Therapy (4 page)

“Next time you think about fucking someone’s man, remember tonight, whore! We’ll happily kick your narrow ass again any day!” Elizabeth shouts as car doors slam shut. The sounds of wheels kicking up dirt and gravel as they rev their engines and speed out onto the dark blacktop road fill the air. The grit slides beneath my nails as I dig my fingers into the dirt. With shaky arms, I struggle to push myself up, but my body rejects my efforts. I cough and the pain that seizes me is too much to bear. Allowing my body to drop back down heavily, I close my eyes. The dim light from the moon disappears slowly, bleeding into blackness behind my eyes.

My eyelids begin to flutter open when I hear a soft male voice. I hear words, but my brain can’t register their meaning. I can focus only on the pain shooting through my entire body and the taste of blood in my mouth. Gentle hands roll me over, warm arms envelop me, and soft fingers brush the hair from my face. I breathe in intense warmth and the smell of peppermint. My eyes can’t focus, but even in this foggy state the immense pressure of his gaze upon me is undeniable. My body wants, but fails to respond to the embrace.

“Hey, open your eyes. Look at me, Jessica. I’m going to help you, okay? It’s me, Jace,” I hear him whisper as my mind starts to resurface from the depths of darkness. He pulls me up, supporting me when my knees buckle. “Come on, it’s okay. I can carry you.”

I feel his arms beneath my knees as he lifts me up into his strong hold. My head rests on his chest and I can’t help but moan in pain from the pressure on my ribs. I force my eyes to open and look up at him staring down at me. The concern on his face is obvious. His eyes flick back and forth, and I can almost see the questioning thoughts moving behind them as he traces every inch of my face.

“You’re badly hurt. We have to take you to the hospital now. Damn, what the hell happened?” He pleads.

My words are lodged in my throat, so I only nod. Despite the confusion of why he’s here, or why he’s helping me, I relax in his arms as he maneuvers us into his truck. He shifts me out of his arms to his right side, gently sitting me down before reaching across to his glove box. He pulls out a container of Handi Wipes and closes it. He has a Sigg water bottle in his cup holder and he reaches down to grab that as well. He holds it up to me, gesturing for me to take it.

“Here, drink some water. I have some Advil in my backpack,” he says as he leans down and pulls it up from the floorboard. “I always keep it for after games and practices.” He takes the bottle out from the side compartment and flips the cap off, dropping two capsules into his hand. “Here, take these. It will help the pain a little until you can see a doctor.”

I reach out for them, my fingers slightly brushing the palm of his hand. When we touch, an odd energy flows between us—warmth and hesitation mixed with attraction; the intensity of it is nearly suffocating. My eyes dart up to meet his as my heart slams in my chest. Seconds feel like hours as unspoken words flow effortlessly between us. I forget my pain and hurt; everything else fades away but the two of us alone in his truck. I nervously break away from his stare, effectively ending our holy-shit-what-the-hell-is-that-feeling moment, and open my mouth, taking the medicine. I gulp down the water, washing away the taste of dirt and blood. Suddenly I startle, feeling coldness against my cheek, and turn toward him.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, but we need to clean some of these scrapes up,” he says softly as he gently cleans away the dried blood on my face. “I’m sorry, Jessica. I think I know who did this and I’m so damn sorry.” He lets out an exasperated sigh, looking away momentarily and creasing his brows. “When I heard there was a get-together at the water tower, I had no idea they had some sick shit like this planned. I got held up at home and left late, so I didn’t make it out here until they were all tearing off down the road.”

He drops his head, shaking it slowly back and forth. “If I’d been here, I would’ve stopped them. I almost turned around and followed them, but I saw your car and had a bad feeling, so I came to see if you were okay.” He pauses in trepidation for a minute. “When I saw you on the ground, it scared the hell out of me.” He takes another big breath, shakes away his thoughts, and continues. “We need to head to the ER now, make sure nothing’s broken.”

Why does he care? No one else cares, so why should he?

“Why do you care, Jace? Your girlfriend did this to me, so why are you concerned?” I choke out, speaking for the first time since he helped me up.

He winces at my words, dropping his hand from cleaning my face. He looks away, and his fists clench.

“I’m not them, Jessica. I don’t treat people badly just because they’re different or because they have a shitty reputation. I’ll never be that way even if the people around me are.” He looks back at me with sincerity in his eyes. “Elizabeth is a royal bitch most of the time, but her parents are best friends with my mother, and us being together has always been part of their grand plan. It just sort of happened that our families pushed us on each other. Once I go to college, I’ll be free to make my own decisions about who I date.”

