Page 68 of Pushed Through The Dark
Shrugging a shoulder, I took a sip of water. "I don't know. Nothing really."
"Nothing?" the therapist asked. "After all of that, after everything you went through, you feel nothing? You must feel something."
"Not really." Crossing my legs, I leaned back in the chair and started picking at the edge of the cushion. "I mean, what am I suppose to feel?"
"Most of my patients who have traumatic experiences like you have all kinds of feelings." She tapped her pen against the notebook, her gaze set on mine.
"How many patients like me have you had?"
"Well, no two people have the same stories. And even if they do, they see it with different eyes."
"But you have others like me? Girls that have been stollen like me?"
I know there's more. I've seen them. But how many are there really in the world?
She darted her eyes away and sucked on her bottom lip. "No, not just like you, but girls that have been through similar things. Forced things."
She has no idea then. There's no way she can compare me to any other girl.
"And what did they feel after?" I asked.
"Fear, sadness, anger, rage. . ." She paused, rolling her hand in the air as she spoke. "So, tell me, what do you feel? It's okay, you can tell me anything you want to. This is a safe space for you. No judgment."
"No judgment?"
"None," she said quickly and sternly.
"I miss him."
"Who? The man who stole you?"
Shaking my head no, I looked down at my feet. "The man who bought and saved me."
She flipped through her notes, scanning the pages. "You never gave me a name for either of those men. The man who bought you or the man who found and saved you."
Staying quiet, my eyes drifted up to hers. She didn't catch what I said. It went unnoticed completely.
I'd seen this woman for months now, coming every week. I'd give her little bits of the truth to appease her, but I had been holding back what I wanted to keep for myself. She couldn't have it all, some of my stories are just for me.
It was my parent's idea to see someone. They thought it would help me heal, that I could work out the demons and get back to living a normal life. I didn't want to do this, but if it would make them happy and feel like they'd help me, I reluctantly agreed.
For me seeing a therapist was nothing more than reliving everything again to another stranger. I wouldn't talk to my parents about any of it. They didn't need to know the horrors their daughter went through, and maybe that was why they pushed me so hard.
"Aubrey, in order for this to work, you need to be honest with me. We've been here for months, and besides what went on in the Canary, you've barely said anything about what happened after."
"Because I don't want to."
"Why don't you want to?"
"Why do I have to? Haven't I said enough?"
"We need to work through everything from start to finish. That's how I help you work through your feelings."
"I don't have feelings, I told you that."
"We all have feelings. You just buried yours." Flipping back to a clean page, she eyed me. "So, tell me about the man who bought you."
"I can't."
