COPYRIGHT © SARAH MARTIN 2015
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THIS BOOK OR ANY PORTION OF THIS BOOK THEREOF MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED OR USED IN ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. ANY UNAUTHORIZED COPYING, BROADCASTING, MANIPULATION OR INFRINGEMENT OF THIS COPYRIGHT IS PUNISHABLE BY LAW.
Part Fourteen
June 18, 2010
I stared hard down at my lap, watching as I twiddled my thumbs nervously. I was tired - Physically and emotionally - so I stopped my story. Dr. Pierce spoke my name and I looked up. "You alright, Katelyn?" She questioned.
I reached for a tissue. The last part of my story where Steve raped me, got me extra emotional. I couldn't keep the tears from coming.
"I think..." I started, taking a deep breath. "I think... I want to stop now."
She gave me a sympathetic nod, even though she couldn't possibly relate. Maybe Sarah Pierce had a lot of empathy. "Well, that's alright," she told me. "There's just a few things I want to clarify."
I sighed. "Like what?"
"You didn't know that while Steve was taking advantage of you, Trace was actually alive, correct?" I nodded. She processed this for a moment, "And the part you recounted to me with your parents – your mom told you about her concern?"
"Yeah," I said. "She told me everything that happened while Steve was keeping us captive."
"Alright. The hour is up now. I'm pleased with how much we've covered in this short amount of time," she smiled, "you're making good progress quickly, Katelyn."
I coughed and self-consciously responded, "Um, thanks."
"Is there anything else you'd like to bring up before we finish for the day?" She asked me.
I shook my head and slid off the couch, "No."
"Alright," she said, following me as I made my way to the door. "Your next appointment is Tuesday at 4:00," she reminded me, as she opened her office door for me.
"Thank you, Dr. Pierce," I walked out of the office and stood in the waiting room.
She grinned, her hand resting on the door frame, "It's not a problem. Have a good weekend Katelyn."
I said thanks again and headed for the door. It was a warm night. Summer was approaching fast. As I stood on the sidewalk, I stared above me at the stars in the sky. A cool breeze rustled the trees and tousled my hair. I sighed, slowly leaning up against the hard surface of the building. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. 1 New Text Message. From: Trace
It read, "How's therapy going?"
I replied, "Just finished" and then pressed 3, which was speed dial for my house. Trace was #2. Voicemail was #1. I lifted the purple cell phone to my ear, and listened as it rang. Quickly, someone answered.
"Hello," It was my mom.
I responded, "Hey."
"Hi sweetie," she said, a cheery tone to her voice. It was extremely likely that she was waiting by the phone impatiently for me to call.
"We uh... just finished," I told her.
She asked, "You need me to come get you now?"
I nodded, forgetting she couldn't see me, as I often did. "Yeah."
"Okay, hun. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Sit tight."
I pressed "end" and saw that Trace had texted me back. It said, "Oh. I miss you. How'd it go?"
I sighed, and texted back, "I'll tell you later."
I shoved the phone back in my pocket, but not before turning it off silent and switching it to vibrate. I sat down against the wall, shivering in the breeze, and waited for my mom to come get me.
Ten minutes later, like she said she would arrive, I climbed into the passenger seat of the car.
"Hey," I mumbled as I buckled my seat belt.
She was smiling, "How'd it go?" I shrugged in response. We pulled out of the parking lot and I stared out the window. "Did you actually talk to her this time?" She asked, smirking. I remained silent. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in annoyance. "Is that a no?" I shrugged again. I suppose she got the point because she didn't speak to me for the rest of the drive, which was thankfully short.
We pulled into the driveway and I quickly slipped out of the passenger seat, mumbling a "thanks" as I climbed out. I didn't wait for a response, and I trudged up to the front door. My mom was still getting out the car as I opened the door.
I headed for the stairs, but as I approached, I glanced into the kitchen and I was surprised to see Trace sitting at the table with my dad. My mom came up behind me then. Trace stood up and smiled when he saw me.
The alarm was clear on my face, "Uh... Trace. What are you doing here?" I asked as he walked towards me.
He kissed me briefly, and I was embarrassed that it was in front of my parents. "Should I not be?" He questioned, lacing his arm around my waist. "Gonna kick me out?" He teased.
I frowned, shoving him away lightly, "Quite possibly."
He leaned close to me again and brought his lips to my ear and whispered, "Let's go upstairs."
I looked at my dad. He was watching us. "Katelyn," he said, nodding to acknowledge my presence.
"Hi dad," I said nothing else, then turned to my mom. "We're going upstairs, I guess," I said to her.
Wasting no time, Trace grabbed my hand, pulling me up the stairs. We entered my room and sat down on my bed. He laced his fingers with mine. I wasn't in a very good mood. "If you're here to talk about therapy, you might as well leave," I said to him, rather coldly. I sighed, "I'm not ready to talk about it."
He seemed understanding, "Alright." He was too perfect.
I lay down and he lied beside me. I turned my head to look at him, "How are you?" I asked him.
"I'm fine," he answered.
I looked up at the ceiling, saying, "Good."
We lied on the bed without talking until he had to go home. We did that a lot lately.
I couldn't sleep that night. I was too scared to fall asleep, for fear that I would have nightmares. I had them most nights. I turned over in my bed and sighed. Steve's face flashed in my mind and I shuddered.
"Get a grip, Katelyn," I muttered to myself. "He's not coming back." I turned into a sitting position, planting my feet on the cold floor, "You're safe," I assured myself. I stood up and walked towards the balcony, brushing the curtain away with my fingers. I looked out the window and repeated, whispering, "You're safe."
