I meet up with Carla an hour before school starts so she can help me cover up the bruises on my face and neck.
The bruises on my jaw and cheek are yellow and almost gone. There is still a dark purple bruise around my left eye and below where my bone was fractured.
The bruises on my neck are also almost gone. They are mostly yellow with a bit of blue and purple now.
We sit in the classroom as Carla applies the make up on my skin, rubbing it in with her fingers.
"Did Harry tell you what happened?" She asks me while she's working on my eyes, moving her fingers gently over my skin.
"Noah contacted him." I say.
"Oh." She says surprised. "Oh okay. I had no idea. He didn't wanna tell me what's up with him."
"Noah sent him an apology letter. I think it was also a goodbye letter." I explain.
"Oh no. Poor Harry. I totally get why he was so down and cancelled his birthday party." She says. "Fuck Noah."
"Yeah. It sucks." I say hesitantly.
"Did he tell you anything specific about the letter?" She asks me curiously.
I shake my head. "No, just what I just told you."
She nods her head. "I understand."
"Caleb also knows what happened now, so no need to keep it hidden from him anymore." I tell her.
"Yeah. He texted me yesterday evening." She says. "He's a little pissed off that I didn't talk to him."
"Sorry. I told him that I asked you not to tell him." I say.
"I know, I know. But we usually tell each other everything." She says. "He's really worried about you."
I sigh. "I know. He's always super worried."
"You and everything that happened to you give us every reason to be worried." She points out.
I nod. "Hopefully that is over now with Noah gone."
"Do we still have to come to court tomorrow?" She asks me.
"Yeah. My aunt said it takes place as planned. He will be convicted. There's already a warrant against him anyway." I explain.
Carla nods. "Okay. Then it will all finally be over."
"Back to normal." I say with a smile.
"Yup. You really deserve a break." She tells me. "And everyone who loves you does too."
I nod.
"Since we're talking about people who love you. How is Austin?" She asks me.
"Uhm. He met his step mother and sister and he said they are okay." I tell her. "He hasn't really told me a lot."
She raises her eyebrows confused. "He's got a step mother and step sister?"
"Yep. His father is dating someone now." I confirm.
"Interesting." She says. "But what I actually wanted to talk about is how the conversation with Adam and Dylan went."
I feel my face get hot instantly. Okay. I just gotta tell her lies.
I chuckle. "Well, Austin was pissed off because he found out I did meth and that Adam then drove me home."
"And he had to invite them to your house to get an answer?" She questions.
"Well, he didn't believe me anything." I tell her. "I told him that Adam kissed me and well, he wanted to hear what Adam had to say."
"Adam kissed you?" She asks confused.
"Yup. He was stoned. I don't know." I admit.
"What? Why did he kiss you?" She asks me shocked. "Now I get why Austin was so angry."
"It happened. It's not a big deal." I assure her.
"It is a big deal." Carla says angrily. "After everything that happened between Austin and you it is a big deal."
"We talked it out." I assure her.
"And why was Dylan there?" She wants to know.
"Because he sold me the meth in the first place." I explain. "Fuck. But don't tell Caleb please! Please, it wasn't Dylan's fault."
She rolls her eyes. "No, I won't. As long as you never do that again."
"I won't." I assure her with a smile. "I haven't taken any drugs since friday a week ago."
She squints her eyes. "Friday a week ago?"
"I assumed Caleb told you." I say, scratching my head. "Well, I kinda did meth one more time."
She gasps. "Sammy. You swore you wouldn't." She says angrily.
"I know. It was a stupid mistake. Please don't get mad at me." I beg her.
"No, I'm not. I just didn't know." She says.
She closes her makeup bag after storing everything inside. "Finished. Wanna take a look at your face?"
I nod and make my way to the men's bathroom.
It looks odd. The bruises are covered up, but my skin looks very fake. My usual skin tone is a little more reddish than this, but I guess it's not as obvious as I thought it would look.
The only thing Carla couldn't cover up are my bloodshot eyes. My left eye is still almost completely red while the right one is slowly getting better.
Back to normal. That's what I'm doing. Back to the boring normal. I'm done with getting high, I'm done with getting beaten and almost killed.
I smile at my reflection in the mirror as I repeat the words in my head. Back to my old, carefree self. The smile looks pretty miserable, but it has convinced other people before so I guess it will do.
_____
Harry doesn't show up at school. Austin arrives right before the first lesson starts.
"Oh wow. You look a lot better." He says to me as I turn around to greet him.
He squints his eyes and takes a closer look. "Are you wearing makeup?"