He looks back into my eyes, piercing me completely. “I’d never be a part of something like this, no matter the reason. I don’t know you, Jessica, or why you are the way you are. I don’t know why you stay so closed off or why such a beautiful girl would repeatedly give herself to these asshole guys. Only you know those things; nevertheless, it doesn’t mean that you’re worthless or that you deserve this.”

He reaches out, gently cupping my chin. “You’re worth more than you think. You just have to believe that; then everyone else will too.”

I shakily bring my hand up and softly place it over his. Closing my eyes, I feel a tear escape. In this moment, I realize how vulnerable I really am.

“Keep reaching out because you may help pull someone out of darkness and guide them into light.”

—Caroline Naoroji

I’VE CONVINCED HIM that I’ll be fine. I don’t want to go to the ER. The last thing I need is to deal with my parents getting involved. My dad would never understand and my mom would just fall apart and make it worse. I’m sore and it really hurts, but the pain is bearable.

“Are you going to be all right to drive?” he asks, still concerned.

I get into my car slowly, wincing in pain. My rib cage is throbbing and my head is pounding. He leans down, propping his elbows on my window, and I feel so pathetic. I’m still shocked beyond belief that he’s here helping me, caring about me, and showing genuine concern for my well-being.

“Jessica, I still think you need to go to the ER. I really don’t feel comfortable letting you just drive home, but I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just feel terrible.”

I look up at him, and his stare infiltrates my well-built walls. Why do I feel like I can’t hide from him? My darkest fears, secrets, and pains seem to all be vividly displayed for him. Right now, my feelings are equivalent to a burn victim, but my burns aren’t physical. My emotional skin is raw, and every word, thought, or gesture that falls upon it sends waves of pain throughout my body. His kind, caring words and actions provide a healing, therapeutic effect; an antidote to the daily pain caused by people like Elizabeth.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for helping me. I know you didn’t have to. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He looks me square in the eyes. His stare is heavy, and my breath hitches under the weight of it.

“I don’t give a damn what people at school think about me, Jessica. High school isn’t the be-all-end-all of my life. All I care about right now is that I helped you, did the right thing, and made sure you were okay. Everything else is irrelevant,” he says, pushing back off of my car.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks at me. I need to say something, but what? Anything I say is inane and trivial compared to what he did for me here tonight.

“Thank you, Jace,” is all I can muster before rolling up my window.

He lifts his hand, giving me a slight wave as I pull out onto the road. My mind is racing, and for some reason the pain seems to be a second thought to all of the others plowing through my mind. No one has ever helped me like that, cared about my feelings, or acted like I truly mattered. I look in my rearview mirror, seeing lights blinking on and off. It’s Jace.

I wonder what he wants now.

I pull over and watch as he opens the door of his F150 and jumps out, walking toward me. I roll down the window and he hands me a receipt.

“Here’s my cell number. You can call or text anytime if you need anything, or if something like this ever happens again and I’m not around. Okay?”

I look at the wrinkled receipt that has his number scrawled across it, and then back at him. He must see my obvious confusion and surprise because he steps in closer to my car.

“It’s fine. You really can call me if you ever need anything.” He gives me a genuine smile, then backs up and heads to his truck.

His loud truck roars as he passes by and I just sit here, stunned. Is the star quarterback of the school my friend now? Is that even possible? Why? Why would he want to be my friend and could I even do that?

I’ve never been just friends with a guy before. I don’t even know how to connect with a guy without having a physical relationship with him. I pull into my driveway, hoping that Mom and Dad are in bed, though I doubt they’ll even notice my scratched face or bloody knees if they are awake. They hardly ever look at me, and when they do they don’t really see me.

The house is quiet and dark as I make my way to my room. I shut and lock my door before I peel off my dirty clothes. I drop them into my laundry basket and look in the mirror, examining the damage from the fight.

My cheek is slightly swollen, my lip is busted, my earlobe is throbbing, and I have a few scratches on my face from the rocky ground. My knees are all scraped up, and my ribs are already starting to bruise. The bandage covering the cuts on my lower stomach has peeled nearly all the way off, and the wounds have dirt matted into them now. Thank goodness my room has an adjoining bathroom.

I go in and turn on the shower, knowing that the agony of washing my scraped and bruised body is going to be its own form of torture. I step out of my underwear, feeling the pain radiate through my sides as I stretch my arms back to unhook my bra.

I step into the water, turning it up as hot as I can tolerate it. It scalds my skin and I welcome the burn; the thin line between pain and pleasure always sits just beneath the surface for me. My instincts war with my desires and I fight to keep my body under the burning hot water plummeting down onto it. I feel the stinging pain skittering across my flesh and I lean forward, placing my hands on the shower wall as the torrid water washes away the dirt and blood.

