Day 2
Before I walk in the room, I squeeze the two candy canes I have in my hand, and then I open the door and walk in. Erin is already sitting and looking down at her notepad reading something that she probably wrote.
I sadly look at her, “Did you wait long?” She looked up at me alarmingly, she quickly stands up and protests, “Oh no! I just got here… Sit.” I nod at her and head towards my seat. As I sit down, I see her look at me suspiciously.
“I-Is there something wrong?” I find my way to ask her, and her suspicious look still lingered when she asked, “What are those candy canes for?”
I raise them up, “Oh these? These candy canes are my hope givers.”
“What do you mean?” She questions.
“When I first got raped, I thought that it would just only happen once. But again- I was wrong. After the baby passed, my body was used for his own benefits. I tried to tell someone- like my friends! But when I tried, he would find out and beat me. There was no doubt that he was stronger than me, extremely stronger than me. I got terrible scars and bruises that wouldn’t go away. He beat me to the point where I had to get surgery…” I touch my face, “This isn’t even my real face.” I hold back a tear.
“I’m confused, so he only beat you once for you to get surgery?” She leans in.
I chuckle at her, “Silly, Erin, this should’ve been the part when you use your common sense.”
She looks as if she was going to say something, but stops herself. She nods at me and says, “Enlighten me.”
“Ever since I started to get raped, it encouraged me to tell someone. So for every time I got raped, I wanted to tell, and for every time I got caught trying to tell, I’d get beat.”
"How did he know that you were going to tell someone?" She asks.
"Either he was watching me from afar, or he got someone else to do it for him."
“How long did this last?” She speaks.
I tilt my head from side to side, “I’d say about three and a half years. The abuse, I mean.”
And all she does is shake her head. “What about the rape, how long did that last?”
“The rape lives on, wait no, it died a year ago…” I whisper
But I continue my story, “For those very long painful years of getting abused, did you know what I wanted to do?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I answer for her. “I wanted to die, that was my only wish. So I did what anyone else would try to do: kill myself. I cut myself, on average, ten times a day on each arm. It wasn’t deep cuts, I had to start off with ones that weren’t deep. But later I almost did die, but I was saved by the monster I was trying to get away from. Then I tried to drown myself, but he broke down the door and saved me again. I tried everything, but my monster wanted me to live, and I did.
I lift up my candy canes, “And this is the part where these babies come in! Candy canes… They kept me alive. Why? Because candy canes are sweet, and candy canes reminded me of the sweet innocence I used to have. So I ate them constantly because if I ate them I would still have a little bit of the innocence I was born with.
I unwrap my candy cane and eat it. “Do you want my other one?”
She shakes her hand, “I can’t take something that represents you.”
I nod my head at her response and continue to eat.
“Can I begin to ask you some questions?” She asks
YOU ARE READING
Therapy
Mystery / Thriller"How would you describe your old self?" She asks "I-I was a butterfly, but he beat me down, snapped my wings and forced me to crawl. I was turned into a pest; I was disgusting, dirty. He would step on me, and laughed when I slowly tried to revive my...