"Looks good, right?" Carla asks.
Austin looks at me with a crooked smile. "Maybe a little mascara would suit you, too."
"Are you making fun of me?" I ask him offended.
"I might be." Austin says. "Or maybe I'm really into guys with makeup."
I roll my eyes. "You probably want me to dress in a maid costume, too."
I once saw him watching one of those tiktoks with a guy dancing in a maid dress. He obviously told me it just came up and he was about to scroll away.
He can't hide the smile creeping on his face. "I certainly wouldn't mind it."
I burst out laughing and turn back to the front when the teacher walks in.
Of course Ms Lamine wants to talk to me privately after class. Nothing new.
"Great to see you back at school." She says. "What kept you from coming for a week this time?"
"Same as last time. Nearly got murdered." I say with a shrug.
She looks irritated, like she's not sure if I'm joking or not. Exactly what I was going for.
"You've missed a lot of school and I fear you won't be able to make it through the year if you don't start coming to school regularly and working hard." She says.
I nod. "I know. I will. It's no problem for me to catch up on everything." I tell her.
She nods. "That is good."
"Yup. Anything else you needed?" I ask her impatiently.
"Tomorrow is the trial, right?" She asks me.
I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. "Yes."
"Good luck then." She says.
I snort. "Yeah, thanks. I don't need luck."
"Okay." She says simply.
I can talk back and she doesn't care. I guess that's the perks of almost getting murdered.
"Don't forget to talk to the school psychologist on tuesdays, starting next week." She reminds me.
"Yes. Thanks." I say. I don't wanna go talk to her. I don't need it. I already have therapy on monday and wednesday. Why do I need additional help on tuesday?
Therapy. I wanted to talk to Meghan about what happened, about my flashbacks, but I haven't seen her yet so today is gonna be interesting.
I'm really scared of talking about it. But I already talked to so many people about it, it's almost not embarrassing anymore. Okay, that's a lie. It still is very much embarrassing and awkward.
Should I mention the fact that sometimes when I wake up from those nightmares my dick is hard? Maybe it's just a coincidence. I highly doubt it. Something is wrong with me. I don't get it. I just hope that Austin hasn't noticed that fact, but I fear he maybe did realize already.
"Earth to Sammy." I hear Austin say.
"Huh? Yeah?" I ask confused.
"I asked you what she wanted." He says.
"Oh, uhm, she just asked where I was last week and told me to come to school more often." I explain.
Austin scoffs. "As if you voluntarily almost got killed by a psycho." He says.
"Right." I say annoyed and walk back into the classroom.
"Oh my god, Sammy. What happened to your eyes?" Jessica asks as Lisa and her approach me.
"Broken blood vessel." I explain.
"Shit. In both eyes?" Lisa questions.
"Uhm. Yeah. I probably banged my head too much to music." I lie.
What a dumb lie. They look at me like I just told them I'm actually an alien.
"Right. And the makeup on your face and neck is probably your new style, huh?" Lisa asks me.
Alright. Great. Thanks for nothing Carla.
They must have read my annoyed expression. "Don't worry, it's only noticeable up close." Jessica assures me with a smile.
"It's very noticable." Austin says teasingly before leaving to go to his desk.
"It's not." Lisa insists.
I roll my eyes. Great. I probably look so fucking stupid. The yellow bruises wouldn't even have been very visible. I should have just let her put makeup on my neck.
"So what happened?" She asks me curiously.
"Uhm, well, I kinda got into a fight." I explain hesitantly.
"Hm. With Adam?" Lisa asks me.
Of course they'd think that.
"Nope. I heard he got into a fight with a drunk stranger." I tell them.
"Nothing new." Jessica says.
Lisa nods agreeingly. "Leaving the question of who you got into a fight with. Noah?" She asks me straight forward.
I sigh. "Yup. Noah."
They do understand why I hid the bruises, right? Because I don't wanna be asked questions about them.
Lisa gasps. "No way. Don't you have to go to court tomorrow?" She wants to know.
I nod. "Yup."
"I hope he'll be locked up in prison forever." Lisa says.
"He will. If the police find him." I explain.
As the teacher for the next class walks in, I make my way back to my desk.
Luckily, no one else asks me about wearing makeup the rest of the day.
_____
I finally could convince Austin to let me go to therapy by myself. He told my mom he'd bring me there although he doesn't have time because of his own psychotherapy.
So here I am, in a coffee shop with Carla, waiting until it's time for me to go to therapy.
"And you're sure you should go on your own?" Carla asks me.