The scars from years of cutting tingle and come alive, so well hidden from anyone, regardless of my attire. Being on the swim team has left me with very few places that can be concealed.

Too much pain that time will never erase bleeds through my mind, flooding my memories, reminding me that no matter how clean I am, the grime and disgust will always remain within.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I grab an old vintage Mötley Crüe T-shirt from my dresser, and pull it on over my wet hair. I finish getting dressed for bed and pull out the box from my nightstand.

The weight of the night sits heavily on my shoulders and I feel numb. Numb to the pain, numb to the humiliation. I want to feel something; to know that I’m here, that I’m alive. With this I’m in control; I can control the depth of the cut, the length, and the blood flow. It belongs to me and only me. Here, in the privacy of my room, I can break through the deadness that is my life. It brings me calm, resolve. I bury myself alive on the inside every day just so I can shut everything else out.

The scarlet liquid oozes from the cut as I drag the razor across my flesh. Despite the physical pain, I’m comforted by the familiarity of the act, the internal release. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and exhale, ignoring the sting and bite of the blade, because at this very moment, the pain is what I revel in. I press down a bit harder, needing to feel more in order to feel anything at all.

I pull it away and wipe it down with alcohol, placing the razor back in its box. Drawing my eyebrows together, I wince as I rub the alcohol swab across the fresh cut and apply pressure. Grabbing a bandage, I place it over the cut, concealing a wound that will leave yet another scar.

I pull out my journal and begin my other form of release—writing.

Drowning in my thoughts

I wear a mask

I’m a facade

I’m okay, I’m strong

Masquerading lies

Beyond my defenses

Beyond the layers

Behind the walls

Beneath the chains

There’s a broken child

Fighting a battle

It’s a daily war

Confusion and pain

Playing tug-o-war

Love, hate

Yes, no

I really never know

Watching life go by

An outsider

Absence of self

Screaming in silence

Fearing this is a battle

One that I’ll never win

Regrets

Loss

I continue waging war on myself

Wishing for

Someone, anyone

To stop the fight...

I close the journal and put it away. I reach for my phone, scrolling down to Harrison’s contact. I press delete and store him away with the rest in the back of my mind; with all the others who used me, left me, and never looked back.

My phone buzzes with a text notification from a number I don’t recognize. I open the message and it’s just a link. I tap it and I’m taken to a video on YouTube. As soon as I click the play button, I know what it is. They recorded me being kicked, beaten. You can’t see their faces, only mine. I sit here and relive it all over again. I scroll down to the comments and there it is—all of their hate. One comment after another trashing me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I exit out of it and sink back into a numb, comfortable place. A place where they can’t hurt me. I should cry, throw something, scream, or break something, but I just sit here with two thoughts circling round and round.

They’re never going to stop.

This is just my life.

I grab my iPod and put my earbuds in. I can never fall asleep in silence. My thoughts scream, flashing behind my eyelids, unless I have music playing in my ears. Music is a form of therapy that brings me comfort. I press play on my Amy Lee playlist and close my eyes. The lyrics of “Sweet Sacrifice” flow into my ears and I write a little bit more before drifting off to sleep.

You grip me once you’ve ensnared me

Into your trap I fell

Your words hurt and berate me

Still I don’t know why you hate me

Everyday you imprison me

Within the walls of your anger

Sad and all alone

Confused and beaten down

Will it ever stop or am I forever bound?

Looking into your cold angry eyes I realize... you’ll never stop

You’ll never go away

Your words

Your hate

They’re here to stay

How do I escape you?

Tell me Bully

What would you do if you were me and I were you?

Squeezing as hard as you can

You’ve ensnared me

Into your web I’ve fallen

You’re words hurt me

Berate Me

Every day you imprison me

Within your walls of anger

I stand all alone

Confused and beaten down

Will it ever end or am I forever bound?

Peering into your cold evil eyes, I realize

You’ll never stop

You’ll never go away

Your words

Your hate

How will I ever escape?

Tell me, bully

What would you do if you were me and I were you?

You grip me once you’ve ensnared me

Into your trap I fell

Your words hurt and berate me

Still I don’t know why you hate me

Everyday you imprison me

Within the walls of your anger

Sad and alone

Confused and beaten down

Will it ever stop or am I forever bound?

Looking into your cold angry eyes I realize... you’ll never stop

You’ll never go away

Your words

Your hate

They’re here to stay

How do I escape you?