I look at my hand, and it’s wrapped around a kitchen knife. I immediately drop it and jump back. It’s covered in blood. I look down at my shirt, and I’m covered in it.
“Blood. There’s blood. Whose blood? What did I do? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted him to stop.” I am panicking, nearly hyperventilating. I can’t bring myself down. I can’t ground myself. I can’t make it stop. There’s so much blood. I repeat myself over and over again, but my words get trapped in my throat when Grayson grabs my face and pulls me against his chest.
“Milly. There is no blood. You hear me? Focus on my voice, Milly. There is no blood. You haven’t hurt anyone. Okay? You are safe. Everyone is safe,” Grayson says. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath for me.”
I nod and close my eyes so I can take a long, deep breath in through my nose and slowly blow it out of my mouth. I match my breathing to his, and he breathes slowly and deeply with me.
“Good girl. Come sit with me. Okay?” Grayson says.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Adam is going to stay here with us, but you can trust him. Okay? He is my friend.”
“Alright,” I say a bit louder.
Grayson places me on the couch and sits on the ottoman in front of me. I am looking down at my hands, and I feel like an idiot.
“Let’s start simple, okay?” Grayson says, and I nod. “What initially triggered you? Where did it begin?”
“Greg… he uh… I didn’t know he was home,” I say tearfully.
“Milly, look at me,” Grayson says. I look up, and I am hardly hanging on. “What did he do?”
“He raped me,” I whimper. “I’m so confused… I… Why would he do that?” I ask as I start crying again.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I uh… I was in the kitchen getting some water. I didn’t know he was home until he pushed me over the table. I was yelling at him to let me up, but he wouldn’t. But… I just shut down. The moment he started, it was like my brain stopped working. I feltlike I was watching someone else get raped. It didn’t feel like it was me. It was like when…”
I stop talking before I say it. It doesn’t make sense and just leaves me with more questions.
“When? What?” Grayson asks softly.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Am I too late for the… thing? The therapy thing?”
“No, we can do it still,” he says. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Alright,” he says. “Lie down and close your eyes. Just get comfortable.”
I move to lie on the couch with my legs stretched out. The other man, Adam, is still by the door, keeping his distance from me. I close my eyes and try to relax.
“Hold these,” Grayson says, before placing two objects in my hands. They’re like sticks with buttons on the ends. I rest my thumbs on them and wait.
“Okay, Milly. I want you to remember that you are safe. No matter what you say—what your brain makes you feel—you are safe. Okay? If you doubt that at all, open your eyes and look at me,” Grayson tells me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Take me back to the day your father died. Start with what you were doing before and go through the events.”
“Uh…” I say, letting myself think about that day. “I was ten years old. The next day was my eleventh birthday. I was sitting in my room with my Barbie dolls. I was playing house with them. Mom was at work. Dad was… I don’t know. He wasn’t there, but then he was… He was mad…”
“What was he mad at, Milly?” Grayson asks.
“Me,” I whisper. “He was mad at me.”
“What did he say to you? What were his exact words?”
