Reviving December

She Will Be Free

December

Dr. Susan Taylor

I stared at the plaque on the wall until my eyes hurt from focusing so hard on the words. My fingers dig into my palms, nails biting into the flesh. The sting pulling me away from the overwhelming anxiety looming. I don't know how I convinced myself to do this, how he even got me to consider this, but I was still in the waiting room, hanging in by a thread. My legs tingled with the urge to run out the same door I had walked through, begging me to leave. I didn't want to talk about what had happened with Eric. I didn't believe just speaking with this woman would help even minutely, but I did need to do something. The panic attacks had started to become more frequent, and even though I'd been working on talking to Cade about what had happened, I still hadn't fully admitted to him the truth. How could I? I didn't want to see the pity in his eyes, the look of judgment from him when I talk about why I stayed.

"December?" My eyes lift to meet an unsettling yellow gaze. She isn't what I expected, I think to myself. Her golden hair is up in a neat clip, stray hair framing her oval face. From head to toe she's dressed immaculately, beige slacks fitted to her body type hug her legs, a billowing grey scoop neck adorns her top, and on her feet are the prettiest pair of red bottoms I've seen in ages. She's stunning, except from the sharp gaze directed at me. It takes a moment for me to collect myself, but once I'm up out of the chair, I follow behind her into a neatly done office — silvery shades of blue and charcoal grey splash over the walls, and to my shock not an abstract picture in sight. The plus lounge she leads me to is inviting, however at the sight of it my pulse spikes and my eyes automatically rush to find the nearest exit.

I don't want to be here, but I need to be.

I force myself into a seated position on the lounge, eyeing the woman with uncertainty. She doesn't say anything at first, simply observes me from her seat opposite me, notepad tucked neatly in her lap. I wait. I don't know what to say.

"How would you like to begin, December?" She asks softly, not a hint of what she's thinking passing through that canary gaze. I want to laugh at the question though. How would I like to begin? I wouldn't. I'd rather be curled up at home listening to melancholy country songs and hiding from the world, but I promised I would try. For Cade, for my family, and most importantly for me. But I'm terrified. What if this doesn't help? What if it makes it worse?

I open my mouth before shutting it again and shake my head.

"I don't know."

She pauses before opening her mouth again, only this time, a thoughtful look crosses her face.

"How about we talk about why you're covered head to toe as if it were mid winter during the hottest month of the year?"

Her question strikes a cord. Anger swirls. Anxiety creeps up my spine.

"I don't think that's any of your busi-"

"If you're not going to talk, or answer questions that make you slightly uncomfortable then you shouldn't be here. You have to want this, December. To heal. You didn't come to me for any other reason."

Her words hit me in the chest and I know she's right, but I don't want to admit it out loud.

"Can you tell me the name?"

Her question strikes me off guard. His name? What good would that do her? Or me? I hadn't said his name aloud in months. He didn't exist anymore except in my nightmares. After minutes of silence she shuffles around, bracing her elbows on her knees over her notepad.

"I'm only asking for a name, December."

My mouth hangs open slightly, my lips forming around the first letter acidly.

"Eric." It's poison spilling from my tongue, I can feel my face twist into a scowl as it passes through my lips. Eric. Eric Gandry. Playboy. Manipulator. Abuser. Murderer.

"Where is he? Back in Dallas?" I expected this question. She won't expect the answer.

"Dead. I let him die."

Two Months Later

"I don't want to talk about it!" I yell back at the she devil, gritting my teeth in irritation wanting nothing more than nothing to walk out that door and never come back. Her grey/blue den of torture never ceases to astonish me, even though I'm here twice a week, however today I'm less than impressed with it. The scent of cherry blossoms hang heavily in the air as we stare one another down.

"December," she begins, a disapproving look crossing her face. "We talked about this last session. It's time to open up a little more about the incident on the 15th."

My guy lurches uncomfortably at the mention of that date and my temper rises with it. Yes, we said we would talk about it today, but I changed my mind. I didn't want to now. Couldn't she just let it go?

"No."

Her sigh is heavy in the air between us. She slides off the glasses she wears only when she's writing and rubs her eyes in a tired manner.

"The 15th of November two years ago, what occurred, December? What did Eric do that landed you in the hospital for a week?"

Tightness in my chest now. Pain. Hurt. Memories I don't want to relive. Flashbacks.

"You stupid Whore!" Another kick to the already tender flesh of my upper chest, another to my abdomen. "What did I tell you?" His booted foot lands once again in a sore spot, causing me to wheeze in pain. Bile threatens to rise from my stomach, to choke me as he continues his assault both with words and legs. My back is flat against the wall as I try to curl into myself, to protect myself.

"Eric.." his name is a prayer on my lips, begging him, a prayer that he may grant me a moment of pity and stop — a word that pushes him to kick me swiftly in the abdomen one more time with a loud curse. The pain radiating through my body begins to numb itself, almost as if it were shielding me from anymore of his onslaught.

"Please," I beg, hot tears rolling down my face. "The baby."

"You fucking slut!" Enraged threats fall from his lips as he continues his assault on my body. "Who did you spread your legs for? That fucking college boy across the way?" My lungs are dragging in as much air as they can, the radiating pain making it difficult to inhale. My eyes open slightly and land on the decorated bag tossed haphazardly on the floor, contents of our nice dinner strewn across the carpet staining the plush fibers. Blood is oozing from my head, the warm trickle around my temple trailing to the floor. Vomit stains a space somewhere above me from the first strike to my stomach.

"You expect me to believe you kept your fucking legs closed and it's my child, bitch? I'm not fucking stupid!" He screams, launching his leg toward my midsection again.

"Eric.." the word is a plea, the last one I utter before a kick is aimed at my head and the world darkens.

Hot tears steak my face as look down at the carpet below us. I can't look at her right now.

"So, what happened?" She urges, pushing a Kleenex box under my nose. I grab one gratefully and shake my head, needing just a moment. Counting backwards I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

"The neighbors heard something and came to see what was wrong. Jacob, the college kid he accused me of sleeping with came in after he'd stormed out leaving the door unlocked and found me. I'm told that he carried me to his car and hauled ass to the hospital. There wasn't much they could do for me. I woke up to a kind nurse explaining to me where I was and what had happened. I saw the look on her face when I asked about my baby, stupidly, and I knew. He had killed it. And he had killed a part of me, too."