Author's note: Okay, so the delay on this one is a bit ridiculous! Apologies! Life has just gotten exceedingly busy, with work, and holidays, and abnormally nice weather that makes you want to be outside. I just haven't had much time for writing. The good news is, chapter 37 won't be far behind because I have it partially written already (overflow from this chapter!)
Thanks as always to my fabulously lovely readers (FrankElza, Zoe-eoZ, Pembie, Braxtonboyzz123, and Braxton54) Your reviews mean the world to me! They really do!
To anyone else reading this, it would be lovely if you could leave one or two words.
Anywho… hope you enjoy this one (I'm really not too sure about it, but we'll see…)
Chapter 36
Kyle slunk down the hallway outside his room, making his way slowly towards the place that served as a cafeteria. He was still a little groggy, but one of the nurses had come by about fifteen minutes earlier and told him to come for dinner. He wasn't hungry, but he'd learnt the hard way that they wouldn't allow him to miss meals. No matter how upset he was. The last time he'd tried, he'd ended up with staff supervision at every meal, where they'd treated him like an obstinate toddler who wasn't allowed to leave the table until his plate was cleared. He'd quickly gotten sick of fighting them.
He ducked his head in embarrassment and shame when he saw one of the men from the group session at the other end of the hall. He was called Shane or Sean or something like that, and he looked like a River Boy. All messy blonde surfer hair and tattoos. He'd been assaulted in juvie from what Kyle remembered, although he hadn't been paying that much attention. He remembered him as one of the ones that had had to drag him off Dr Yang, and he was fairly sure he'd been the one to help wrestle him to the floor. The blond was plodding towards him, eyes on his feet, like he was lost in his own little world. That guy was the last person he wanted to see right now!
'What am I gonna say to him?' he asked himself, as he slowed to a shuffle. His heart was racing, and he began wondering if he should turn around and run back to his room. He'd never been so embarrassed.
Just then, the blonde surfer in the distance raised his head, and just for a moment they made eye contact. Suddenly, the other man seemed to want to look at anything else but him! His blue eyes were flitting around nervously, making him look like a trapped animal. In a flash, he escaped through a doorway like a skittish bunny rabbit! He couldn't get away quick enough!
Kyle gave a little gasp. Surely, he wasn't that scary?! Not to someone like him! The other guy was much more 'built'; he had to have about 20kg on him! As much as he hadn't wanted to talk to the guy, having him run away from him because he thought he was a psycho wasn't great either. It made him feel like some sort of monster. But then he couldn't exactly blame him really. What was he supposed to think? What kind of person loses it like that and attacks someone for absolutely no reason?! What kind of animal was he?!
He stood for a moment, staring at his feet. He didn't know how he was going to face the others at the session if they made him go tonight. Just the thought of it was making him feel like scratching his skin off.
"It's chicken and salad" came a small dull voice behind him.
"What?!" he asked, spinning round with a startled expression.
"That's what's for dinner" said Jamilla, staring shyly at the floor, her sleeve covered hands twisting nervously together in front of her. She seemed a lot quieter than earlier, a lot more subdued.
"Oh-kay" he said uncertainly. Part of him still wanted to make a mad dash for his room so he didn't have to talk to anyone. Even Jamilla.
"You can sit with me… if you want" she added, as she stepped around him and moved towards the canteen. When she got to the doorway, she looked back at him. He still hadn't budged. She locked eyes with him for a second before looking away again. "You coming or not?" she asked with a hint of impatience.
He glanced back towards his room but frowned when he saw one of the meaner nurses watching him with narrowed eyes. He didn't want to have to argue with her this evening. Suddenly, dinner with Jamilla seemed a lot more appealing. "Yeah, I'm coming" he muttered, before following her down to the doorway.
"C'mon then" she said, beckoning with her head as she led the way inside.