I nod my head. "Yup. Harry said he won't come back. It's the middle of the day and my mom will pick me up afterwards."
"Alright, but I can really bring you there." She suggests.
I chuckle. "Carla. No. I'm gonna be fine." I assure her.
"I expected you to be a lot more scared now." She says.
"I am. But it's the middle of the day. What should happen? Noah comes with a white sprinter van and pulls me into it and then kills me?" I ask her jokingly.
"You know what surprises me more than you joking about Noah killing you?" She asks me. "That you know what a sprinter van is." She says and starts laughing.
I roll my eyes. "Just because I don't care about drifting and tuning and shit doesn't mean I don't know anything about cars." I say.
Let's be honest. I probably wouldn't even know the van is a mercedes if Caleb hadn't mentioned that he wants to buy either that or a VW Krafter to pull the drift car for driving to races. Those white vans definitely look like kidnapper cars. Ryan has one and he gets pulled over by the cops nonstop.
"Okay. But you seem a lot more relaxed now. You do know that Noah could be mad when he finds out you're not actually dead." She says.
"But you said it yourself, he won't risk going to jail. He values his freedom too much." I say.
Carla frowns. "That's what he wrote in the letter, right?" She asks me.
"Uhm, what do you mean?" I ask confused.
"In the letter he wrote that he would rather die than go to prison." She explains. "But Harry didn't tell you that, did he?"
Oh god. Wait. What? Is she interrogating me now or something?
"Uhm, okay? Didn't you say Harry didn't tell you anything?" I ask her.
She nods. "Yeah, but then he sent me a picture of the letter today."
"Oh. I understand." I say unsure.
"So? How'd you know he said that?" Carla asks me impatiently, wearing a weird concentrated expression.
"Uhm, I wouldn't know about the letter, but that's what Noah also told me." I explain. "When I tried to threaten him."
Why is Harry a Sherlock Holmes and Detective Conan fan and Carla a true crime lover? Of course they'd realize something is wrong.
"Oh, okay." She just says.
I look at her confused. "What is this about? Why do you think I read the letter before Harry did?" I ask her. Because that's what an innocent person would do, right?
She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Just- I don't know. You're kinda weird about everything." She says.
"Weird?" I ask her, raising my eyebrows.
"Yeah, well, you're playing everything down. Almost like you think it's all not that important." She says.
"It is important, but I'm sick of feeling scared all the time. If he wants to kill me he will find a way whether I walk to my therapy session alone or not." I explain.
She shakes her head. "You sound like you don't care if you die."
I sigh and lean back in my chair. Probably because I honestly kinda would have prefered dying over all this chaos I'm in now. "Of course I don't want that, Carla."
She grabs my hands. "We're all super concerned. You keep acting like it's all not a big deal. You wouldn't even tell us what happened. Why are you trying so hard to decline the help we wanna offer?"
"Because I don't need it." I answer frustratedly. "Okay? Stop trying to help me. I don't need it. If I need help I'll ask for it. I've come to you before, right?"
She nods. "Yes, okay, I get that, but why are you trying so hard to act like you don't need it? We can all see it's a lie."
"I'm an hour away from my therapist appointment. Why would I wanna talk to you when I can get professional help?" I ask her.
"Because we're friends?" Carla answers.
Would Carla still be my friend if she knew what really happened? Probably not.
"It's okay for you to be hurt, scared or angry." She says. "It's okay to be weak and ask for help."
I groan. "Yeah, I know I'm weak. But I don't wanna talk about it. What do you wanna hear? How I can barely sleep without any drugs because the nightmares are unbearable and keep me awake each night?"
"How I ca-" I continue, but Carla cuts me off.
"For example. But just tell me what you wanna tell me when you're not upset." She says. "Wanna talk about the nightmares?"
I shrug. "What's there to say? I can't really do anything about it."
"You have nightmares every night?" She asks.
I nod my head. "I've had nightmares regularly my whole life. But these are different." I admit.
"How are they different?" She asks me.
I rub my face. "I don't know. What happened is worse than any nightmare and they are so realistic. And then I wake up all sweaty and most of the time I forget what I even dreamed. I- it's weird."
She squeezes my hands lightly. "I understand how that is upsetting." She says. "Have you talked to your therapist about the nightmares?"
I shake my head. "I wanna talk about everything today." I explain. "I think I kinda played it down to my therapist and she didn't really give it priority when we talked."
"Okay. That's a good plan then." Carla says.
I nod. "Yeah. But I'm nervous."
"Why nervous?" She asks.
