We sit in silence again. Not heavy. Hopeful. Like something cracked open to let something new in.
He glances at me. “So…we’re back?”
I grin. “We never left. We forgot who we were.”
His slings an arm around my neck. “Let’s fuckin’ find out.”
seventeen
Avonna
Nine Months Later
Isitwithmyknees pressed together.
My fingers are laced so tight they’ve gone cold.
Dr. Camille Lane waits for me to speak. She’s used to it by now. How I talk in pieces. Like my voice still needs permission.
“I saw something today, Dr. Lane,” I manage finally. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Please call me Camille.” Her face stays soft. “Tell me.”
“I was seating a couple. At Delgado Cocina, where I work.” I try to relay like it’s just another story. “They were maybe in their twenties. Not much older than me. He touched the small of her back when she walked through the door. Not in a creepy way. More like he was used to touching her.”I breathe through the discomfort. “She smiled when he did it. Like she was safe. His touch meant something good.”
Dr. Lane nods. “How did it make you feel?”
“Like I was going to cry,” I whisper.
She waits. No questions. Always lets me unspool it first.
“I’m not sure why,” I continue. “I’ve seen a million couples touch each other the same way. It wasn’t even sexual. Not really. But it was the look she gave him. So intimate. Familiar. I realized I don’t know what it feels like to be touched. It made me sad.”
Camille leans forward slightly. “Tell me more about what touch meant in your upbringing.”
I hesitate. My mouth tastes metallic, like I’ve bitten down on something old. I should be used to this, the unraveling of my old way of thinking.
I’m not. It’s meticulous, painstaking work.
Ten months ago, when I first sat in her office, I could barely make eye contact. I’d already endured months of religious reprogramming with Megan and her team, but fear still lived in my body.
Camille took things up a notch. Introduced me to somatic therapy. Breath work. Grounding exercises. Taught me through psychoeducation how language can be a tool to reclaim autonomy. I didn’t believe her. Not at first. Eventually, through EMDR and narrative work, I was able to tease apart which beliefs belonged to me and what had been forced on me.
The first time she asked me to say the word “pussy” in this room, I whispered it through tears. I grew up believing my pussy was a source of sin. A site of male dominion. I was taught if a man entered me, I belonged to him permanently. Nudity was forbidden. Avoided at all costs.
Even after I left, I changed in the dark. Closed my eyes when I washed myself. Perfected the art of vanishing from myown gaze.
I’m still learning. Still unwinding shame from my skin like barbed wire. Still reminding myself this body belongs to me. I can speak about the past while staying in the present. I don’t look away from my history. It’s part of me.
“There were rules. A woman couldn’t touch a man unless she was married to him. But men could…indicate interest. By handling the women. Wherever…” Her next words feel like blood under my tongue. “The first time I bled, I was thirteen. Mother told me I was ready for the preparation. God was watching me now.”
Camille says nothing for a moment before asking gently, “What do you mean, Avonna?”
“It’s when men stopped treating us like children and started looking at us like…prospects.” I stare at the seam of the couch cushion between us. “They’d have us stand in the chapel after devotion. The men would come in. The Elders, husbands, young male members. They’d touch our faces. Pluck our breasts. See how we responded.” My hands fidget. “They wanted to know if we were obedient. Modest. If we knew how to listen. Obey. Sometimes they’d observe us walking or speaking. Sometimes they’d correct us if we didn’t do it right.”
I glance up. Camille’s expression doesn’t change. She’s listening with her whole body.
“This went on until you were chosen. When I was sixteen, I still hadn’t been married, which was unusual. I thought maybe they’d forgotten me, but they hadn’t. The Elders were waiting.” My voice is smaller now. “I was promised to a man who was sixty-two years old. He already had four wives. None able to bear more children, so I was chosen to be the new breeder.”
