These Castle Walls
summary: She still doesn't want the journey, but Victoria does need the sessions. / Or, in which Victoria can't hold on to this combustible secret any longer.
notes: The way they have treated this domestic abuse story is fucking awful. So, here I am, in my own way, fixing it. All I'm going to see is that Amelia deserved better. Thad deserved better. I had something much complex planned, but that grew to be its own entity that I will pen down later. That will include everybody but Victoria, JT and Reed will be the focus. That's all I'mma tell you. But yeah, enjoy this little thing and feedback would be great. It's 1am and yeah, sorry for the typos in here, okay?
disclaimer: I own nothing or shit would be completely different than what is currently there.

Everyone thinks that I have it all
But it's so empty living behind these castle walls

—

Time. Victoria knows that word and what that means. She knows what time can do. It heals. It hurts. It makes things clearer and makes this murkier than ever. She's organized and can pinpoint what happens when. It's acute and has been since That Night. Girl's night. The night she wants an empty house and instead gets a houseful of women. The night he shows up asking for one more chance, one more chance to press rewind, one more time to press fast forward while she forgets her anxiety is higher than she can bear. The night Victoria summons up every ounce of strength to say no more. No more letting JT bully her. No more wondering how much concealer she has left in relation to how many bruises she will receive – whether it's intended or not.

She watches time hurt her son until he can't be in Genoa City anymore. Time pushes forward as she remembers looking into JT's eyes that night and seeing nothing behind them. But the longer she holds onto what this combustible secret held by dirt, fear and a deafness of silence when the storm is over, the more she watches Reed have pressing questions. How can she do it? How can give life to a truth that is dead and buried? How can she tell Reed something so twisted when all she feels is shame and guilt for getting him hopeful for a bright picture? How can she say anything when all Reed wants is his father and on some sick level, she does too?

But time is all she seems to have no matter how many people swear support her and tell her it's not fault. Time is all she has to get herself out of bed and live no matter how many covert texts she gets to remember what is at stake. Of course, she remembers. How can she forget when she has the most to lose? Every tick of the clock is a loud thunderclap and makes her want to jump out of her skin. Another minute is one that makes her wonder if silver handcuffs will be as rough on her wrists as JT's hands are on her throat.

Then time is non-linear in her linear, controlled world.

Newman Enterprises burns all around her like Rome and like something out of a Poe novel, she sees him. She sees JT in the flesh, lurking in the warehouse like the ghost that haunts her alive. No, no, no, her logic says. She feels how heavy he is rolled up in the carpet. Victoria still feels the handle of the shovel and recollects how with every toss of dirt, she inhales and then exhales again. Time helps her cover up the body because JT is gone and never coming back and for that, she's so sorry. It's her fault. She drops the shovel and lingers around before her mother touches her arm, Sharon says she does nothing to deserve what happens and Phyllis looks at her with eyes that are hardened and sympathetic at the same time and says, let's get outta here.

So, she does.

She goes home and when she wakes up, Victoria frames the story like this:

JT does come by, well, break in. They do fight – he yells at her while she yells back, and then he asks again. He asks again what he does in paradise. Run away. Escape with him. Be a family with him, Reed and her kids while she can finally meet DJ and Becca. They can go anywhere because don't they love each other enough? It's tempting and he's good at wearing her down, knows what to say while he knows where to touch her because sex is both a show of love and war. She feels powerful, more dominant, and in that intimate space where there are no rules, feels the most in control. If there's a painful undertone to the sex they have, it's okay because she's a masochist and she can exercise the Turnabout Is Fair Play Principle.

Ultimately, her answer is no. No, she says, tears pooling in her blue eyes. In her tale of That Night, she gives him money in cash taken from her emergency fund, tells him to find a way to contact their son and his children but to never contact her again. That's that. That's her story and Victoria will stick to it.

It's far better than admitting she can see a perfect outline of his dead body on her floor.

