But I didn’t want to leave all my progress behind. My therapist in Boston connected me with Layla in Columbus, and I was able to keep going with my therapy.
And on this evening, Layla walked me through a strategy to unblock what happened to me on the worst night of my life. Before that, I remembered the strange drink I had. I remembered the darkened room, and the guy who took me in there. I remembered the bruises and pain the next day. But other than some stray sensations and details, the memory was blocked, probably my mind protecting itself.
Now I knew everything, and the word “exhausted” only scratched the surface of how I felt.
“What do you hope to get out of a call with Colton?”
I pressed my fingertips into my eyebrows to try to alleviate some of the pressure there. “He’s a good hugger. I just . . . want that.”
“And if he’s not willing to give you a hug, or is upset with you?”
I rolled my lips between my teeth. “I can handle it.”Ideserve it. Colton would have every right to be mad at me. I ran out on him a second time, and the tender heart he is, he still offered to leave the door open for me.
An offer that I had left on read for three years now. There was no doubt I owed him another apology.
“And what does ‘handling it’ mean?”
I huffed morosely. “Going home and going to bed.”
Layla nodded. “Let’s pick one more thing you could do to take care of yourself tonight.”
Maybe it was just Colton on the brain and all the memories we shared, but the thing I thought of made me laugh out loud. “You’re going to think it’s ridiculous.”
She chuckled. “Try me.”
“I’ll get Wendy’s.”
“I think that’s a good idea whether or not Colton has time to see you. You’ll sleep better on a full stomach.”
I had myself mostly put back together, my hand on the doorknob to leave my therapist’s office.
“I’ll see you next week,” she said. “I’m proud of the work you’re doing.”
“Thanks,” I said feebly.
But this wasn’t work I ever wanted to have to do. I was a person who’d had something truly horrific happen to them. I didn’t want to be that person. I wanted to be Violet, not Violet, survivor of sexual assault.
Woodenly, I headed down the hall, into the elevator, and out into the rainy, humid September night.
In my car, I stared at my hands in my lap, steeling myself to call Colt. I could do this.
I read through his last texts again and again.
Day or night. No matter the season. Just call me. I will always answer for you.
Yes, I could call Maya, but I didn’t want her freaking outand flying out here with a little baby. I could call Kitty and she’d be so supportive. I’d have to tell her eventually. But even as my best friend, she wasn’t on the front lines of the fallout of all this. Colton was.
And Colton had endured the most hurt because of it.
I had stopped crying. I felt settled. I could tell him everything rationally.
But the moment I hit the button to send the call, my tears started again.
And hearing his voice in my ear only made it worse.
TWELVE
COLTON
