There was silence for a time as Dr. Renway let this newest topic sink in before she tackled another issue she had observed.
"Jenny," she said softly, "I've noticed that when it comes to your attack, you always use vague terms to describe what you went through. You talk about 'what happened' or about being 'there', without ever using the words you mean."
Jenny frowned. "I don't see how that matters." The last thing she wanted was to think in detail about it.
"You need to acknowledge what happened Jenny, that this happened to you," her therapist continued. "You need to say the words."
Jenny shook her head, hating the word for what was done to her.
"It's important," Kristyn insisted, "and it's part of your healing. You need to face this Jenny, or 'fine' will be something that will only ever be a distant memory or a poorly hidden acronym."
Jenny clenched her hands together, watching the skin on her knuckles whiten. I'm not going to say it, she thought, I can't. I don't want to. Please don't make me say it. The last was a silent plea that no one heard.
"You know," Kristyn said slowly, knowing Jenny was fighting what she'd suggested, "sometimes to get to healing, you have to do things that hurt. At the time, it may feel like a bad hurt that will last and last, but really, keeping it inside is the bad hurt. Admitting what happened is a good hurt, like digging a splinter out of your hand. It hurts like the dickens while you're doing it, but once the splinter is removed, it all feels better." She softened her gaze. "It may not feel better right away, but I promise you it will help."
Jenny closed her eyes, trying not to listen but the doctor's words penetrated her thoughts anyways.
"Just say it Jenny," Kristyn advised again.
Jenny pressed her lips together, then barely parted them and mumbled quietly, "Iwasraped."
Dr. Renway shook her head. "You have to say it louder than that Jenny, you need to admit what happened."
Jenny's eyes never budged from the floor. "I was raped." Her tone was only just audible.
"Again Jenny!" Kristyn commanded. "Louder."
Jenny was getting angry now, tired of everyone telling her what would help and make her feel better when nothing did.
"I was raped!" she spit out. "And I hate that word. To everyone else it's just a word, no big deal, but it ruins lives. It ruined my life. That word doesn't tell anyone what it's like to actually survive it, to experience it, to have it take over your mind and body to such a degree that you don't even recognize yourself. Being raped has changed my whole life and I don't think that I'll ever get back the one I had."
She sat back against the cushions, heart racing, breathing fast and fighting back the tears that wanted to fall.
Kristyn was silent during Jenny's rant, letting her vent and get it out. She breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Jenny finally admitted what she was feeling. The therapist had known she couldn't go on much longer keeping it all inside.
"Jenny," she smiled, "you did it. How do you feel? Did saying all that help?"
"A little," Jenny sighed, feeling the weight on her chest lighten a bit, "but I can't very well go around shouting my innermost feelings from the rooftops now, can I?"
Kristyn looked amused. "That would be a sight." Jenny rolled her eyes. "But seriously, I'm going to tell you again how beneficial it is to write down your feelings. In fact," Dr. Renway considered the idea and finally decided this was for the best, "I'm going to make it part of your therapy. Call it homework or stress relief or whatever works, but I want you to start keeping a journal."
Jenny opened her mouth to protest that she didn't want to have a constant reminder of the event around, to be thinking about it more than she already was, but Kristyn shook her head.
"No Jenny," she said firmly. "For once just listen. I have worked with you for three weeks - that's six sessions. I know you're hurting, I know normal life has fallen apart, but this is what I'm trained to do, to help. So you need to start trusting my judgement and doing the things I'm suggesting, or I will not be able to help you anymore." She took a deep breath and held Jenny's eyes. "The more stubborn you are about pretending everything is fine and trying to do this your way, the longer this healing process is going to take."
The doctor hated having to be that blunt, but it seemed that nothing else was working.
With her arms crossed, Jenny sat still as stone on the couch, directing a steely eyed glare at her therapist.
Dr. Renway sighed and got up, pulling out a drawer in one of her cabinets and reaching inside. She came back with a soft blue, hardcovered book and handed it to Jenny when she sat down.