—

She still doesn't want the journey, but Victoria does need the sessions. She's figuring out how to navigate the nightmares that keep her up at night while channeling her energy into her job. Dr. Mosley is a good source of objectivity and helping her examine people and relationships in her life she doesn't before. It's not that she doesn't want to. It's more because it's the status quo. Victoria comes from a powerful family. She's the daughter of a man who creates a whole universe out of nothing. She's the daughter of a woman who kills to protect herself and then, does it again to protect her. There's a pecking order with everyone in their own ways trying to get to the top. Nobody is safe and anyone who thinks they are, is foolish.

Victoria sits in Dr. Mosley's office, ashamed for running out the last time she's here but feeling an overwhelming need to do it again. She needs to work. She needs to talk to her kids. Cuddle with Johnny and Katie. Field one conference call while typing an e-mail to another partner that all is well with Newman. The leaks. The disembodied voice that comes out of her computer, sounding amused and threatening at the same time. All of it needs her attention, but here she is, sitting across from this therapist again, ready to open whatever parts of her psyche Victoria seals shut.

"What's the purpose of our session today, Victoria?"

She folds her hands in her lap and crosses her legs. There's a hummingbird in her chest where her heart is. Her nerves are stretching beyond their capacity and Victoria wants to fly out of her skin. Glancing down, she focuses on the purple plum colour of her dress and how vivid and cheerful the colour is.

The doctor is respectful of her, lets the silence marinate before Victoria clears her throat.

Her blue eyes met dark ones that push her to share. It's a gentle push, a supportive one. Support that sometimes Victoria resents and feels she does not deserve.

"I suppose I came here to apologize," Victoria begins and offers a wry smile. "I was overwhelmed. I'm…not used to spaces like this but I started it because I thought it would be a good start for me and JT at the time. Now, he's…gone," she says, and mentally reprimands herself for not allowing that word to flow from her lips as smoothly as she practices. "He's missing and it's hard because of my son. He hasn't heard from his father and he doesn't understand why. It's just a lot," she admits and then sighs. "Dr. Mosley, I'm having trouble understanding why I let JT abuse me for as long as I did. Or, even why I grin and bear it when I know my father cuts me off at the knees."

Dr. Mosley looks up from her notepad and Victoria watches the doctor's sleek black pen rest between her first and middle finger.

"I notice you speak of your father with an undertone of pride and resentment."

"Resentment? No, no…" Victoria corrects, vehemently with a shake of her head. "I don't resent my father. It's more frustration."

"What do you mean by that?"

Victoria pauses. Something JT says to her rattles around in her head. Her memories of him are now locked away in a box she doesn't open. At least, not by choice. Never by choice because her life is skidding off the road. It's careening onto the path of oncoming traffic with headlights that could very well blind her. She could be standing on a Hawaiian beach underneath clear blue skies and in an instant, the skies turn cloudy, grey with still waters becoming turbulent and rough enough to envelope her and drown her until her legs burn and her heart stops. Silence is the loudest when underwear. The silence may be external but the noise is internal. In the middle of the whirlpool is a little bit of the truth in the waters of JT's malice.

If Nick came back to Newman Enterprises right this minute, Victor would shove you to the side and you'll go back for more. Loyal daughter of a punching bag when your father is a colossal piece of sh—

"Victoria?"

"What?" she asks, snapping out of her reverie. A pinprick of sharpness blooms in her chest. Of course, Nick being at Newman would be great. It's nice to have an ally and Nick is her best friend. The company is a source of friction between them before. Their dad tries to pin her against him and they play the game. But they are older, wiser, and cut the marionette strings and make their own choices. Victoria can choose for herself, and so can he.

But no.

It's never that easy in House of Newman because there's a sword in Nick's hands and their father dares him to cut her throat from ear to ear in a gruesome looking smile. However, no one is smiling. Nick is enraged. Victoria leaves the ranch, feeling sick on the drive home because she swears she hears JT's voice saying I told you so.