I shrug. "I'm scared of talking about it all." I explain and pull my hands away from hers.
Carla nods understandingly. "Maybe there are ways you can get rid of those nightmares." She suggests.
I chuckle. "There are." I say. "After taking drugs I always sleep a lot better."
Carla rolls her eyes. "I meant healthy ways."
I nod. "I know."
"Do you feel guilty about something?" Carla wants to know.
Damn, is my facial expression so revealing?
"Why would I feel guilty?" I ask her.
She shrugs. "I don't know what's going on inside your head."
"I'm clean, I swear. No drugs." I say quickly. Yep, bring the focus away from Noah.
"Are you telling me the truth?" She asks.
"I almost smoked weed, but I didn't." I tell her.
She wears a smile. "That's good. I was worried you'd maybe do drugs secretly."
They suspect something. Or am I just paranoid?
I smile at her. Nothing to hide.
"Then you must feel guilty about something else." She says.
I drop my smile.
"You're wearing that same nervous expression you did after Adam and you kissed." She says.
I rub my face frustratedly. "Probably because it happened again?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. You wear that fake smile everytime Noah is mentioned." She says.
I groan. "Would you prefer it if I started crying like a little child?" I ask her.
She shakes her head. "No, Sammy. But I want you to know that whatever happened and whatever didn't happen isn't your fault, you know? You're not just lucky you survived. You deserve to be alive."
I look at her irritated. "What kind of bullshit is that? You think I don't know I deserve to live?" I ask her, almost finding it amusing.
"I just wanted to make sure you know that. We all understand it's a hard time for you and that your feelings are all over the place right now." She says.
What the fuck is she now saying?
"Thanks. But it's not a hard time. I'm fine." I assure her.
"It is hard for all of us. You can try to tell me it doesn't affect you all you want, but I'm not gonna believe you." She says stubbornly. "I know that what happened is constantly on your mind."
"Oh, you can read minds now?" I tease her.
She glares at me. "Sammy. I'm trying to be serious."
"Me too. Why can't you just believe me?" I ask her frustratedly.
"Fine." She says and folds her arms over her chest. "I'm gonna pretend you don't feel super guilty everytime you talk to or about Harry, I'm gonna pretend you sleep the recommended eight hours each night and never experienced flashbacks that occur after traumatic events and I'm gonna pretend that Noah doesn't affect your relationship with Austin at all."
I look at her with a bored expression. "Thanks, that would be great." I say.
Carla gasps. "Seriously? You just wanna pretend like nothing happened?" She asks me shocked.
I shrug. "Nothing happened."
"Noah almost killed you!" She says angrily.
"And? What about it? I'm still alive so who cares?" I ask her.
"Everyone cares." Carla says.
"If you wanna be worried about someone you should go talk to Harry." I say.
"Yep. I will visit him later." She answers. "But I'm more concerned about you."
I roll my eyes. "No need to be concerned. Okay? I don't know how often you need to hear this until you believe me, but I am alright. I don't need to talk about it with you. I have Austin and my therapist. Alright?"
Carla looks pretty hurt, but she just kept pushing me. What else was I supposed to tell her? I can't let her know what I feel guilty about. I can't tell her Adam killed Noah.
Carla speaks quietly. "Okay. Sorry. I just try to help you."
I sigh. "I know Carla. Thanks for being there for me. But it's just annoying to be treated like I'm made of glass. It's over. I wanna move on and talking about it all the time just holds me back." I explain.
"I know what you mean. I'm sorry. I just thought you might wanna talk about it." She says.
"I don't want to. And you know I always come to you when I really need to talk about something." I say.
"I know." Carla breathes out. "Just don't hide it all inside."
I hate this. I love that Carla is such a mom and always worried, but this is ridiculous. Why is everyone acting like I should behave differently?
"I should get going anyways." I say. We already paid, so I can just stand up and leave whenever I want to.
"You still got over half an hour." She points out.
"Yeah. I wanna walk, so I need that long." I explain.
"Do you want me to accompany you?" Carla asks yet again. She's asked me the same question four times already.
"No. I can walk on my own. Thanks." I say and stand up.
Carla sighs and also gets up and we walk outside.
"Are you sure you wanna go all alone?" She asks me.
"Carla. Yes, I am. I don't wanna be dependent on other people 24/7. I gotta be outside alone at some point."
"Okay. Have fun at therapy. I'm gonna go annoy Harry." She says.
"Yeah, do that. Thanks." I answer.
_____
I plug in my earphones and start my walk. It feels good to be on my own and not worry about a thing. It feels so freaking good and freeing.