The place was full of noise as fifty or so patients bustled around the dining room. Some at communal round tables already tucking into their food, while others shuffled along the self-serve heated food station at the side. Others were busy filling plastic cups with diluted orange juice or mugs with tea. He glanced around nervously as he stepped inside, half expecting the room to fall silent and everyone to turn to look at him. He held his breath for a moment.
"It's okay" said Jamilla, tugging on his sleeve and leading him towards the hot food.
He grunted when she shoved a plate his way and accidentally hit him in the stomach with it. It hadn't really hurt him. It was made of plastic, like the kind you get at a barbecue, so his reaction was more out of surprise than any real pain. "Thanks" he grumbled.
He reluctantly followed down the line to get some breaded chicken. There were a number of patients in front of them in the queue and one of them was taking his sweet time in selecting the perfect piece of chicken. Kyle rolled his eyes when he saw the man turn each piece of chicken over with the provided tongs while he hmmm'd and hah'd over which one he wanted. He blew out a breath and glanced around the room, becoming more and more restless. He felt even more uneasy when he spotted Tom, one of the patients in his 'group'. That guy was an over-privileged asshole. Kyle bit his lip a little nervously when he saw him talking to the girl beside him, and from the furtive glances in his direction, he could tell that they were talking about him.
"Don't mind them" said Jamilla, pulling at his sleeve to get his attention. She gave him a nervous little smile and motioned with her head for him to look away. "Let them talk… What d'ya care?!"
He nodded in a tense way and followed her along. She lifted the tongs and picked a piece of chicken out. "Give me your plate" she instructed, holding the piece out to him.
He furrowed his brow. "Get your own first" he said, feeling annoyed at her motherly fussing.
"Give!" she ordered, with a look that said she wasn't going to take no for an answer.
He gave an exasperated huff and after a moment held the plate out. "You're really bossy" he said, "You know that?!"
"I know" she agreed, as she dropped the chicken on his plate, and grabbed another, "And you're having two… You don't eat enough…"
"I'm not that hungry" he said, "And what are you? My mum?!"
"No… Just a concerned friend" she shrugged, as she selected one for herself and then motioned for him to follow her over to the salad station. "Someone needs to look out for you… make sure you're not being an idiot."
He sighed heavily and followed after her, shaking his head when he saw that she'd scooped some pasta salad for him. "I can get it myself" he huffed, "And I'm not some pet project for you to play with, you know? I don't need you looking after me… or lecturing me on what I need to do. You're not my doctor, so mind your own business!"
She looked up at him with a look that said she was unimpressed. "You know that's the most I've ever heard you say."
He rolled his eyes and yanked the spoon away from her, slopping the contents of it onto his plate, before plonking the spoon back in the bowl and stalking away across the room. He quickly scanned for an empty table and gritted his jaw when he noticed the number of eyes on him. People were clearly talking about him, even some of the staff. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be people whispering about him. But then, what did he expect?! Beating the crap out of one of the most senior psychiatrists in the place tended to get people gossiping. And maybe they were right to be wary; he felt wound up tight like a spring. Part of him wanted to scream. Part of him wanted to hit something.
He hurried over to the furthest empty table he could find. One of the smaller ones located in the corner of the room. At least that way, he'd be able to see everyone and not have people literally talking behind his back.
He stared down at his plate of chicken and salad and felt his stomach give a little roll. He wasn't hungry. Not only was he not hungry but he felt a little nauseous, probably from the meds they'd given him earlier. And from nerves. How was he meant to sit here and chow down when everyone was watching him?!
"Well, that was rude!" said Jamilla, as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
"I didn't say you could sit there" he said, scowling over at her.
"I didn't ask" she said, picking at her chicken with her fingers and popping a small piece in her mouth.
"And I'm the rude one?!" he snorted, a look of indignation on his face.
"This is a communal table" she said, picking up her plastic glass of water and taking a big slurp. He noticed that her eyes flitted around the place, never really resting on anything. She seemed a bit agitated herself. "So, if you have a problem with me sitting here" she added testily, "You can be the one to move!"
He gave an angry huff and went to pick up his plate. Maybe he'd take it back to his room?
