The Firefighter Who Rescues Me

Chapter 9 ♚ Dark Shadows

The first remote session with Gina resulted in the toughest homework so far. And with years of doing psychotherapy that was saying something.

I had to apologize.

"Objectively, I know I did something wrong," I told her, folding my arms so she could see through the webcam exactly what my body language was. "But I did feel something brush against my ass and I can't help how I react to something like that."

Gina shook her head. "Absolving yourself of any responsibility for your reactions is the surest path to never improving."

While I hadn't expected her to tell me I was right, I didn't imagine she'd pinpoint the core of my argument as the true wrong, here. I shifted in my seat, brain racing a hundred miles per minute trying to come up with a way to make her confirm the opposite of what she'd just said.

My mind came up blank.

"You wanna know the number one reason why patients desert me?" she asked. We'd actually had this conversation more than once. "It's because they know the truth inside of them, but what they actually want is for someone else to contradict that truth and tell them it's okay if they abide by their baser, lesser instincts. People generally don't want to put in the effort to really improve themselves. That's a lot more difficult and scary than self-indulgence. But you hung on."

She tilted her head and I swore her glasses shone as if she were a villain in a movie and I was her captive.

"Even when you use humor to skirt around serious topics, even when that fails you and you retract into yourself, you keep booking more sessions with me. And I have a theory about why."

With a sigh, I bit the bait and asked, "Why's that?"

"Because you do know the answers but you don't want someone to contradict them. You want someone to give you the courage to pursue them."

Flashes of cold and heat travelled along my spine. I looked away from the screen because, damn it, even though she had a limited view of me through the webcam, she was already seeing too much.

"Cora." Her voice gentled, which was her tactic when she was about to talk about the toughest things. I hated when she did it. "Do you know who has no control of their reactions? Animals, who live on instinct, and humans who act like animals with impunity."

Like an abuser. Like a rapist. Like a criminal.

My throat closed up as if invisible hands squeezed it in a vise.

Tears sprung to my eyes but they didn't fall because I was underwater. Everything around me blurred and faded until there was no light. No sound. Nothing but a fog so thick it had turned into an ocean swallowing me to the bottom. I closed my eyes, but the vertigo was so strong I fell from my chair.

The sound of the impact, more than the pain, snapped me back into focus.

Margaret. She was downstairs. I didn't want to bother her. I jumped to my feet, ran across the room and opened the door, expecting a worried question from her. Instead, all I heard was the TV. Maybe it had muffled my ruckus.

Ves, Cora? Tú no eres así, a voice inside of me said. An abuser wouldn't apologize.

That was when I heard my cellphone ringing up a storm. My feet were like lead as I returned to the desk, where Margaret's laptop was. Gina was still on the screen, her cellphone glued to her ear. When she saw me again she dropped the call and my phone stopped ringing.

"I thought I lost you."

"You did, for a second," I admitted, realizing that my face was wet after all. After wiping it with the backs of my hands, I said, "Yeah, I don't want to become someone who does fucked up things just because they are fucked up."