I put on my good mood playlist and let myself enjoy being outside. It's cold and my jacket isn't warm enough for the weather, but it's not a problem. I just feel incredibly good on my own.
Five minutes before the session I arrive at the right building and walk inside.
Meghan greets me in a friendly way like always.
"You seem to be in a good mood." She points out.
I smile. Hell, yeah. I am. Despite this annoying conversation with Carla and court tomorrow, I feel amazing.
I don't even know why.
"Yeah. I guess I am." I explain.
"Is there a special reason for that?" She asks.
I shake my head. "Not really. I walked here on my own and felt good about it." I explain. No more Noah who will follow me around. I'm free.
"And what happened to your face? Your eyes look horrible." She says.
"I got a little beaten up." I tell her.
She raises her eyebrows.
"It's not so bad." I say dismissively.
"Do you wanna talk about something specific today? Most of my clients have a hard time finding a topic to talk about when they're in such a good mood." She explains.
I nod. "Yeah, actually I really wanna talk about something." I explain.
She nods and waits for me to start talking. I can do this. I talked to so many people, I can do it here, too.
"Well, Noah. I wanna talk about him." I say.
"The man who treated you so badly and broke your fingers, correct?" She asks.
I nod. "Yup. That's the one." I say.
She nods.
"Well. First of all, I have to go to court tomorrow. I reported everything that happened to the police and tomorrow is the trial. But he won't show up cause he fled from the police." I start to explain.
She looks at me with her eyebrows raised. "It's good that you went to the police." She says.
I scratch my head. "Yeah, well, I kinda had to talk to the police." I explain. "You see, a day after christmas he came over and we got into a fight, resulting in this." I say and pull up my sleeve.
She leans forward to look at the scar on my arm.
"It was an accident, but I lost a lot of blood and needed help, but he left." I explain.
"He accidentally cut you with a knife?" She asks me confused.
"Yeah, well, he was holding it and I tried to punch him and he kinda accidentally cut me when he tried to protect his face I think." I tell her.
She looks quite surprised. "Why was he holding a knife in the first place?"
Okay. Show time. I'm gonna say what happened. Maybe I'll cry. But I will stop having nightmares if I tell her. That's hat therapists do, they make the bad thoughts and memories go away. At least that's what I tell myself.
"Uhm, he pressed it to my throat to make sure I don't run away or yell for help." I say and move my fingers to the scar on my neck.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "And he did other stuff, too." I say.
She nods reassuringly.
I change my sitting position to sit a little more comfortable to buy myself some time. How am I supposed to say that?
"I wanted to talk about what happened. It's kinda constantly on my mind." I mumble.
"Okay, take your time." She says.
"Well, he pushed me on the ground and pulled down my pants and I kinda thought that's all that happened because then my boyfriend and best friend rang the doorbell." I say.
Meghan is frowning as she waits for me to continue. I look at the wall instead of her.
"But turns out more happened and I forgot what really happened and the memory came back later. Is that a thing?" I ask her.
"It absolutely is a thing. Your brain can suppress memories to protect you." She says calmly.
She explains how different parts of the brain save memory differently. In stressful situations where we are in fight or flight mode the memory can be stored differently in the brain.
"Well, it did a bad job, cause it all came back two weeks later." I say.
"How did it happen?" She wants to know.
"I had a nightmare about it." I explain. "After that I was kinda dazed off all day until I suddenly remembered it. I didn't just remember it, it was more like I experienced it again. Like a flashback." I explain.
"At first I didn't realize that it really happened, but then it slowly made sense." I tell her.
I feel tears pooling in my eyes as I talk. It should be embarrassing, but somehow I feel safe here. She probably hears similar stories all the time.
"How did you feel when you realized that?" She asks.
"Disgusted." I say. "Angry. Used. Confused. Embarrassed."
I rub my eyes, letting my sleeves soak up the tears. "I felt disgusted by myself."
"But you didn't want that to happen, is that correct?" She asks.
"Yeah. I didn't want that. I told him I don't want it. I begged him to stop and I cried and it hurt. I didn't want it." I tell her as I rub over my teary eyes.
"I understand." She says and gives me some time to compose myself.
After a minute of me just blowing my nose she speaks up again. "Why did you feel disgusted?"
I shrug. "I have no idea." I rub my face once more. "I don't know. I feel responsible for it. I try to find the reason I gave him. I feel guilty. I can't help but question why I didn't fight back more." I explain. "I also don't understand how I went so long without realizing it."
"I even talked to a girl he raped a few years ago. We had a really deep talk and yet the memory of it all just stayed hidden." I tell her.
