“Right, Matt. Matt has a tendency to get angry, to have outbursts. And you’re worried for the boys in what way when they’re in his care?”
“I’m worried for their safety.”
I picture the splattered spaghetti on the fridge, reminding me so much of blood.
“And what exactly did it look like when your ex had these outbursts? What does he do, and how would you respond?”
I breathe out, adjusting my ankles and crossing them over each other.
“He … he yelled, threw things, called me a bitch.”
“And what did you do?”
I think, remembering how I only really had one way I knew to handle it. To talk him down from the terrifying cliff we were all on together.
“I would usually just … seduce him,” I finally admit, my voice wavering with the embarrassment of admitting it out loud.
His eyebrows pinch together. The look on his face isn’t judgmental or shock; it’s more like fatherly concern.
“I see. Did that work?”
I shrug. “I mean, sometimes. Sometimes, he wouldn’t do it right away, so he’d still throw things and make threats before finally having sex with me. But afterward, yeah, he’d usually not be angry anymore.”
Admitting this truth makes me feel dirty, like I’ve been wearing the same shit-covered clothes for a week straight. Telling another soul the raw, unfiltered horrors I was forced to live through for my own safety and the safety of my kids makes my skin feel like ants are crawling on me.
Dr. Stone doesn’t say anything, and I find myself filling the silence.
“I mean, he was my husband, you know? We fought alot, and it just seemed like the easiest way to work through it. It was the only thing he really liked about me.”
The screen doesn’t move, and I wonder if he froze due to a bad connection. I wait, holding my breath and counting to ten before he finally shifts in his chair and clears his throat.
“Did you enjoy it? Being intimate with your husband in that state?”
I blow out an exhale, shaking my head.
Does that make me a bad person?
Maybe he thinks I was the one avoiding confrontation through sexual coercion, that I was the real problem and Matt deserved better, someone who didn’t make him so angry or use sex as a tool to resolve conflict.
“Dallas, you do realize that was rape, right? Your husband was raping you. It’s intimate partner sexual abuse. You did nothing wrong. You were forced to do something horrific and traumatizing to keep yourself physically safe from someone who wanted to harm you, someone who threatened and who did harm you. That’s not what we call consent. Has anyone ever discussed with you what sexual consent in an intimate relationship should look like?”
My body feels disconnected from my mind, like I’m observing the conversation between two other people instead of being an active participant.
Unmistakable relief courses through me, that he isn’t blaming me. But it’s short-lived, followed by a potent dose of shame.
I shake my head. “I guess not, no. I was raised in the Church of Christ. Matt was the first person Iever had sex with.”
He nods, understanding. Calm. Patient.
“Let’s start there. It’s a very important thing to understand. Sex, when it’s not used for mutual enjoyment and bonding between two partners, immediately becomes something unhealthy. If one partner feels forced into it, it’s no longer consensual. When it ceases to be consensual, it becomes assault. This can take some time to grasp, so don’t hesitate to ask questions about it. With a strict religious upbringing, many people can feel shameful, talking about this. There’s no reason to feel that way, but if at any time you want to stop the conversation, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Understatement of the century.
9
DALLAS
“Keep up, slowpoke. It’s starting.” Jo is pulling me behind her toward the sound of loud male voices hollering into the open field.
