Chapter 16: Therapy

I've been meaning to ask something, and now I'm here I can't find the courage. But my therapist has a habit of staring at me whenever I seem hesitant, until I finally get so nervous I start talking anyway.

"Can I ask you something?" I begin.

"Of course," he says, without showing any smugness.

"You have other patients with the same kind of past, right?"

"I am specialized in sexual abuse and trauma, yes."

Sometimes I don't like how he keeps saying out loud the words that I prefer to avoid, but I suppose it has some kind of therapeutic purpose.

"Do they, um… Is it normal to have some reservations, when it comes to, um, having sex?"

"It is very common, yes, but it depends," he answers.

I can tell that he's making a mental note to himself that me and Jacob have finally made up and more than that too. After two months of intense therapy, he can see right through me, which is scary, but I guess it's his job.

"Depends on what?" I ask.

"On the partner, how much he knows, how patient and understanding he is. On the nature of the relationship, the trust, the feeling of safety. But mostly on the patient herself. Is she willing to work through the hard parts and has she come to terms with her own sexuality?"

He looks at me patiently, knowing that for me, the last answer is definitely no. When I don't reply, he asks, "have you tried?"

I shake my head.

"I sort of accepted the fact that I would never… you know. But now…"

"Now you're in love," he states with a knowing smile.

I smile back and say, "yeah. But still… I mean, I love kissing him and I want to be near him like all the time. But when I'm alone, I sometimes imagine going further and I just panic. I simply can't, I'm afraid I'll never be able to."

"Don't use words like never. You're only starting to heal."

"I don't feel like I am," I mutter.

"You will," he says confidently. "You're doing great, believe me."

I avoid his compliment, as usual, and continue my question.

"Can't a relationship work without sex? Is it really that important?"

"It can work," he replies, "but most relationships without sex are that way because neither partner is interested in sex. A couple can be just as intimate without making love, but if one of both does feel desire, that's a lot to give up."

Thinking back on the moments I spent with Jacob, I can't say he's not interested in sex. He definitely feels desire for me, and I know now that I couldn't ask him to give up that part of him. Even if he would try.

I sigh, "I don't want to lose him over this, not now I just realized I love him."

"Give yourself some time," Tom, my therapist, soothes me, "this may work better if he knows everything."

I shake my head, but he continues, "I know you don't like that idea, but you can't give yourself to him, if you don't let him in. It's your body, and you can do whatever feels right, but trust me when I say: if you're not ready to share him your past, you're not ready to give any more either."

I hate it when he's right, he's making so much sense, but this is definitely not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that if I love Jacob enough and he loves me back, I'll be just fine and things will work out on their own.

I don't see how Jacob knowing about my past will make me open up more. If he did, I wouldn't be able to face him anymore. How would that do us any good?

"I can't tell him," I mutter.

Tom nods understandingly. "I know. If you like, you can bring him along, and we'll talk to him together. After everything you told me about him, I think he's going to be very supportive."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I just… I wish I could just erase that whole thing and start a life in which none of that even matters."

"That's what you have been doing for the past few years, ignoring it. How did that work for you?"

"Yeah, I know," I grumble.

I sink into deep thought.

Will I ever be able to have sex with Jacob? I wish I could give him everything he needs, everything he wants, apart from that.

First of all sex seems disgusting to me, a way to own someone, a selfish act to get off while using the other, whether they like it or not. During the act, people are so focused on their own feelings and needs it can't be anything more than a raw and selfish desire.

But it's not just the disgust that is keeping me from satisfying the man I love. I could get over that.

It's the fear and the panic I can't ignore. The images that I buried deep inside threaten to flow back along with the memories of things I honestly forgot until they were only a bad dream.

Just thinking about it now makes my skin icy cold and my heart race. I look up at my therapist, wishing he would start a new topic, to free me from this circle in my mind, pulling me in deeper into the past.

Thankfully he understand and casually asks, "any progress in writing that letter?"

I shake my head, just like I did all the previous sessions.

"How about that other assignment I gave you then? How did that go?"

"I gave it a try," I respond, and I take a piece of paper from my bag.

It's filled with a list of every possible emotion. On top of the list there's hate, anger and fear, the main things I feel when I think about dad and Edward, but Tom pointed out that it could be useful to investigate the rest, underneath those massive forces. So I was to highlight everything that seemed appropriate to me.

Obviously, most, if not all of them, are negative emotions, like sadness, disappointment, rage, hurt…

Tom scans through the list thoughtfully and then remarks, "you highlighted regret, can you explain what it is that you regret?"

"Isn't that obvious?" I say, but I know he wants me to elaborate anyway, so I continue, "I regret being such a coward back then."

"How so?" he asks, carefully putting the list into his file, probably to examine it in detail later.

"I never stood up for myself, I never fought back. I should have let them know it was not okay. Instead, all I did was either let it happen or run away. I guess I'm still running away."

"Hmm," Tom says, and then opens his drawer to take out an old picture. He puts it in front of me, but I don't know any of the people in it.

It's a happy family picture, a mother and father, both smiling, and two kids, a young girl and an athletic young man.

