Scars (16 page)

And you wonder why I don’t want to go? I’ve had too many secrets; I don’t need any more. Besides, there’s a lot of things I’d rather do. Like be with Meghan.

I clamp down on a smile. “I’m staying home,” I say. “See you at lunch.”

As soon as they’re gone, I phone Meghan. “I’ve got the house until noon. You want to come over?”

“You kidding? See you in half an hour!”

I shower fast, the hot water stinging my arm.
Meghan’s coming!
I find myself singing as I dress. I change my outfit three times before Meghan arrives, checking my armpits for sweat stains and brushing my teeth. My breathing is fast, my head too light—but as soon as I see Meghan, I relax.

“You look so good,” she says in a throaty whisper.

I laugh, then reach up to touch her soft hair. “You do, too.”

I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom, but as soon as we sit on my bed, we both become awkward and shy.

“How you doin’ today?” she asks. “You feeling okay?”

“God, I wish everyone would stop asking me that!”

Meghan pulls back, a hurt look on her face.

I reach for her hand. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you care. It’s just that both my parents asked me the same thing this morning. It made me want to scream. And I feel all muddied inside, trying to see it all— how cutting’s helped me and yet that he taught me to do it. They feel like two separate worlds that I can’t piece together.”

“Maybe you don’t want to.”

“You’re right; I don’t. I don’t think I can bear it. It’s like he’s tainted everything important to me, everything I’ve ever needed—even this.”

“He hasn’t tainted me,” Meghan says, leaning forward.

We kiss—softly at first and then hungrily, almost desperately. I pull back.

Meghan groans.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Meghan presses her lips against mine before I can say anything else, and soon I’m lost in our kissing.

Afterward, I look into her flushed face. “I love being with you. But I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. I want there to be only good stuff between us. So any time you want to slow down, just tell me.”

Meghan smiles tenderly. “You’re so sweet.”

I laugh.

“No, really. You are. No one’s ever treated me this way before, Kendra. No one’s ever asked me how I felt or what I wanted.”

I think about the boys she’s slept with, and I want to snarl. I glare at the wall.

“What? What just happened?” Meghan asks. Now she’s leaning over me.

I’m jealous. That’s what.
“Nothing!”

“Kendra, one of the things I love about you is that you don’t bullshit me. You tell me what’s going on. So don’t shut me out now.”

“All right, all right! I was thinking about all those guys you’ve…”

“Screwed?”

“Slept with. How probably all they ever cared about was sex. I want you to know that I’ll never treat you like that. I’ll never use you.”

“I know.”

“And—maybe I was feeling a little jealous.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Meghan play-slaps me. “What kinda girlfriend would you be if you weren’t? But Kendra—I’m not going to be with anyone else, not any more, okay? I don’t think I could, not now. When we’re together, I want to cry and laugh with how good I feel, how connected and happy and alive I am. But when I’m with guys, I’m all shut down. I act like I enjoy it, but I’m waiting to get it over with, waiting to feel something. But I never do. Not like with us.”

She touches my hand, and the snarly feeling inside me vanishes.

Meghan glances at her watch. “I should get going, before your folks get home. But I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

Meghan strokes my cheek. “We won’t be anything like you and Sarah were. I promise.”

“I know we won’t,” I say. And I
do
know. Meghan is strong, right to her core. Strong in a way that Sarah never was.

Early morning traffic sounds drift through Carolyn’s window. I pick up my mug and take a quick sip of the water she’s poured for me. “I don’t want to start with the message he sent.”

“Okay.” Carolyn uncrosses her legs. “What do you want to start with?”

The good news. Then decide how much to tell her.
My legs shake. “I think I’m in love.”

“Kendra, that’s wonderful.” Carolyn sets her mug down. “Have you told me about this person before?”

Person. She didn’t say “guy.” She didn’t say “him.” I look at her face. She’s smiling, leaning forward, her gaze intent on mine.

“It’s a girl,” I say. “I love another girl.”

“Love is love, Kendra. Gender doesn’t change that.”

“That’s not how my parents see it.”

“How do they see it?”

“They think that I’m making things harder for myself.”

“And do you think that’s what you’re doing?”

“No! I love Meghan. I feel good with her.” I grip my
hands together. “Why aren’t you surprised? I mean, that I’m lesbian?”

“You never talk about boys—or about feeling attracted to them,” Carolyn says. “But you have talked a lot about other girls. I didn’t know for sure; I just kept an open mind.” She smiles. “I’m glad you’ve found someone you like.”

“Yeah, me, too.” The ferns on her bookshelves seem to nod with me. “I can’t remember feeling this happy in a long time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy. At least, I’m happy when Meghan and I are together. When the memories aren’t crashing in.”

There it is: The brief sadness in her eyes, the compassion—like she understands what I’m saying on a deep level.

“My mom said you’re a survivor. Was she right?” Carolyn sits back. “Yes, I’m a sexual abuse survivor.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Now
I’m
leaning forward.

“Because it’s not my job to burden my clients with my history or my problems. As a therapist, it’s my job to help you with yours.”

“But it would’ve helped me to know! I’ve never met another survivor, never known that anyone could feel really happy again after something so horrible—and you were right here the whole time!”

“I’ve always told you that happiness was possible for you.”

“But being told something is different from seeing it. I can believe it, now that I know about you—now that I’ve started to feel happy myself. But I didn’t believe it was possible before.”

