Chapter 5

Christian

"You seem… cheery," Dr. Webster says, half amused and half suspicious.

I shrug. Is it that obvious? "I think I made a friend. It's whatever."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with what happened in the kitchen? By the way, I'd like to inform you that Brandon has been sent home."

Good. Bullying fucker. "Her name is Anna. She stood up for me. It was cool," I say dismissively.

He smiles. "Very cool. There are a lot of kids here, though. You haven't shown much interest in connecting with them. What makes Anna different?"

I scoff. "Everything about Anna is different."

"Like what?"

"She's… not mean-spirited. Most people here just live to judge each other to make themselves feel better. She doesn't care about that. And she's smart, and she says things that make sense, and I don't feel like I have to pretend with her." I shift in my seat, debating on how honest I should be. "She… she noticed that I can't be touched. She asked where was okay, and then… she held my hand. No one outside of my family ever has."

"No one?" he confirms. I nod. "How did that feel?"

"I felt… valued. Like… she actually wanted to be there. It wasn't pity. It was real."

"That's a wonderful feeling."

"Yeah. I don't know. We just get along."

"Have you considered sharing more with your group given that the one person you did share with, Anna, reacted with such grace?"

"No. Like I said, she's different. It feels okay that she knows, but I'm not about to spill my guts to everyone else. And I didn't really tell her, she just guessed."

"That's fair. And it's great news that you made a friend. As is the fact that you've spoken to your mother. What made you decide it was time?"

"Something Anna said… I just… felt like my mom should know that, you know, she's still my mom."

"What was it like speaking with her?"

I sober at the memory of her anguished voice. "She was… upset. I've never really heard her like that, besides… that day."

"What's it like for you to hear your mother like that?"

"I feel like shit. I don't want to be responsible for her like that. I don't want her to ever feel like that."

"You're not responsible for it, Christian. Someone else's actions are." He pauses. "Tell me, have you looked at the book I gave you?"

And then the person whose actions he believes are to blame becomes clear. My hackles rise. "Fuck you. Why do you think you know so much about my life?" I spit.

"I don't. It's not news to you that your mother feels betrayed by her former friend, Christian. I want to help you understand what's happened in your life. I might have resources or a different perspective, but it's up to you what you want to do with that."

"Then why can't you accept what I said? How can it be wrong if I fucking liked it? She helped me. It was unorthodox, sure, but I was getting better."

"I know, Christian, I hear you. I only invite you to consider that just because something feels right doesn't mean it really is. Think of it like this. Maybe for a time, this relationship felt like a warm blanket on a cold day. But no matter what, eventually, winter turns to summer, and suddenly the blanket isn't so comforting anymore. It's oppressive, stifling. Anyone wielding control over anyone in the way that Elena did over you is dangerous."

"I could have left anytime I wanted! That's the difference! No one gave me a choice when I was a little kid. I know you know what happened to me then, I know it's in my file. She told me she could fix me, and I told her I wanted it. So, where the fuck do you get off telling me that the only thing that's ever felt right wasn't? How could you possibly know?"

"Like I said, Christian, I'm just trying to give you some other things to consider. Things that may hold answers in other areas of your life. How you feel about making a friend, feeling protected by that friend, witnessing your mother's distress, how you understand it. What if it's all connected? I absolutely hear you that it fulfilled a need. But what else did it do? What if your story happened to someone else? Would you defend her in the same way?"

"But it didn't. It happened to me." I hate that he could be right about one thing and so off the mark on this. Anytime I get an ounce of respite from talking to him, it all fucking evaporates when we get back to this subject. "Fuck this." I get up and he doesn't object.

"I'm a resource, Christian," he says as I close his office door. Yeah, some resource.

I go outside, telling myself it's for fresh air, but truthfully, I know where my feet are carrying me, and I know where I hope it's leading. I need to feel understood after that shitshow, and there's only one place here that I've been able to find that.

I break through the trees and sigh with relief when I see her up there. We seem to have an unspoken agreement now that this is our meeting place. She notices me about halfway across the meadow. I manage to give her a tight smile, despite my mood.

She waves. "Hi, Christian."

"Hey, Anna." I kick a rock around at the base of the tree.

She furrows her brow, registering my mood. "Are you okay?"

I'm relieved that she notices my tension. "I just had a shitty session. My therapist just doesn't fucking get me."

She closes her book and sets it aside. "What do you mean?"

I sigh and climb up on the branch next to her. "It has to do with why I was sent here. He's so fucking judgmental."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" she says patiently.

I feel an ache in my chest at her concern. I didn't expect to want to talk to her about it, I just thought that being around her would make me feel better. "I mean… is that okay? I don't want to burden you." She must have lingering problems of her own. She wouldn't be here if she didn't.

"It's okay. I know it helps to talk sometimes, and if your therapist isn't giving you that, I can try to listen." She smiles, just a slight upturn of her lips. "Can't give you any Prozac, though."