"Oh, for fuck sake!" she said, with an exasperated and angry little laugh, "Are you that much of an asshole that you can't even let someone be nice to you?! Did you ever think that maybe I need a friend too?!"
He stared at her for a moment before slumping back in the chair. He picked up his plastic fork and began pushing his food lethargically around the plate. "Stop calling me an asshole" he muttered.
"Stop acting like one" she replied, through the food in her mouth.
He shook his head. Jamilla was surprising. She seemed so meek and quiet most of the time, timid like a little mouse, and yet here she was swearing like a sailor and giving him a telling off. He wondered what she might have been like if this terrible thing hadn't happened to her. Which was the real her? Was she timid and shy because she'd been kidnapped and raped, or was the bolshie potty-mouthed side of her personality a reaction to her abuse? Who was the real Jamilla? It was like she had split personality sometimes.
"You don't even look like someone who should know that word" he said, "It's kind of shocking to hear you say it."
"Because I'm a girl?" she asked, looking at him suspiciously, "Or because I'm Indian?"
He spluttered at that and flushed bright red. "No… I didn't…" he began to explain, but she cut him off.
"My mother hates it when I swear" she chuckled sadly, "But fuck her… She hasn't got a clue what I've been through so she can stop telling me what good little Indian girls do and don't do… That ship sailed a long long time ago… and it's not like I'm ever getting married…" She put on a stronger Indian accent to imitate her mother. "What are we going to do with you?!" she said, waggling her finger and doing her best disapproving face, "When you talk like a man and you don't take care of yourself? Look at your hair! Look at what you've done to your beautiful arms! What will people think?!"
He couldn't help smirking a little. He liked when she imitated her mother. She seemed to do that a lot in their group sessions. He particularly liked the way she 'bobbled' her head from side to side to mean 'yes' when she was playing the part of one her more traditional relatives.
"Why can't you be like your sister?" she continued, in her mother's voice, "She doesn't give us trouble like you! Neela is a good girl."
He could see the pain in her face and hear the anger in her voice. She was masking it with humour but it was clear that her mother's words were hurtful. "I'm sure she doesn't mean it" he put in.
Jamilla shook her head, her face flushing red in anger. "My sister wasn't 'ruined' at the age of thirteen…" she spat, returning to her own accent, "She's little miss perfect… The shining light in my parent's lives… I'm just a disappointment."
"I'm sure that's not true" he said quietly, "…and you weren't 'ruined'…"
She looked up at him, anger shining in her eyes. "It's why we left India…" she said, "They're ashamed of me." She gave an angry sort of sniff and wiped at her nose. "Couldn't face their stuck-up friends with a daughter like me. Not after what happened. Not with all my 'problems'!"
"You're not ruined" he repeated, giving her a meaningful look, "You know that, right?"
A voice in the back of his head hissed 'hypocrite' at him and he inwardly cringed at how often he said and thought stuff like this himself.
She gave a sad little smirk. "Aren't we?" she asked, with a shrug, "What are we doing here then?"
He grimaced a little at that. He knew she'd seemed a little down before but he hadn't quite realised how much. This was a very different girl from the one who'd come into his room only a few hours ago. He felt a little bad now for being so unfriendly. What had happened?!
"Did your family come to visit?" he asked, "Did you see them today?"
She shook her head and stared down at the food on her plate. "They called me…" she said, tears filling her eyes, "There's been a change of plans… They said they don't want me to come home to live with them… They've found another 'place' for me, closer to where my aunt lives. They think I need more time to get my head straight."
"Oh?" he said, feeling a little lost for words.
"So, it looks like that's where I'm going when I leave here" she said, picking up a small piece of chicken and staring at it.
"A place like this?" he asked, "I thought you were being discharged?"
"No, I am…" she answered forlornly, "It's some kind of half-way house or something… They make sure you're eating and looking after yourself… You have to tell them where you're going and when you're gonna be back. Kind of like being tagged… My parents are worried I'll 'try again' and… I guess they're not ready to deal with that… with me. They don't want me around my little sister."