"See this girl right here?" he says.

I nod.

"This is Amanda. She's thirteen, a very sweet girl. What if this girl ran to you, crying hard, and told you that she was being abused by her older brother Kyle and her father. Her mother is too depressed to help her, even though she probably knows. Would you give her the advice "you need to fight them, girl," would you tell her that?"

"No way," I answer immediately, "not those two, they'd kill her."

"I see," Tom responds, and I understand what he's doing. "So why do you expect young Bella to do so?"

"I don't know," I shrug.

"If this girl came to me," he continues, "I'd convince her to find help, but if she just came for advice, I'd tell her she needs to hang in there. It won't last forever. She needs to do whatever she can to get through those years. She should find a safe place and go there as much as she can. Does that sound like good advice to you?"

"Yeah, it does," I agree.

"Exactly," he smiles as if he just made brilliant point, "isn't that exactly what young Bella did?"

"I suppose," I reply hesitantly.

"So if Amanda got through the years while hiding out with her sweet neighbor and survived the abuse without getting killed, would you tell her she's a coward?"

"No, of course not, she's so young." The idea alone to blame that young girl is unsettling.

Tom nods and looks at me.

"Please don't blame young Bella, she couldn't stand up to them. You did the smartest thing. Maybe you could have reached out for help, but since the people you were supposed to trust most were the ones to abuse you, and your own mother refused to help you, why would you trust a stranger? You are a brave girl, and incredibly strong, to survive all that on your own."

I look down and mutter, "I don't feel strong."

"That's because you wish you were stronger than them, but you shouldn't expect that from yourself. You were so young, Bella, look at this girl. That was you, it's impossible to fight them on your own. You are NOT to blame. And you running off to your friend was the smartest thing you could have done."

I stare at the picture as the tears start to fall.

He's right of course.

Suddenly I see myself, this young girl who lost all faith in the world, and for the first time I'm not angry with her anymore. I feel sorry for her, and I thank her for keeping me alive the best she could.

It's not over yet, this whole nightmare, but for the first time I feel like I made a step forward instead of making this festering wound worse. I understand now that I didn't just hate dad and Edward, but I hated that young girl as well. I blamed her for everything she couldn't help.

When I step out of Tom's office, I know I'll cry the whole walk home, but I don't mind. These are good tears. I cry for that helpless little girl, who is still hiding inside of me, waiting for my forgiveness.

My new assignment is to write a letter to that young Bella, something I really need right now. In my head I'm already trying to find words. All I can think of at the moment is "I'm sorry."

By the time Jacob gets home, I feel better. It's as if a weight is lifted from my shoulders. I never would have guessed that my biggest problem at this moment wasn't my parents but it was me. I'm the one who has to live with me every day.

At first I thought that therapy would be useless, since nobody can erase my past, but I see now that I still have a lot to learn.

Before Jacob gets a chance to take off his coat, I jump into his arms. He catches me easily and turns me around so that I'm pressed between his body and the wall. I'm not the only one who has been waiting for us to be together again. He kisses me hungrily while holding me up in a crushing hug.

When we part he chuckles, "I love coming home like this."

I'm not ready to let go, so I attack his lips again with mine. He pushes his body close to me, and just like with our first kiss, I love feeling his weight against me. I don't feel trapped, but sheltered.

These intense moments are the reason I wonder why I didn't give in sooner. How did I ever live close to this man, knowing how I longed for his lips and still be able to deny myself to have him. I guess I must have hated myself more than anyone.

He is simply divine and the way his tongue moves inside my mouth makes my belly flip. Even more so when a soft moan escapes his throat. I wish we'd never have to leave the apartment again and could kiss all day and all night long.

After a while, my back is getting sore, and I slowly untangle myself from him. He puts me down on the floor gently, and places both his hands on my flushed cheeks. We stare into each others eyes for a long time and then he whispers "I love you."

I don't answer.

Those words have little meaning to me, because they have only been uttered by people who wanted to use and abuse me. But I know how much they mean to him, so I smile and show him how I feel with my eyes. Jacob understands.

Later that night, when he's sleeping in my arms, I think back about today.

It could have been a perfect day. I finally made progress in therapy and my Jacob loves me. I'm pretty sure I'm almost happy.

Almost.

Because there is this one dark cloud hanging over me.

All through our make out session, Jacob didn't make a move to get something from me, but his body was clear, his longing was obvious. Pressing up against me. Not in a pushy way, but it was there.

I am painfully aware of Jacob's desire and even more aware of my inability to meet his needs.

This patient stage, in which we are getting comfortable with each other before the next step, it won't last forever. And soon I'll have to tell him I can never go all the way. He'll be accepting, supporting, as always. But I can't ask him to give that up. Being passionate is a part of who he is.

The feeling, the dread, that I might lose him over this, brings a shadow over this beautiful day.

I hate my father even more now for damaging me to a point that I can never make the man of my dreams completely happy.

AN: So the therapist agrees with us, you and me both, that she should tell Jacob everything. And she will, just be patient... What did you think of the therapy session?