want to touch her pillows. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to share.
“I know that it can be overwhelming, sharing deep things with a stranger, so let’s start with the basics. Your name, how old you are, what you do for a living, any meaningful relationships, friendships included, and then we can go over the survey you filled out.”
And that’s what we do. I mention work, cover the basics, then mention Jax, Dimitri, and Knox. She asks if I’m dating any of them and I hesitate. She doesn’t push more and asks why I’m not sleeping.
“Nightmares,” I whisper. “Memories sometimes. The worst things twisting together. It seems… I don’t know. I’m just always tired.”
“And you’ve had a panic attack recently?”
Those bastards.
I tell her about Ben. I’m vague about being attacked, about video being taken, but the more she nods and encourages me, talks to me, validates me without question, the more I open up. I don’t mention everything. I mention my father being abusive, keeping me from friends, keeping me from dating, trying to keep me out of college, how he’d hit me, how he stalked me.
Her face twists ever so slightly. I ask her about it, but she waves her hand. “You’re in hyper-awareness mode. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted. We can get you on sleeping medicine for that, but I think anti-anxiety medication will do more. You’ll need to be able to reach a kind of calm for us to dive into the harder things.”
“I don’t know about medication. I don’t want to have to take time off work. I don’t want to be dependent on things,” I say slowly.
“Right now, you’re dependent on your over-alert system. The anxiety is going to keep you from sleeping. Your panic is going to exhaust you. It’s going to run you down until you can’t function and then you’ll grasp at anything, even if it’s not good for you,” she explains. “The worst memories you can think of will become the anger that keeps you going until it eats you alive.”
I shudder.
She smiles kindly. “Let’s avoid that.”
My shoulders slump and with a sigh, I give in with a nod.
Five
DIMITRI
My foot keeps bouncing. I want to know what Hope is saying in that room. I want to know if she’s talking about us. I want to know what she’s saying about her father. What if she’sjust sitting there silently? What if she’s being stubborn and rebelling in a new way?
“How long is this going to take?” I demand.