"A girl he raped?" She asks surprised.
"Oh. Yeah, well, she went to court, but there wasn't any evidence, so he was found innocent." I explain. "A friend contacted her so I can talk to her."
I'm too stupid to tell her what happened in the right order.
"Well, uhm, I should mention that everyone believed I tried to kill myself. So I ran off to find evidence. Which we did in the form of videos and pictures on his laptop." I quickly add.
"You've never told me about suicidal thoughts. What made other people believe that?" She wants to know.
"Uhm, well, I've done some pretty reckless stuff before and on top of that Noah wanted to make it look like a suicide." I explain awkwardly.
"Reckless stuff? Do you wanna talk about that, too?" She asks.
"Uhm, I overdosed on coke a tiny bit. Nothing happened, but I kinda overdid it on purpose once." I explain.
"With the intention to die?" She asks.
I shrug. "With the intention to get away."
"Away from what?" She asks.
"I don't even know anymore. Away from the rehab that was awaiting me, away from my boyfriend who didn't seem to get better." I explain. "I don't even remember how I got the drugs. I just found coke and xanax in my clothes and took it." I explain.
She takes a few notes while I talk. "So, you say you don't remember."
I nod. "Yeah, I was leaving my home and then a second later I was in a friend's flat with drugs in my pockets."
"And were you sober at that time?" She asks.
I nod. "Yeah. It happened again on the day I remembered everything." I explain. "I scratched my thighs bloody and didn't realize it. Then I kinda miss the memory of my testimony. I suddenly gained consciousness, sitting on my bed. And then I had that flashback that lasted for like two hours but felt like maybe ten minutes." I explain.
"That was how long ago?" She asks me.
"Uhm. Three weeks ago." I tell her.
"Have you also experienced more of these blackouts and flashbacks after that?" She asks me.
I nod my head. "When I wanted to-" How do I best say it? "When my boyfriend and I were intimate."
She nods.
"That's pretty annoying." I say with a small chuckle.
"I can imagine." Meghan says. "Can you explain how it feels like? The flashbacks."
"It's like a nightmare. I can feel my body in the memory and can feel my real body, too. But I can't really differentiate what is real and what isn't. I can't stop it from happening and I'm just panicking."
"Do you know what triggers are?"
"Do you mean something that makes me have a flashback?" I ask.
"Exactly. Triggers can be anything, from a place to a sound, smell, feeling. Anything that your brain connects with the traumatic experience." She explains.
"I'm supposed to avoid those triggers, am I right?" I ask her.
"The first step is to identify those triggers." She says. "Maybe you'll notice the first stages of your body reacting. You might be nervous or you feel adrenaline all of a sudden. Those are early symptoms of a flashback. You can try to identify those triggers and the early symptoms. A flashback is easier to stop when it's caught on early."
I sigh. What if having sex as a whole is a trigger?
"And what do I do when I realize I'm about to have a flashback?" I ask her.
"The first thing you should do is ground yourself. Remind yourself where you are by using your senses." She says.
She starts explaining the same techniques I use for panic attacks. If a touch triggers it, I can grab something to fidget, if a sound does, I should listen to music. That actually makes sense, I guess.
I should talk to myself, remind myself that I'm in the present and that it's not real.
"If you're with someone else, for example your boyfriend, he can also say those things to you, remind you." She says.
The last tip is to have an internal conversation, ask myself why am I reacting like that, why do I feel what I feel right now.
We talk a lot about the flashbacks and about how I feel about them. Meghan is really calm and doesn't pity me. She shows compassion, but in a way I don't feel annoyed by it.
"Yeah. People tell me all the time that I'm not listening because I'm lost in my mind." I tell Meghan as she asks me about dissociating and not being able to concentrate in conversations.
"But I've always been lost in my mind easily." I admit. "I guess it got worse, but it's not new." I say.
She smiles. "I understand. I've noticed you staring off into space. That's something we should also find out what causes that."
I scratch my head. "Yeah, I don't know. I kinda always have an inner monologue and sometimes it's a little louder than the voices of the people around me." I explain.
We only have ten minutes of the session left, so we go through everything one more time. She reminds me of what to do when a flashback happens and we talk a little about how I should communicate these issues to others. Meghan says it's great that my parents and friends all know what happened and that I shouldn't be afraid to show them how I really feel.
Meghan gives me advice on how to stay calm in overwhelming situations and tells me to talk to my parents when I feel like I'm not in control of myself.