"It's a journal Jenny," Kristyn said, picking up right where they left off as if there hadn't been a problem. "I want you to put your whole experience down in writing. Everything you remember down to the smallest detail: thoughts, feelings, smells, taste, memories, observations. Everything. It will help, I promise. Do the same with your nightmares and flashbacks. It's your body's way of telling you you're ready to deal with the memories, even if you don't think you are. This is how your mind purges everything you went through. But you've got to let it out."
Jenny opened the cover and flipped through the clean white pages, listening but not saying anything.
"Also write about your feelings for your husband," Kristyn continued. "How do you feel when he touches you? When you're close to intimacy? What are you thinking when you're alone with him? Are you afraid? Why? I want you to put something in that book," she pointed, "every day Jenny. Just give it a chance. Then we'll talk about it at your next session and see if anything's changed."
Jenny nodded mutely, too tired to fight anymore. Kristyn regarded her thoughtfully. The session couldn't continue if Jenny wasn't going to say anything.
"How about a cup of tea?" she suggested finally, relieved when Jenny looked up and nodded slightly. "And maybe after that you can tell me about yesterday."
Kristyn saw a flicker of something in her patient's eyes. So maybe she would have more to say after all.
NCIS
Is it alive?
No.
Is it in your lab?
Umm...no. Her wavering could mean that the object used to be in her lab or could sometimes be found there. He changed tactics.
Is it in the building?
Yes.
Is it...
McGee's fingers hesitated over the keys, trying to think of a way to find out more specific information on the topic. It was just after 1700 and he and Abby were playing Twenty Questions over the instant messenger. McGee had been done his backlogged paperwork and reports for an hour and Abby was bored to death doing nothing in the lab. So they were improvising. If Gibbs noticed, he hadn't said anything.
Tony eyed Ziva across the space between their desks. He wanted to talk to her about last night but knew he couldn't stay serious under pressure and would crack a joke or make an insinuation that would just end up with him begging for mercy while she hurt him.
He flicked his gaze over to McGee, who was concentrating on his screen. Double-clicking on the instant messenger icon in the corner of his screen, Tony typed out a quick message.
Hey Probie, ask Ziva if she had any plans for tonight.
McGee frowned in Tony's direction and replied immediately.
You're closer, you ask her.
I'm senior field agent, you have to do as I say, Tony shot back.
Not when Gibbs is in the room. McGee smirked and sent the answer, knowing Tony couldn't do anything about it. Then he got curious. Why do you care what she's doing tonight Tony?
Tony read the message and rolled his eyes at McGee. Being nosy is part of my charm, McChildish.
Childish, me? McGee asked. Look who's talking. Whatever. But being nosy is going to land you in the hospital if you do it around Ziva. She's freaking Mossad Tony! After today I'm definitely not getting on her bad side.
What? Afraid she'll break you? Tony snickered.
Into little tiny pieces Tony, McGee replied, dead serious. And I do not want to die today.
Ooh...got steamy plans for tonight with a certain mistress of the dark? Perhaps plans involving body heat and her coffin?
McGee resisted the urge to try and shut Tony up. Instead he just closed down their conversation window and temporarily blocked Tony in his program. What he and Abby had planned (pizza and a new movie that was playing downtown) was none of Tony's business. And if they took advantage of the darkened theater to spend some time exercising their lips...well, that was none of Tony's business either.
Tony tried to get McGee to respond but his messages kept coming back saying "unable to deliver". Whatever. Let McGee and his Goth princess do whatever they do at night. He was going out tonight, no more of this staying at home stuff. And if he didn't say anything, well, maybe he and Ziva would make movie night a regular thing again. He'd ask her next Wednesday.
Unfortunately though, he still had a report to finish. Casting one last glance at his hot Mossad partner, Tony returned his attention to his screen, not noticing that Ziva's eyes were finally on him, wishing she knew what he was thinking.