"That's ridiculous!" he exclaimed.
"She was the one that found me" she said, her face filling with guilt.
"Found you?" he asked.
She glanced up at him, eyes full of shame, and threw him a look. "Found me" she repeated, "That night I…"
"Oh!" he said, picking up on what she meant and grimacing a little. A bloody scene flashed through his mind, as he imagined the girl in front of him covered in her own blood with her wrists slit. He couldn't imagine how much it would have affected her sister to find her like that. "How old is she?" he asked.
"Ten" she answered, with a guilty frown, "She was born over here."
"That's a big gap" he noted, "She's your only sibling?"
She gave a wry little smile. "Ever heard of a sticking plaster baby?"
He nodded in understanding. Her parents had had the new baby in the hopes of repairing their struggling marriage. Jamilla's kidnapping had probably caused a lot of tension.
"I dunno… Maybe they're right?" she sighed, "Maybe I'm not ready…" She rubbed at her neck in that anxious way again. "I'm sure it'll be fine" she muttered, "I don't really have a choice."
"But you're an adult" he said, "I mean, you don't have to do anything you don't want to… Not after you're released from here? Why don't you just get your own place?"
"I don't have any money" she said, breathing angrily through her nose. He'd obviously hit a raw nerve. "So, I guess, I'll just have to go where they put me!".
"I'm sorry" he sighed, as he wondered if his family would want him to come back when he got out of here. If he got out of here.
They sat in silence for a moment. Jamilla just sat stabbing at the pasta on her plate. She was clearly angry and doing a very poor job of getting it under control. "You should talk to your family" she said, narrowing her eyes as though she'd read his mind, "At least they want to see you… You're lucky, y'know?"
"Lucky?!" he exclaimed with a curl of his lip. Hadn't she read anything about his life?! Lucky did not describe him.
"Yeah" she growled at him, "Lucky! You have no idea how lucky you are!"
He was aghast. Where did she think she got off talking to him like that?!
"You don't know anything about me!" he snapped back at her, "You don't know…"
"Oh, I know more than you think!" she hissed, jumping up and glaring angrily at him, "You walk around here like you're the only person who's ever had bad shit happen to them! You sit there judging everyone else because things were worse for you as a kid, but you know what?! Right now, you're better off than most of the people in here. You don't even get that a lot of us are alone in the world. Going through this crap on our own! Some of us have NO-ONE! No-one there to hold our hands when we have a nightmare, no-one to listen to our sob stories… Some of us have parents who blame us for what happened to us! Who think we're dirty and tainted! …From what I heard, you have people kicking down the door, just desperate to see you. Your wife, your brother, your parents… lots of friends…"
He just sat there in shock. He didn't know what to say. This was a side to Jamilla he'd never seen before.
"So, stop being such a dick!" she shouted at him, "…and let them come see you before they decide you're not worth the bother!"
With that, she lifted her plate and stomped across the room leaving some very shocked looking faces in her wake.
ii.
"Um… Can I talk to you for a minute?" asked Kyle, dithering, as the group dispersed and Rachel began to push the chairs back into their rightful position. It had been an emotional group session tonight, with some harrowing stories, so most of the patients had scattered as soon as they were able to leave. Rachel was on her own.
"Now?!" she asked, with a look of surprise.
She was a little stunned to find Kyle 'Summers' reaching out to her so soon after their little chat, especially since he'd sat in sullen silence throughout the group session and refused to participate in any way. In fact, he'd seemed so quiet and withdrawn, she'd wondered if she'd ever get him to talk! This was definitely a step in the right direction!
"Sure…" she said, after a moment's hesitation, "Out here…. Or in my office?"
"Uhhh… I don't mind" he said, looking unsure of himself and rubbing his arm through his hoodie sleeve. He seemed restless, and kept glancing at the other patients in an anxious way, as though he thought they were talking about him. "Maybe… maybe your office would be better?" he suggested.