"You said you felt frustrated with your father."

"Yes," she admits, truthfully, steel and truth in her eyes. "I do. I guess, it's because as much as I know he loves me, it only goes far," she glances down, twisting a skinny rose gold ring on her middle finger. Say the words, Victoria. Just because I'm dead and buried, it doesn't mean the truth has to be. Pressure builds behind her eyes. A sturdy cement dam is breaking, cracks deceptively faint but deeper than it seems. It's a trick of the eye like looking at a painting. The naked eye sees colour and shades when there is depth and perception. There's family. Always blood being thicker than water, especially at Newman Enterprises. "It makes me feel inadequate."

"Hmm. Do you blame yourself?"

"For what?" Victoria slightly snaps with narrowed eyes. It's a force of habit. She's prickly these days, a little more hypervigilant and stares at the shadows that creep along the walls at night. Victoria doesn't mind playing a game of a hide and seek with her dreams and nightmares alike when she watches Johnny and Katie sleep peacefully. She closes her eyes and mentally centers herself, breathes in and out and sees herself going into one yoga pose after the other with an ease developed over the years and advanced classes. She opens her eyes and looks at Dr. Mosley, apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to react like that."

"No need to apologize."

"I insist. You're not the enemy and I'm just… I just feel raw. I recently came to terms with the fact that JT abused me. I'm still doing that. I loved him. I was sure he loved me and other days, I wasn't sure. I can't reconcile this man who would demean me, bully me and grab my throat so hard I thought I was going to die with the man who stayed by my side while I was comatose and pregnant with our son. I can't understand how my father could do everything to protect me and makes me feel the lowest I've ever felt by the end of the business day at the same time. He's creative with it. I'll give him that," Victoria says, repairing the cracks in her emotional dam. Newmans are tough. They grin and bear. They soldier on. Newmans are supposed to be all steel and iron, strongest than everyone else and a little blood builds character. "Somewhat, yes. I blame myself."

She shrugs and smiles like she's accomplished something for the day.

Or, at least one of her accomplishments.

There's always Newman Enterprises. There's always a conference call, or some issue within distributors and division heads to fix. She'll handle it because of course, she can. It's enough for her these days. It has to be for the sake of her sense of normalcy.

Is it enough? Is it ever enough?

—

Victoria finishes the rest of the session without much fanfare.

She thanks Dr. Mosley for her time and for giving her some clarity. Victoria doesn't run out this time – she just briskly walks out after politely declining making another appointment. A call will probably be made. Maybe, maybe not. She doesn't know about that when Victoria is unsure about tomorrow or even what will happen in the next hour. A crystal ball would make things far easier. Victoria's heartbeat matches the measured stride she takes from the office to her car in the parking lot.

Anxiety doesn't let her know where it's coming. She learns that right way. It doesn't announce itself with a greeting or even an e-mail, but it's intense when it does arrive. There's a caged bird inside of her. Victoria's windpipe feels like one of Johnny and Katie's pipe cleaners when she tries to calmly pull air into her lungs. Her hands tremble when she grips the steering and oh dear god, JT's hands find her throat again. Bad mother. Failed executive. Even worse wife! She's going to probably die. If he loves enough to break her, she will end up in a box six feet under the earth and never watch her kids grow up. Never see them graduate college or chase whatever dream will make them happy even though she's hoping one of them ends up with a doctorate. Victoria will die, breath taken from her and will never watch her children get married or meet her grandchildren. Anxiety appears like an uninvited guest and forces itself to stay.

Count to ten. Take deep breaths to disrupt the erratic hyperventilation. Deep breaths to get her control back and hold on to for dear life. Breathe in through her nose and exhale though her mouth.

"Shit!" she swears loudly, dropping her car keys twice.

Victoria doesn't try to start her car for a third time.

That stupid dam breaks and the floodwaters rush in. She can't do this anymore.

—

fin