Author's note: Hi everyone! When I wrote this fic a few years ago, I always had plans for continuing it. I had ideas of what the recovery bumps we'd encounter along the way and had already been planting the seeds when I wrote Chapter 1. But it was at a transition time in my life, so I left it at one chapter and considered it a one shot. But the fic is still getting love all these years later, which is renewing my energy to pour more love and attention into it. This chapter is a long one, but it refused to be broken up into more sections, so I hope you enjoy this lengthy addition to our journey. Please note for this chapter, I'm adding a trigger warning: This story deals with alcoholism. Please take care of yourselves and hop off if this is a triggering topic for you.
~~Time jump: Two months later~~
"No!" Ana screamed as she bolted upright in bed. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. She looked around wildly to get her bearings. She recognized the familiar decorations of Christian's bedroom in Seattle. Not that hotel room in New York. The bedding was a tangled mess around her feet.
She looked over at Christian's sleeping form, surprised she hadn't woken him this time. But then again, if she thought about it, it made sense. It had been two months since her assault, and neither of them had gotten much sleep with her constant nightmares. Even though Christian never complained once as he comforted her sobbing form night after night, she knew that he was exhausted.
Ana covered her mouth with her hand to try to silence her sobs, desperate to let Christian get the sleep she knew he needed. With a wary glance over at his still sleeping form, Ana gently untangled herself from the sheets and slipped out of bed.
She slipped into her bathrobe and left the room, gently shutting the door behind her. She covered her mouth once more to swallow the sob that desperately wanted to release. She took a deep breath, shaking herself. She knew what would help numb this feeling.
With renewed determination, she went to the kitchen and went to Christian's built-in wine cooler. Ana furrowed her brow in confusion, surprised that she had to crouch down to reach for the remaining bottles on the bottom shelf. She didn't know how often Mrs. Jones restocked the wine, but Ana was used to the wine cooler being nearly full. Ana pulled out a bottle that looked vaguely fancy and expensive, but she figured Christian wouldn't mind. She ignored the growing pile of empty bottles in the recycling bin.
She poured herself a glass and carried it and the bottle to the living room. Here she curled up under a luxurious throw blanket and reached for the remote. She quickly turned the volume almost all the way down as soon as the TV turned on. She then switched to the cooking channel. She took a deep pull of the wine and let out a breath of relief, feeling the alcohol soothe her frazzled nerves. She focused intensely on the TV, watching hands knead a dough, willing her brain to forget the images she had just revisited in her sleep. When the images stubbornly did not fade, Ana gulped more wine, willing the alcohol to dumb down her senses.
By the time she finished her first glass and was reaching to refill it, she felt her nerves finally settle into a blissfully numb floating feeling. Closing her eyes was risky, so she forced herself to watch the TV intently. Now the chef was whipping something with a whisk in a bowl. She found it oddly meditative to watch. It was comforting.
Ana had accidentally discovered this comforting routine after her assault when she had arrived in Christian's apartment in New York. She had grown to associate it with a sense of safety. Now, it was her new way to self-sooth.
Ana was on her third glass when she heard the door to their bedroom open. "Ana?" she heard Christian's groggy voice call out.
"Living room," Ana answered, taking another sip of her wine, eyes glued to the screen. They were assembling the macarons now.
Christian took a moment to survey her. He took in her puffy eyes, the nearly empty wine bottle, her nearly unblinking stare at the TV. It was becoming an increasingly common sight. Christian sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Why didn't you wake me?"
Ana didn't look away from the TV. "You needed sleep."
Christian sighed again. "So do you, why don't you come to bed with me?"
Ana shook her head firmly. "No. I don't want to sleep."
"We don't have to sleep," he countered.
Ana broke her staring contest with the TV to look at him incredulously. "I'm not in the mood, Christian," she said, bitterness filling her voice. They hadn't had sex since her assault. Ana drank deeply from her wine glass and turned back to the TV.
Christian eyed the glass of wine in her hand. "Why don't I get you some water?" he asked, turning toward the kitchen. Ana heard him grab a glass and fill it with water in the kitchen. He came back and set it in front of her expectantly. Ana defiantly drank deeply from her wine glass. Christian sighed, he didn't know what he was expecting. He had been unsuccessful in every attempt so far to try to get her to drink water or to put down her wine. It always triggered a sense of defiance in her.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he tried. He was always trying to get her to talk about it. If not with him, then someone. He'd suggested therapy countless times, but she shut it down every time.
"No, Christian, I don't want to talk about it!" Ana snapped, finally looking at him with a wild, angry look in her eyes. "I don't want to think about it! I don't want to have sex with you! I don't want to drink water! I just want to drink my wine and watch my cooking show and be left alone!"
Christian blinked in shock. Ana had yelled at him before, sure, but this felt different somehow. It didn't even feel like the Ana he knew. Christian felt at a loss. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but he apparently couldn't settle on anything to say.