"Okay" she answered, with what she hoped was a bright smile, "Give me a few minutes to sort a few things and we can meet at my office in say… ten minutes?"
She wouldn't normally do this, but something told her that if she missed this opportunity to speak to him this time, she would never get another one. In any case, she had to let security know that she would be meeting a patient on her own at an unscheduled session and to make sure there was someone available should she press the panic button under her desk. She didn't want to take any risks.
Ten minutes later, Rachel found herself sitting in her office with an exceedingly nervous looking Kyle Summers in front of her. He was perched on the edge of his chair, eyes fixed on the floor, one leg jittering up and down, and one hand scratching insistently at his other arm through the fabric of his hoodie. He clearly couldn't sit still, and whatever was weighing on his mind had his nervous system in overdrive. This young man was a ball of stress.
"So… what did you want to talk about?" she asked, keeping her voice soft and soothing and trying to put him at ease.
He glanced up at her for a moment and then back down at his feet. He didn't seem too sure about being here at all. She could see his chest rising and falling far too fast like he was on the brink of a panic attack.
"Kyle" she said, giving him a little half-smile, "Can you just take a deep breath for me? Like this…" She demonstrated breathing in slowly through her nose and then letting it out through her mouth, her hand on her diaphragm to show the expansion of her lungs. "Just slow… and steady…"
He tried his best to follow her, heaving a breath in through his nose, and letting it out as slowly as he could. He still looked panicky but after a few deeper breaths he seemed to calm a little.
"Better?" she asked, with an encouraging smile.
He nodded shakily and did it again, closing his eyes to concentrate better.
"Good, Kyle" she encouraged, "You're doing really well…"
After a moment, he opened his eyes, flushing red, and looking more than a little embarrassed. "Sorry" he muttered.
"That's okay" she assured him. They sat for a few moments more, while he fidgeted nervously in his chair. She was clearly waiting for him to speak. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming, she decided to break the silence. "Is there something in particular that's bothering you, Kyle?"
He gave a little snort at that. Where was he supposed to start?!
She might as well have read his mind. "Something brought you here this evening" she said, trying to coax him out of his shyness, "Something you wanted to talk to me about?"
He stared at the floor and gave a sort of shrug. "I just…" he began, clearing his throat out of nerves, "I just…" He made to get up with a mumbled, "Maybe… maybe this wasn't such a good idea?"
"No, Kyle, come on… It's okay" she soothed, "Just take your time… There's no rush…"
"It's just… I uh…" he began again slowly, as he sank back onto the chair. "I guess I've been thinking about my birth family…" he said, looking almost guilty for speaking to her. He obviously wasn't used to sharing his thoughts and feelings. "They uh… they keep trying to come see me… but I don't want to see them!"
"Are you sure about that?" she asked, "That you definitely don't want them visiting?"
He nodded vigorously. The last thing he wanted was for his family to meet him for the first time when he was in a mental hospital! What on earth would they think of him?! If he was ever going to meet them, it wasn't going to be in a place like this! He was embarrassed enough as it was!
"Okay" she sighed, "But… you've at least been thinking about them?"
He nodded and chewed his lip a little, like he was trying to decide whether to say something or not. A long silence ensued.
"It's… It's something Jamilla said…" he finally mumbled, "I can't… I don't know… I can't stop thinking about it…"
Ah, so that was it! She'd noticed the two of them behaving a little strangely in group earlier, giving each other a wide berth and obviously avoiding eye contact. It didn't take a genius to guess that they'd had a falling out. That Jamilla girl must have said something very hurtful to have Kyle this agitated!
"She upset you?" she asked, with a sympathetic little curve of the lips, "Kyle… You know people sometimes say things they don't mean…"
"No… it's nothing like that" he said, flushing a little red and fixing his eyes on the floor, "It's just…" He took the crumpled photo of his family out of his pocket and slid it across the desk to her. "I just… I don't want them to be ashamed of me…" he said, his voice small and uncertain, "My birth family."