Carolyn rubs her chin. “It sounds like I should have
told you. I try to keep my personal life out of my therapy practice as a rule. But I see now that this is one piece of information that might have helped you. I just didn’t want to make things strange between us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I love how Carolyn always hears me, even when I’m angry at her; I love how she can admit when she’s wrong. I wish, as I always do, that she was my mother. But the pain isn’t as strong this time. I know I’ll find a way to keep seeing her, find the money to pay for my sessions. And I know that what she gives me is more powerful and less complicated than anything my mother ever could.

“My mom—” I hesitate. “My mom said that she and my dad are going to set up an appointment with you, to try to find out everything I haven’t told them.”

“Our sessions are confidential; you know that,” Carolyn says. “Everything you say here goes no further.”

“Even though they’re paying you?”

“Even though they’re paying me. The only time I would have to break confidentiality is if I thought you were a danger to yourself or to others.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Define
danger
.”

Carolyn’s eyes become watchful. “Well, if you were seriously thinking of killing yourself, for example. Or of chasing after your abuser with a gun.”

“I would never do that!” I laugh.

“Or if you tried to hurt yourself.”

“What do you mean, hurt myself? People hurt themselves all the time—smoking when they know it causes cancer, starving themselves to get thin, pushing people away because they’re too scared to get close … . ”

Carolyn nods. “Those are all forms of hurting oneself—especially anorexia. If I suspected you had an eating disorder, I’d have an obligation to tell your parents, since it can be life–threatening. But I was thinking more along the lines of cutting, burning, head banging, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, and then you’d have to tell my parents, huh? Therapist-client confidentiality just goes out the window?” I know I should shut up; I know I’m just making things worse, but I can’t seem to stop the words from spilling out of me.

Shadows flick through my brain.
“Everyone will betray you,”
his voice whispers.
“Everyone but me.”

“Is there something you want to tell me, Kendra?”

“No, there is not!” I stand up.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving. Getting out of here.”

“Our session isn’t up.”

I walk to the door. “It is now.”

Carolyn gets up faster than I’ve ever seen her move before. “Kendra, I know you’re upset, I know you’re scared— but don’t walk away. I want to help you.”

“How?” I shout. “By telling my parents? By messing up my whole life?”

“Kendra, how have you hurt yourself?”

This is unraveling too fast. Just two days ago, no one even knew about my cutting. Now too many people know—or suspect. I feel like I’m backed up against a wall, hemmed in on all sides. I tense up, ready to run. “What makes you think I’ve hurt myself?” I ask.

“By how strongly you reacted,” Carolyn says softly. “So what have you done?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I care about you, and I don’t want to see you hurting this badly. You don’t deserve the anger you’re turning on yourself. Your abuser’s the one who does.”

I look down at my shoes. “That’s kind of what Meghan said.”

“She was right.” Carolyn takes a step toward me and
holds out her hand—the same one she’s placed on my shoulder when I’m going through memories, to help bring me back; the hand that’s held mine and helped me feel safe. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve done?”

“Who says I’ve done anything?”

“I think you’ve told me in a hundred different ways today. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick up on it sooner.”

“This is not your fault! It’s not anyone’s fault!” I’m crying now. “No one gets it. Cutting
helps
me! It really does!”

“Cutting,” Carolyn says softly. She takes a step closer, and I let her. “How does it help you?”

“It takes away the pain when I can’t stand it any more. It helps me breathe. Helps me think.” I glance at Carolyn. She’s not freaking out, just looking sad. I rub my arm. “It stops the memories when nothing else will. And they’ve been bad lately. Really bad. I almost saw his face, Carolyn. And I can’t let that happen. He’ll kill me if I do.”

“Oh, honey.” Carolyn closes the distance between us and puts her arms around me, and I let her.

I feel so safe in her arms, like nothing can hurt me.

“He won’t kill you. That’s something he told you to keep you quiet. It’s a common threat that pedophiles use.”

“I don’t think he’s a regular pedophile,” I say, looking up at her. “He wrote that note. And then he sent an MP3 telling me to keep silent—but his voice was wonky, digitized like a computer’s. And then he sent me a package.”

Carolyn’s arms tighten around me.

“And he’s been following me again.”

“He’s really trying to intimidate you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s working!”

“I know it’s frightening,” Carolyn says. “That’s what he wants. He wants to scare you so much that you’ll never reveal his name.”

“There’s something else,” I say. I pull away. “He’s the one who taught me to cut.”

“He
taught
you?”

I tell her fast, the words jumbling over each other. “But I’ve been thinking about it. There’s no way of knowing whether I’d have turned to cutting on my own if he hadn’t taught me to. I could have; it does help me cope. So maybe I’m not just doing what he wants me to. Maybe I’m doing what I need to do.”

“It’s frightening to think he had that much control over you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I shudder.

“And as you said, there’s no way to know. It sounds like it’s very painful for you to even consider. But I think his teaching you must have predisposed you to cutting.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right. We’ll leave it for now. But will you let me see where you cut?”

“Why?” I take a step back.

“Because I care. And I’m concerned. I want to see it for myself.”

“All right, all right.” This is becoming a whole routine. I turn away, roll up my sleeve and unwind the gauze. I hesitate a moment, then tear the pads off. Then I turn back around so she can see.

Carolyn draws in her breath sharply. “Those should have had stitches.”

“Why?” I look at them. “It’s not like I was going to bleed to death.”

“Because you cut so deep, Kendra. And you
are
playing with death. Every time you cut yourself, every time you bleed, you’re cutting through a vein.”

“I’ve been cutting for six months, now—
six months
— and it’s been okay!”

“Six months?” Carolyn blows out her breath. “That’s a long time. I wish I’d known sooner. But Kendra—you
are
taking a chance. Cut through an artery or a major vein, and you could bleed to death before you could even call for help.”