She mentions ptsd quite a few times. I always assumed that's something only people who've experienced real traumatic events have. But turns out attempted murder and sexual assault can do that, too.
But she also mentioned that ptsd usually happens to people with childhood trauma and I had a perfect childhood.
"And how is the drug rehab going?" She asks me.
"Good. Really good. Uhm, I mean now at least." I explain.
"What does that mean?" She wants to know.
"Well, some time ago I took meth. I injected it and it felt amazing. But I'm not doing that anymore. I just tried it." I explain.
She nods. "Did you use sanitized tools for that?"
I nod. "Yeah, all good. I'm still alive." I joke.
I can hear her sigh. "But you're clean now?"
"Yeah. Completely. For over a week. I never wanna be sent to a rehab facility ever again. I'd rather die than go there." I explain, but realize I really shouldn't say that. "Uhm. Not actually. I just- I just wanted to make clear-"
"I understand." She says.
We talk a little more about my drug cravings and then the session is almost over.
At the end of the session Meghan asks me again if I have suicidal thoughts or if I hurt myself in any way. She also asks if I feel like becoming violent towards others.
I just shake my head at each question directed my way. I explain to her how I scratch my arms and body a lot in my sleep, but that I can't control it. I also tell her how I've had a short temper lately, but not like I wanna hurt someone.
I feel like the session was a great success. I wish I could talk to her about Noah's death, but I know it's not possible.
"Next time you can tell me what exactly happened between Noah and you during the most recent incident." Meghan suggests and I nod.
_____
"You look great." Mom says as I get into the car. "The bruises are almost completely gone."
"Carla put makeup over them." I explain with a roll of my eyes.
Mom looks at me closely and then bursts out laughing.
"What?" I ask her annoyed as she just laughs.
"Nothing. It just looks funny." She says.
I pull my hood over my head and turn away from her. So much for my good mood.
"Why did you put makeup over it?" She asks me, still amused.
"Because I love wearing makeup. Duh." I say.
"No, seriously. Why are you hiding the bruises? You don't wanna answer questions at school, is that it?" She asks me.
I nod my head, but look out the window so she can't see my funny looking face.
"Oh honey." She says. "Sorry for laughing at you."
I just scoff.
She reaches over and pats my head. "Come on, please don't sulk like that. If you wanna wear makeup that's also okay."
I groan. "I don't wanna wear makeup." I say angrily.
"How was therapy?" She asks me.
"Good." I mumble, still facing away from her.
"That's good to hear. Did you talk to her about the flashback?" She asks carefully.
I nod. "Yeah. I did. All good."
"So what's her opinion on all of it?" She asks. "Does she think you should maybe also talk to a psychiatrist and need medication? Or do you maybe-" She starts.
"What? Why would I need medication?" I snap at her. "Am I crazy now or something?"
"Sam, no, I just wanted to hear her opinion since she obviously doesn't tell me." Mom says.
"No. I don't need medication. I'm fine." I say angrily.
She sighs. "I didn't wanna offend you. Austin is also taking medication and it seems to be helping." She points out.
"Mom. Austin is depressed. His body doesn't produce the right amount of serotonin or some shit. That's completely different from my situation." I say.
"Yes. Of course, I'm just saying that-" she starts, but I cut her off again.
"If I can get some pills to make me forget Noah and everything he did I'd gladly take them, but I'm pretty sure there aren't, so how would anything else help?" I ask her.
"I'm sorry." My mom says quietly. "I don't know what's going on inside your head. I just try to help you how I can."
I roll my eyes. "Maybe stop treating me like a child and let me live normally again. That would help me. I'm so sick of having someone follow me around all the time."
"Sam. Noah is still somewhere out there. I know that he's on the run from the police, but that doesn't mean he can't come back. This isn't about controlling you, it's about keeping you safe." She says. "Apart from that we still need to keep an eye on you because of your addiction. You must understand that."
"I'm clean. You drug test me every other day. If I took drugs you'd know. Noah isn't coming back. Is that so hard to understand?" I ask her.
I don't know what's wrong with me now. I understand her. Why am I so aggressive and so stubborn?
"Because you just relapsed two weeks ago." She says. "You took meth two weeks ago. That's not something we can just look past. You're lucky you're not at a rehab facility." She says sternly.
"And what do you mean Noah isn't coming back? Do you know that? Do you know more than the police? Because all I know is that he vanished without a trace and he could still be lurking around somewhere." She says.
I groan annoyed.
"Noah almost killed you. You almost died. Do you understand that?" She says.