"Ashamed?" she repeated, her voice tinged with sadness as she took in the happy family snap in front of her, a man nearly identical to Kyle front and centre, "Why would they be ashamed of you?"
"Jamilla says her family are ashamed of her" he answered, "They think she's tainted because of what happened to her. She even used the word 'ruined'... I mean… I know her family have more traditional views, but my birth family's Italian… As in, actually from Italy… So, I was thinking maybe they'll think that way too? …I mean… what if they think I'm 'damaged'? Or… or dirty?"
"And, are you?" she asked, leaning back in her chair, "Is that the way that you see yourself? 'Damaged and dirty' as you put it? Do you think they'd be right to think that?"
He looked up at her, a little shocked at the question. Most people just told him that he wasn't any of those things. That he wasn't damaged, that he wasn't dirty… They never asked him how he felt about those labels or if he really believed them to be true.
"Yes" he said, quietly.
"Why?" she asked.
He worried his lip between his teeth and gave a sad shrug. "Because…", he said so quietly it was almost a whisper, "…because I let them do those things to me".
"You let them?" she repeated.
He nodded, staring miserably at his feet. "I let them do those things to me… I uh… I participated."
"You're telling me that you consented?" she asked, "That you gave your consent at the age of three? At the age of ten?"
"No, of course not" he answered angrily. There was so much anguish in his face, his mouth screwed into a pained grimace, like the words were bitter on his tongue. "But I did what they told me to do…" he spat out, "I didn't fight them… I just… I took it… all of it!"
"And you think that makes you weak in some way?" she asked, "Like you didn't fight hard enough?"
He nodded, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. He did think that.
"Kyle" she sighed, "What that makes you, is a survivor… You survived seven years in a house full of horrors. You did what you had to do to survive… That makes you incredibly strong."
He scoffed at that, but she shook her head at him in a way that said 'You need to listen.'
"Your parents will see what I see" she continued, "A man who made a good life for himself, despite all the terrible things that happened to him… Someone with the strength to get up, dust himself off, and make something of himself! A husband, a father, a good friend… a good son… Any parent would be incredibly proud! Not ashamed! Never ashamed! You are a SURVIVOR, Kyle! You need to start seeing yourself that way."
He wiped away another tear that had somehow escaped, despite his best efforts, and begun rolling down his cheek. His hands were shaking.
"And I really can't see how you 'let' anyone do anything…" she continued, "How could a child that young… a three year old child… be expected to stop something like that from happening? You think you should have somehow fought off grown men, fought back, escaped?! What?! What is it you think you didn't do that means you 'allowed' it to happen?"
"I don't know" he admitted, "I just… I feel like… like I could have done something…"
"You couldn't" she assured him.
He shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze. "You don't understand" he said, "You don't know what it feels…"
"I was raped" she said, quietly interrupting him.
He looked up at her in shock. "You… you were…"
"When I was a lot younger…" she continued, "Not a child like you, but… it had an impact on my early adult life. It still has an impact, if I'm completely honest… It's probably why I do what I do… I'm not telling you this because it makes us 'even' or anything like that. What you went through is beyond anything I can even begin to comprehend… but… I can understand what it feels like to have no control over your own body… To have someone take that from you by force… And I know that I've struggled for a long time with the thought that I could have stopped it… That maybe if I'd done this… or maybe if I'd done that…"
He was still staring at her with a look of surprise on his face. He didn't know what to say.
"But I want you to think about something for me for a moment" she continued, "I want you to picture a three year old boy… A little boy around that age… Maybe a son… a nephew… the child of a friend?"
"My nephew" he muttered with a nod.
"Okay" she smiled softly, "Then I want you to close your eyes and I want you to picture that little boy."
He furrowed his brow at her. He clearly didn't like where this was going.
"Come on, trust me" she said, closing her own eyes.
He gave a heavy sigh and reluctantly gave in.
"What's his name?" she asked.
