God, I loved this man. My heart swelled with brotherly affection. The emotions welled up inside me, and I let them out in a fresh wave of tears. My counselor saw me, the real me, and he still held my hand, brushed away my tears, and spoke to me with admiration.
You can do this.
I continued to describe the beating to him in detail, recalling the torn leotard and dirty tutu and how upset I was over it. I chuckled ruefully. “Funny how minds remember random, insignificant details like that, huh? I kept thinking it was one of my favorite leotards, and now it was ruined.”
“There’s nothing random or insignificant in human thought and memories. I’m sure if we were to analyze the thought, we could very easily make the connection. Maybe it reminded you of one you had before, or it could have held the memory of a dance you had done before being kept in captivity. The significance is real.”
“You know, I remember the first few times I heard your voice. I thought you’d be an amazing therapist. I’m happy to say I was right,” I bragged and then buried my head into his chest, needing connection.
“That’s a great compliment,” he said, pushing my face back. “Let’s hear the rest, please,” he admonished me gently, realizing I was stalling.
As I continued, Marcel reached behind me and handed me some tissues for the tears that were flowing.
“You’ve got this,” he breathed.
“By the fifth time he smacked me to the ground, I was exhausted, and my body was in so much pain. I wanted to die, and the worst of it hadn’t even happened.” I sobbed hard, hating that I wasn’t able to focus like Marcel needed me to.
“Do you need a break?” he asked, gauging my emotions.
“No, Sir, I can do this,” I said, determined to defeat the fear. “He ripped some of my hair out. I remember how much it hurt. He yanked me around, and I saw the ball gag out of the corner of my eye. I started dry heaving, remembering what X had endured.” I rubbed my head in memory.
“We’re halfway there. The end is our goal,” Marcel coached me.
“He shoved it into my mouth, and I thought I was going to be violently ill. The sheer panic of thinking he would let me die if I threw up was so overwhelming.” I sobbed for about five minutes before I could continue.
Marcel spoke to me in a deep, soothing tone. His voice almost putting me in a trance-like state as it washed over me.
“You’re so strong and brave. I’ve never been prouder of a patient than I am with you right this moment.” His words were life to me and soothed my brokenness. “Sharing is never easy, but you’re here doing it. You’re opening up your heart and allowing me in. It’s so damn beautiful and an honor that you trust me. Let me take you the rest of the way. This is merely a memory. Once it’s shared, you don’t ever have to repeat it unless you want to. You’re safe with me, always. I promise you.”
His words only unleashed another torrent of tears, but these were happy ones. Once my emotions were under control, I spoke again. “He dragged me over to the wall where he chained X that day, and then he terrorized me about keeping me and making mehisslave whore.”
His vile promises echoed through my head, each word scraping like broken glass against my thoughts. I couldn’t speak the words. All I could do was try to crush the horror clawing its way up my throat. Marcel sensed and helped me breathe through it.
“The man told me he was going to whip me so I would never forget again. He said that by the time he was done and removed the gag, I would call him Master.”
I took several deep breaths to calm the nausea that rose within me. I was almost done. “Somehow, or maybe it was all talk, he finally stopped without fisting me. He removed the gag, and I remember waking up riddled with pain. I didn’t think someone could feel that level of pain and live, but I did. He screamed for me to beg for mercy. And I did, like I had seen so many women before. I begged like how X had done before. I didn’t want to, but I did it anyway.”
“There’s no shame in what you or any of those women did. It’s human nature to preserve our life at all costs.”
“I called him Master, Dr. Marcel. He hit me one last time with the whip, and I couldn’t stop screaming. I lost my voice for two days. He gagged me again to stop the noise and then unchained me, leaving me on the cold floor.”
“Jesus,” Marcel murmured, then shuddered.
I moved on and shared the night we were rescued. When I got to the part where I had to dance wearing only a tutu, incredible shame filled me. I askedfor a break, which Marcel was happy to give. He fixed me a drink, and I sat in silence with him while I sipped it.
“You remember I told you I was once whipped with a badine, the ones that left the two scars, and what it was for, right?” I finally asked, shuddering when I thought about that horrific event.
“Yes, you were whipped because you were caught exploring your own body,” he said. I nodded, confirming it.
It was humiliating to have been caught, and the Mask couldn’t let an opportunity pass him up to terrorize all of us. He beat me with a badine that day and then threatened to mutilate me if I ever did it again. The following day, to drive his point home, our instructor showed us a video of female circumcision. Marcel had already heard that story, so I moved on.
“Well, because my performance was so awful that night, they decided I needed to give the audience more. After the song finished, I had to masturbate for the audience. God, I hated it. The shame and humiliation were bad enough. But add in the terror that, even though I was being told to do this, maybe he would twist it afterward, and I was so damn afraid that he would mutilate me.”
I sobbed once more, and Marcel, ever a patient man, sat with me in silence, waiting me out.
“I squeezed my eyes closed and did as I was told. I vaguely remember hearing talking, but I had retreated to a distant place inside my head, so I wasn’t there, if that makes sense,” I told him, holding his gaze.
“Coping mechanism. Perfectly normal.”
