I didn't sleep at all that night. I hadn't slept a wink in almost two years. I was too afraid of the nightmares coming back like they always did when I managed to drift into sleep. I just laid next to Tom all night curled into his side. Sometimes I whispered things to him while he slept, about what I went through while we were apart; things I was too ashamed to tell him when he was awake. The truth was I was afraid he'd be disgusted by the things I'd done and wouldn't be able to have me around anymore. Then he would leave me and I'd have no one, and that scared me more than the thought of Him finding me again.

Tom woke up at around noon. I felt him stretch his legs as he yawned. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Good morning," he said with a kiss on my forehead.

"Morning," I said.

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"How does lunch before Dr. Ozera sound?"

"Sounds like a plan."

We got out of bed to get ready for the day. While Tom took a quick shower I dressed myself in my usual jeans and a light blue turtle neck. It was only early winter, so I wouldn't too out of place but I still missed wearing short sleeves. I missed the sun on my skin, going to the ocean, buying seasonal clothes. But I was so afraid of how people would react to all the scars. Most of the nurses and doctors who I saw still looked at me in horror. One elderly nurse who hadn't been filled in on the situation loudly accused Tom of being an abusive boyfriend.

My hand brushed over the Swastika brand mark as I adjusted my undershirt and a sadness filled me. Before I had come home I had promised myself to have something done about it as soon as possible, but when the doctors finally examined me all their poking and prodding scared me out of the idea. They had to hold me down at sedate me just to get blood samples. I knew the other guys had their burns taken care of a long time ago, probably as soon as they were found at the hospital, but Tom still had his. He said he was waiting for me to have mine taken care of before he did anything to his.

"Besides," he always said, "I won't feel free until I know you are."

When we were done getting dressed we headed out to our favorite café not far from my therapist. I ordered my usual sandwich (as I learned from my therapist, I subconsciously avoided foods that required a knife or fork because their sharp and pointed edges triggered bad memories for me) and Tom ordered an omelet. We had yet another conversation about possibly adopting a cat. I'd been wanting to adopt one for a very long time, and I think he was almost at his breaking point. He'd never been able to say no to me anyway.

When we were done eating we started walking toward Dr. Ozera's office. As we were walking past a small store we heard arguing from inside. It was between two men, and one of them had a Russian accent. Tom grabbed my hand when he heard it and started talking louder. The fight moved on to the sidewalk and the men started pushing each other. Just as we were passing by the man with the accent was pushed into me and started grabbing at me to maintain his balance. Tom pried him off me, but it was too late; I was already shaking and images were flashing through my head.

Tom pulled me into an ally and pulled my anti-anxiety pills from his pants pocket. He handed me one which I swallowed instantly. I was hyperventilating and pacing rapidly now and all my thought were blurring and racing together. As the medicine kicked in my thoughts slowed to normal and I stopped pacing. Now I was just standing there with my arms crossed over my chest and breathing kind of hard. Tom put his hands on my shoulders telling me everything was ok. Finally I was calm enough to continue walking. Tom embraced me for a minute and gently kissed my temple before we left the ally.

"Let's go see Tasha," he said as we walked down the sidewalk.

We were a couple of minutes late so the receptionist told me to go right in. I sat down on the old green couch across from Dr. Ozera. She smiled sweetly at me as she sat down.

"Hello Veronica," she said.

"Hi."

"How have you been this week?"

"Fine, I still can't sleep."

"Have you tried the sleep aid I prescribed?"

"No." I hadn't touched them at all, actually.

"I know you're afraid of the dreams, but you will feel better if you get more sleep. And the nightmares will stop as long as we continue working through these fears, ok?"

I nodded in response.

"Good. How did your day start?"

"I stayed with Tom in his bed last night. I fell asleep and had another nightmare."

"What was this one about?"

"There was smoke everywhere and I couldn't move," I said recalling the chilling details.

"Was there anyone else in this dream?"

"Yeah, Him." Dr. Ozera knew everything about Him and the other men who'd abducted us.

"What did He say?"

"'I told you I'd bring you home'."

"What did he mean by 'home'?"

"Russia, I guess. That's where he kept me for a year and a half."

"In the past we've talked about what he physically made you do, today we're going to talk about what was going on in your head as this was going on," she explained.

"Like what?"

"When you were in the brothel, what were thinking about? What were you feeling?"

"Scared, vulnerable, small." Talking about how I felt was harder than talking about what happened.

"Was that when you were alone or when someone was there with you?"

"Both. I always felt like that when I had to— entertain men."

"What did you think about when this was happening?"

"I tried to think of times when I was with my friends."

"Sometimes when people are being assaulted like that they try to imagine being with their significant other. Did you ever try that?"

"No, because then I would start seeing Tom in their faces, and he would never treat me like that."

"Treat you like what?"

"Like, tie me to the bed posts and force himself on me. Make me say how much I liked it when really I hated it. Then let his pals take turns with me then use me as a piñata while calling me fucking whore!"

"How did that make you feel?"

"Like a dirty slut."

"And why is that?"

"If it looks like a duck and quacks like one…"

"Do you think you're a slut?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I never wanted it; I only did what they told me so they wouldn't hurt me. I've never believed in one night stands, Tom and I never got that far. Now we probably never will."

"Why do you think that?"

"I can't be around people without having a panic attack. I can't kiss my boyfriend for more than a second with out having a flashback. I can't look at myself in the mirror without being disgusted at how my body looks. Until last night Tom hadn't even seen what I've become."

"And what did he say?"

"That I am 'everything ugly is not'."

"Sounds like he doesn't care about the scars. Sounds like he only cares about you."

"He does. That's why I didn't want him to see them."

"I don't understand."

"I don't want him to be sad, so I don't want him to see the scars."

"He has scars, too. Why do you think he's not worried about people seeing his?"

"Because he tolerates having his scars."

"Is that why you're not worried about his scars?"

"I guess."

"Maybe if you felt more comfortable with your body, he wouldn't worry about them so much either."

I just sat there staring at my hands.

"Maybe you would feel more comfortable about yourself as well. When you're at home don't wear the long sleeves, just walk around in a tank top. When you feel more comfortable with that, start wearing shorts instead of jeans; ok?"

"I'll try."

"Good; our time is up now, so I'll see you next week."

I walked out to the lobby where Tom was waiting. He stood up and smiled when I approached him.

"How'd it go?" he asked casually, even though I knew he was eager to hear of any progress.

"Good," I said as we walked out the door.