I stood there for a moment, reminiscing on my therapy session - The way Dr. Pierce's expression's changed as I told the story, the sweatyness of my palms and the tears on my cheeks. I didn't want to go through it again but I knew I would have to. And I dreaded it, more than ever.
A rumbling of my stomach interrupted my thoughts, and informed me that I was hungry. I shrugged. I wasn't tired anyway so I might as well head downstairs for a midnight snack.
I donned my slippers and crawled into my robe. It was probably cold downstairs. I opened my door with a creak and silently tiptoed down the stairs, careful to step lightly. Before I turned the corner into the kitchen, I was surprised to notice a light in the kitchen. When I stepped into the doorway, I jumped, startled to find someone with their head in the fridge. Since the kidnapping I was easily frightened. It didn't take me long to discover that it was my dad in the kitchen.
His head shot up when he heard me gasp. Cream in hand, he closed the fridge and walked to the kitchen table, without even glancing at me. I saw that he had a mug of what was probably coffee. I remained in the doorway, wary. "Can't sleep?" He asked me, pouring the cream into the mug. I nodded. "Same," he told me.
I hesitantly inched to the seat across from him, "I'm uh... hungry too," I said.
He sipped his drink and said, "You should help yourself to some cereal."
Silently I debated whether I should or not. I didn't want to admit it, but the silence was painful. "I guess I will," I mumbled, getting to my feet, eager to make the awkwardness between us fade. The likelihood of that was slim to none.
I fetched a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer and placed them on the table. My dad and I made eye contact briefly as I put them down. Moments later I was gazing into the pantry, wondering if I should have Lucky Charms or Fruit Loops. I pondered this for a moment, coming to the conclusion that I liked how Fruit Loops gave the allusion of healthy food.
I sat down at the table with the Fruit Loops, but not before grabbing the milk from the fridge.
Quickly, I had the cereal and milk in the bowl and was taking my first bite. My dad watched me as I chewed noisily and he continued to sip his coffee. He raised his brow, smirking at the noise I was making. Embarrassed, I tried to chew quieter. Out of the blue, my dad asked me, "What time is it?"
I glanced at the clock, which was openly displayed in front of both of us. I had a feeling he was only trying to break the silence. "2:13am," I answered, diving my spoon back into the cereal.
Then silence again, save for my crunching and his slurping. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It seemed to get louder every bite. But that was probably all in my head. Then I heard, "Katelyn?"
I looked up, my mouth full, "Yeah?"
"Your mom said you refused to talk to her about therapy today," he said, his expression unreadable.
I froze. Does he really want to have a heart-to-heart now? I thought. "So?" I muttered, swallowing my food.
"So, we're paying for it. I think you're obligated to talk to us about it," he answered.
I put my spoon down and wiped my face with a napkin."I'm not obligated to do anything. Ever heard of doctor patient confidentiality?"
"Katelyn, don't get smart with me," his tone was verging on angry now. The last thing I wanted do was fight with him. If anything, I wanted things to get better between us. "Just... daughter to father. Please tell me," Oh god, that face. He looked desperate. And he was actually looking at me when he spoke to me, for the first time in months. How did he make me feel so horrible with just a look?
"I..." I paused and sighed, "Dad... I don't think you understand how hard it is for me to talk about. I can barely think about it without having a panic attack..."
I swallowed heavily and gasped when he put his coffee down, reached across the table and took my hand. This was the first interaction we've had in months and he was taking a huge step by consoling me with physical contact. As surprised as I was, he then said to me, "Katelyn, it's hard for me, too. I'm positive it's not nearly as difficult for me as it is for you, but..." he paused, frowning suddenly, "It's hard for me to imagine anyone hurting my little girl..."
The look on his face scared me. He looked like he wanted to hurt someone – Someone I knew as Steve. He started to squeeze my hand and I winced, saying, "Ow."
He gasped, like he didn't realize what he was doing and was mad at himself for it. "I'm sorry!" he repented, rubbing my hand soothingly.
"It's alright," I assured him, even though it hurt me on a level that I didn't even know how to explain.
"I want things to get better between us," he told me, "And I think the only way that's going to happen is if we talk about it. We need some closure, Katie. So does your mom."
I knew he was right, but I was still hesitant. "You really want to know?" He nodded. "Alright..." I took a deep breath. "I started talking... about what happened," I said. I looked away from him, "She asked me to start from the beginning. It was really hard to finally open up to her," I paused and looked at him again, "But I'm glad I did."
"I'm proud of you, sweetie."
I smiled faintly. "The last thing I remember telling her about was when you and mom were at grandma's. Right before you knew anything was wrong. It was right after he..." My eyes welled up with tears. "Right after he raped me..."
My dad squeezed my hand again and closed his eyes, "I'm sorry."
I nodded and smiled again, "Thank you."
He pulled his hand away from mine, and I could see the deliberation on his face, "Will you..." he paused, almost like he was afraid to ask the question, "Will you tell me what happened after that?"
I was afraid he was going to ask me to recall some of the events to him as well. It was pretty much inevitable. "Maybe..." I mumbled.
"I'm just as afraid to hear about it as you are to tell it," he said. "But I need to know."
"I know..." I trailed off. "I understand."
"Please?" He insisted.
I took a deep breath. "Okay," he smiled. "I'll do it for you." My dad squirmed in his chair and this time I grabbed his hand, "It's okay. We're here for each other."
"I love you, Katelyn."
I grinned. I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard that from him, "I love you, too." I sighed, and then prepared myself to continue my story. It would be a lot harder than telling my therapist. "I guess I'll start from when we were in the bedroom, right after he raped me."