NCIS
Jenny climbed the stairs to her office slowly, needing more time to think than the elevator afforded her. It seemed her therapist was right again, that she needed to get what was in her head, out. She'd told Kristyn a little about Wednesday, how she had a panic attack at work (though she downplayed the severity of the effects). Kristyn had been glad to hear about Rachel, knowing how much Jenny needed someone to talk to. But she encouraged Jenny to talk to her husband as well.
Jenny shrugged off the suggestion for now. There wouldn't be time tonight, not with Rachel coming over. Maybe on the weekend? But she had no idea what to say. Everything got so jumbled sometimes between her thoughts and memories and emotions and reactions. It was hard to know right now what was actually causing their problems.
Glad that Cynthia wasn't in at the moment, Jenny slipped into her office and settled down in her chair. The high heels came off and she reached back to unclip her hair as well, letting the red mass tumble down her back. Now, if only Jethro were standing behind her, working his fingers into her neck this would be the perfect way to relax. Immediately Jenny felt guilty for the thought. It was unfair of her to want Jethro to do something nice for her when things were so shaky between them. Yet, she knew if she asked, he would probably do it. He still wanted to help, after everything.
Something about them being in contact had often been able to fix whatever was wrong. If they were touching, they could talk about it. Otherwise issues boiled down to heated arguments and long silent stares. No, touching would not fix things, not this time. They weren't even fighting right now, they were just...apart and Jenny hated how that felt. To miss him and want him even while his rejection hurt.
She shook her head. Time to think about something else, another unpleasant subject. Journaling was now an order, not a choice she got to make for herself. Jenny picked up a pen and opened the blue book Kristyn had given her to the blank title page. After a minute she wrote at the top, Jenny...and hesitated. Which name to use? Shepard was who she was, but...Gibbs. She wrote down who she wanted to be. My Journey to Healing.
The next page was full of lines. Jenny was glad for the light streaming in the window behind her, because the place her mind was going back to was very dark.
Oct 4 - Who knew a night could go so wrong? I kissed Jethro goodbye in the parking garage, the last normal interaction we would have together, expecting to meet him at home not too many minutes later. He'd forgotten to go see Abby. It could've happened any time, but only tonight did it change the course of our lives. Within a few steps out of the building, I'd know how wrong my expectations would turn out to be.
The pen trembled in her hand and Jenny forced herself to take a deep breath. Two voices warred in her head. One sounded like Jenny the night she came home, fragile and broken. The other sounded like the Jenny she used to be: confident, loving, alive.
Closing her eyes, she listened. I can't do this, the broken Jenny voice cried. It's too hard. I don't want to go back. I don't want to live it over again. Please stop! Make it go away! She nearly cried herself as she listened to her fears. But the confident Jenny voice replied firmly, You can do this. You must. It is the only way to get away from it. If you stop now, you are letting it win. Take your life back Jenny!
Two voices, two conflicting points of view, and only one could win. Staring at the pen for a minute, Jenny willed herself to be strong enough to do this. Her fingers grasped the writing utensil and she forced her hand back to the page.
I remember a dark blur, an immediate fear, and before I could turn or look or scream for help, there was a gag choking me, thin cords biting into the skin of my wrists, and a terror I cannot remember knowing before when he pushed me into the trunk and slammed the lid. I was trapped. I was helpless. And I knew that this could be the night I died.
Besides the team at NCIS who are the closest thing I have to family now, my only regret was my husband and all the years we'd lost before we said "I do." I sent my thoughts out to him, though I knew he could not hear me. 'I love you', I said. 'I'm sorry'. And then I wavered between 'please save me' and 'don't forget about me'. But I couldn't even wish him happiness if I died, because even with death perhaps right around the corner, I did not want to imagine my husband loving any woman but me.
What came next would make the next forty hours the worst two days of my entire life. And sometimes I would wish for death, because living was something that took strength and I didn't have any left to fight with. It was too painful, too awful, and I just wanted to go home.