"Of course I understand that!" I shout angrily. "I'm the only one who truly understands that. Because I lived through it while you only heard what I told you. But I can't spend my whole life waiting for him to show up suddenly. Either he comes back or he doesn't. It doesn't matter if I have a bodyguard around or not. If he wants to, he will find a way to get to me." I say.
"What's your plan? Keep me locked up my whole life? You know it will only result in me getting bored and secretly running off at night." I yell. "Let me live my life. Let me go out for a coffee and let me go to the movies and let me go to my stupid therapy on my own."
"Enough." She says with a loud voice. "Stop shouting at me. We can settle this without getting loud."
"But you don't listen." I say frustratedly.
"I am listening." She insists and parks the car next to a café. "Come on. We both order a tea and talk without shouting."
I roll my eyes. "Tea can't fix everything." I say.
She gets out of the car and folds her arms over her chest, waiting for me.
"Alright." I say annoyed as I give in and climb out of the car. "Fucking tea." I curse under my breath.
_____
I order a chai because fuck normal tea.
"What's up with you? You've been up through the roof almost every time we talked this week." Mom says.
I sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed because of the trial tomorrow. I know that it's no problem since Noah isn't showing up, but I'm still kinda scared."
"What are you scared of?" She asks me.
I shrug. Of accidentally saying Noah is dead. Of embarrassing myself. Of dissociating like last time. "Of everything. I don't even know."
"You just have to tell your story like last time and that's it." She says.
"I don't even remember last time. I basically remember nothing I said. What if I say something wrong? What if people think I'm lying?" I say.
"You have proof. Don't worry about people not believing you." She says. "They will believe you. Because you're telling the truth."
"No one believed Ann and she also told the truth." I point out.
"Again. Evidence. You have more than enough of it. Just look at the bruises on your face. That's more than enough proof. And if Noah really doesn't even come, it's even easier. There's no way he won't get convicted." She assures me.
"But I'm scared of talking about it." I say.
"I know you are. But it's just one more time you have to answer questions and tell anyone what happened. After that you don't need to tell anyone ever again." She says.
I lay my head down on my arms on the table. "Okay." I mumble. I can feel my mom's hand on my back, gently patting me.
"Do you wanna tell me something? It seems like there's something on your mind." She says.
"You know everything, mom. I'm not even able to have something on my mind you don't know about." I say.
"Oh I'm sure you have a lot of secrets. I was your age not too long ago, you know?" She says.
"Yeah. Centuries ago." I joke.
She chuckles. "Oh what a nice compliment."
"I'm just kidding." I say. "But no, seriously, no secrets. No drugs. No nothing."
I can hear her sigh. "Okay. That's good. I'm proud of you."
I rub my eyes and sit back up.
"Tired?" She asks me.
I nod. "Yeah, couldn't really sleep." I say.
"Why not?" She asks. "Too much on your mind?"
"Yeah and nightmares." I admit.
"Oh no. Do you have a lot of nightmares?" She asks me.
I let out a snort. "Sometimes."
She looks at me concerned. "How often?"
I shrug. "Every night."
"Every night?" She asks shocked.
More like three times a night.
"Yeah, it's nothing. Just nightmares. Who cares?" I say.
"How much sleep do you get at night?" She asks.
"Like almost the normal amount?" I say unsure.
"Which is?" She asks.
"Like three to four hours?" I answer hesitantly.
"You only sleep for three hours a night?" She questions.
"I mean I sometimes sleep a little more during the day." I tell her.
"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" She asks.
"Because I thought it would get better soon." I admit. "It's just extremely annoying."
I take a sip of my drink.
"Did you talk about the nightmares today, too?" Mom asks me.
"Uhm kinda, but not really." I explain.
"Maybe she has tips for you. If it's not getting better we can think about sleep medication." She suggests.
"I'd be cautious. I could get addicted to that." I say.
She looks annoyed with my answer.
"I'm just kidding." I say. "But seriously, I guess I should somehow get it together without that."
She nods. "That's very responsible of you, but insomnia isn't something to take lightly." She says.
"Yeah, mom, I know. What am I supposed to do about it now?" I ask her annoyed.
She looks at me with raised eyebrows. "No reason to get angry."
"Sorry." I mumble and sip on my chai.
"At least I know now why you get so angry so fast. Sleep deprivation is the number one source of being a bitchy teen." She says.
I look at her amused. "Where did you read that? There's no way you came up with that sentence yourself."
"I'm not that old." She argues.
"You're getting closer and closer to half a century." I point out.
She gasps. "Excuse me?"
We both start laughing.
I really am a bitchy teen.