"Harley" he answered.
"Okay, I want you to picture Harley" she said again, "And I want you to imagine that someone is getting ready to hurt him, just like they used to hurt you…"
She could hear his breathing pick up at the mere thought of someone hurting his nephew. He obviously didn't want to think about something so horrible.
"He's being dragged, no, carried towards a bedroom…" she said, "He's crying… He's saying 'no, stop!'. He doesn't want to go in that room…"
"Can we stop this, please?!" he almost whimpered. The thought that he might have a panic attack crossed her mind. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"What would you say to him?" she persevered, "To that little boy? Would you tell him he has to fight harder? That this will all be his fault if he doesn't get away? That it's his responsibility to make the bad men stop?"
"No!" he gasped, opening his eyes and glaring at her, "This is sick! I don't want to think about Harley that way!"
"And if it did happen…?" she asked, refusing to let him leave the topic, "…and Harley came to you and told you what they did… Would you think he was broken and damaged? …Would you think he was dirty because of what was done to him?"
"Of course not!" he answered angrily, "He's only a little boy!"
"So were you" she said softly, "Kyle, you were just a little boy. You were only three years old, and you were scared and hurt, and there were bad people doing very bad things to you…"
He seemed to close in on himself at that, unconsciously hugging his arms around himself and drawing his legs in. 'Making the target smaller' she thought to herself as she watched him, 'How many times did you have to do that? Curl up in a ball to protect yourself, you poor poor boy?'.
"And they told you things that weren't true" she said, "They made you feel like you were worthless… and dirty… but you aren't… and you never were… and deep down, you know that."
He pulled his feet onto the chair so he could hug his arms around his knees. She saw him clamp his eyes shut like an inner war was waging. She imagined echoes of voices bouncing around his head, making him shake, and sending ice cold shivers down his spine. How many times had Simon and Jessica Hames told him he was filthy, or disgusting, or called him demeaning over-sexualised names? That kind of stuff seeps into your psyche and becomes a part of you. He obviously didn't know how to stop believing what he'd been told.
"I think you need to forgive yourself" she said, hoping that her words were beginning to sink in, "Nothing that happened to you was your fault… and there was nothing… NOTHING that you could have done to stop it…"
She gave a heavy sigh as she watched him frown at the floor and shake his head. He clearly thought otherwise.
"Why are you the only one that doesn't deserve sympathy?" she asked him, "Why should Harley be forgiven… but not you?"
He looked up at her. He obviously didn't have an answer to that question. On a rational level, he seemed to know that she was right. Of course, he understood that, he wasn't stupid. But emotions are rarely rational, and waves of self-loathing seemed to crash over him any time she mentioned what had happened to him. It would be naïve to think that they could rewrite a lifetime of self-blame in one evening. What he needed was a whole new way of thinking, but that would require a complete rewiring of his mental processes and the way that they worked! The way he'd been taught to think at a very young age. It was going to take a lot of work.
"Will I ever stop feeling this way?" he asked instead of answering her question, his eyes full of despair.
She nodded slowly, in a thoughtful sort of way. "I believe you can start to feel better about yourself… in time…" she said, choosing her words carefully, "I don't think there's any kind of quick fix… and there's definitely no magic pill I can give you to make it all go away."
He smiled a little sadly at that. She kind of wished that there was.
"You need to start dealing with things" she said, trying not to sound like she was scolding him, "Talking is the most important thing, especially with your friends and family… I want you to start seeing them…"
He opened his mouth to protest.
"It will help" she said, sternly cutting him off, "You might not think so, but it will! You're going to have to trust me on this…"
She couldn't help smiling a little when he lowered his gaze and nodded at the floor. She and the hospital's 'most difficult' patient seemed to have found common ground. Or they'd made a little progress anyway, and for that she was grateful.
"So, what do you say?" she asked, with an encouraging smile, "How about we start by giving this friend of yours a call… Martin, was it? It might be easier, as a first step… Why don't we get him to come in and see you?"