I chuckle. "That's okay. Well…" I swing my feet back and forth off the branch, suddenly a little nervous to explain this. But if anyone will understand, she will. She has to. "My parents sent me here because… they didn't approve of the relationship I was in."

"They didn't like your girlfriend?"

Ha. "Not a girlfriend, exactly."

"Oh. Boyfriend?"

HA. "No, Anna. Just… the backstory is, I got kicked out of a bunch of schools. I… a lot of people tried to take advantage of it when they noticed that I didn't like to be touched, turn it into a game. So, I ended up in a lot of fights. And… my therapist back home was a total asshole, so to cope with everything, I ended up drinking. I was just… out of control. And then I met someone who helped me with that."

"Why wouldn't your parents like that?" she asks.

"Well… she was a friend of my mother's."

"Of… your mother's?" she says slowly.

Oh, no. "Yes."

"Um… how old was she?"

Here goes. "In her thirties."

She blinks a few times. "What kind of a relationship are you talking about?"

I rip the band-aid off. "A sexual one."

It suddenly occurs to me that she might not understand what that means, since she's only thirteen. Who knows if her mother got around to explaining the birds and the bees? A quick glance at her tells me that she does comprehend something, though. She doesn't say anything immediately, but pales to a startling shade. "I'm… confused. How did that help you get under control?"

Okay. She's still with me this far. There's hope. "She introduced me to a Dominant/submissive relationship. Basically, it means… she was in charge of me and she knew what was best for me. She had a special insight from being friends with my mother, and… when I'd do something bad, she'd punish me. When I did better, she'd reward me. So, with her influence, I started to behave better."

"W-What do you mean, punish?"

"Withholding… pleasure. Humiliation. And sometimes… physically."

"She… hit you?"

"Sometimes. But parents physically punish kids, too," I add quickly. "Sometimes it's necessary. It helped me learn. But my parents don't see it like that, and neither do the shrinks here."

"So, when Stephen hit me because he thought I was bad, that was fine?" she asks softly.

I gasp. "No! This is different." Shit. She's not getting it.

"But… no. How could she do that to you? A kid who needed help? How could… why are you defending her?"

I whip my head around to look at her and her eyes wide and glassy with tears. Fuck. No. "Anna, this is normal in the lifestyle—"

"She was abusing you. She… she took advantage of you. She treated you like a dog… no, you shouldn't treat a dog like that." She's shaking her head slowly, blinking quickly.

Her words sink in slowly, uncomfortably, pricking my skin like venom. "You're just like everyone else," I mutter.

"What?"

I turn and look her in the eyes. "You're just like everyone else. You don't care that she helped me. You don't care that I needed her. You just take the bare facts and twist it into something wrong. Well, if it was wrong, then I guess I'm more fucked-up than even I thought, because I wanted it, and to me, it felt right. I just feel stupid now because I thought you were fucking different."

She looks at me for a moment, and I clearly see pity in her eyes. Fucking pity. How was I so wrong about her? "What did she do to you?" she whispers.

How. Dare. She. "She was fixing me. She understood me. Unlike you," I hiss.

She squares her jaw. "I understand that sex is supposed to be for showing someone how much you like them. I understand that it's not for kids and adults, and an adult who had a child's well-being in mind should know that. And I understand that you don't deserve to be hit just because you needed help. You deserved love and understanding, not to be trained to behave how someone using a child for her own power trip wanted you to."

"She was helping me!" I explode, jumping off the branch and landing hard, whirling around to look up at her. "Fuck this! Abuse was when my birth mom's pimp would hold me down and put out cigarettes on me." She lets out a horrified gasp, both hands flying to her mouth, but I'm on a roll. "Abuse was when he'd drag me out from under the furniture so he could beat the shit out of me. See, Anna? I know what abuse is, and I said yes to this." Without waiting for her to answer, I start stomping across the meadow, fuck the flowers. Fuck all of this.

"Christian!" she calls. She sounds so desperate that despite myself, I turn around. She stares at me, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. "Abuse is sneaky sometimes. Just because you felt like you deserved it doesn't mean you did."

My one friendship, poof, gone. I turn around and don't look back, not stopping until I'm back at the building and slamming my bedroom door shut. I start to pace, gripping my hair so hard, I'm surprised it's not coming out in clumps.

She needs time, I reason with myself. That was a lot of information. She's young. She'll come around. She has to.

I need her to.

There's a knock at the door. Oh, for the love of all that is holy. I swing it open to find the same startled aide. "Uh… hi, Christian. Your mother is on the phone."

Another person who doesn't understand. It feels like bitterness is leaking out of my every pore. "Tell her I'm busy." And I slam the door once again.

A/N: I wanted to post this earlier, but I moved this weekend, and take my word for it, living in an attic with a cute spiral staircase as the entrance SOUNDS fun, but when you're a) drunk or b) trying to move all of your furniture on it, it's not fun anymore.

Anyway, remember that Christian is still an impulsive, brainwashed teenager. But FYI, this chapter and the next one are pretty much peak angst for this story. If you can handle them, the rest will be okay. I'll post the next one tomorrow, promise! xo