Ana forced herself to maintain her glare, even as guilt ate at her insides. A part of her wanted to rush to comfort Christian and apologize. But some wild wounded part of her wanted to scare him away for some reason. Christian held up his hands in mock surrender and backed out of the room. She heard the bedroom door click shut.
Ana crumbled into the tears she had been fighting off for the last hour. She felt racked with guilt for lashing out at Christian. He didn't deserve that. She didn't know why she had done it.
Ana set down her wine glass, grabbed the throw pillow next to her and brought it to her face. She unleashed a muffled scream into it before throwing it across the room. She turned and started beating her fists into the couch cushion, letting a sudden burst of rage flow through her as more strangled cries tore from her throat.
She tossed all the pillows on the couch across the room one by one. The last one knocked over a decorative vase. It shattered upon hitting the floor. It mirrored that thing that was shattered within her. She collapsed into the cushions and sobbed in sudden release.
Meanwhile, Christian listened to her tantrum from their bedroom, shaking with his own quiet sobs at the situation.
Ana's eyebrows scrunched in confusion as the sound of clinking glass roused her. She lifted her head, which suddenly started pounding, and she squinted against the bright morning light streaming in through the windows. "Ugh," she moaned as she raised herself to a sitting position on the couch. A throw blanket fell to her side. Christian must have draped it over her after she fell back to sleep after her outburst.
"There's a couple Advil tablets on the table," Christian said from his position on the floor. Ana squinted over at him. He was hunched over, sweeping the broken vase into a dustbin. Ana looked over at the coffee table and spotted the Advil tablets next to a glass of water. She reached over without comment and took them. This wasn't the first time he had set out Advil for her after a night of drinking. She chugged the glass of water down, trying to clear her head.
Christian walked to the kitchen with the dustpan and broom. She heard the offending pieces drop into the empty waste bin, bringing up a twinge of guilt and regret from breaking the vase. She didn't think Christian was particularly emotionally attached to many of the decorative items in his home, but she knew without asking that they were all exorbitantly expensive.
She set down the empty water cup on the table as he came back in with a glass of orange juice, which he held out for her. She accepted it without comment, as he sat down on the couch next to her.
Christian leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and he stared down at his hands as he tried to massage out the tension by rubbing his thumb into his other hand. Ana could sense that he was holding in some strong emotions, but didn't feel like she could get a good read on him. The lingering alcohol in her system made her head feel fuzzy. She drank the orange juice in the charged silence, uncertain what to say.
"I'm sorry about the vase," she said as a way of starting with the obvious offense.
Christian pursed his lips. "I don't care about the vase."
The silence dragged on, making Ana squirm in her seat. Bubbling guilt arose as she recalled their exchange when she yelled at him.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she added.
Christian let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "I don't care that you yelled at me."
"Then…?" Ana prompted him.
Christian sighed and reached for her free hand. He turned and caught her gaze. Ana felt her attention perk up at the serious look on his face. "Ana, I'm really starting to get worried about you. I think you are developing a drinking problem."
Ana jerked her hand out of his, her anger flaring again. "I don't have a drinking problem!" she shouted defensively, setting the orange juice down so she could stand up. Ana tried to pretend the room wasn't swaying suddenly in protest, not wanting to give Christian any ammunition against her. "I have a few glasses to settle down! I was raped, Christian!"
Christian ran a hand through his hair. This was not going how he had hoped. "I know you were, Ana. And I understand drinking to cope at times, but there is a line when it becomes unhealthy."
"And you think I'm unhealthy?" she spat at him.
"Yes!" he answered, something close to desperation filling his voice.
Ana's chest heaved as uncomfortable emotions threatened to overpower her. She felt cornered and scared, angry and defensive.
She wanted to numb the big feelings rising within her. Ana looked around wildly, trying to find the bottle of wine she hadn't finished from last night. He must have put it away.
Christian guessed what she was suddenly looking for. Without a word, he got up and walked to the kitchen and retrieved the nearly empty bottle of wine from the kitchen counter. He set it down on the coffee table and looked at her calmly, expectantly. As if proving his point.
Ana stood frozen, staring at the bottle. She was surprised at how little was left. And at the urge to reach out and finish the bottle. Tears welled in her eyes and she brought a hand to cover her mouth as she stood in sudden realization that he was right.
Christian watched the realization land, watched her stare at that bottle. "It started out as a couple glasses each day, which I understood, so I didn't say anything," he said in a soft, gentle voice. "But Ana, it's gotten worse. You've gotten worse. You are drinking on average one to two bottles of wine every day. I know you insist that you are fine, and that you don't need therapy, but Ana, you are clearly not fine."
Ana stood there crying, face crumpling in defeat. "Oh my god, Christian," she managed as a way of confession.
Christian closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms. "It's okay, you're okay, I've got you," he soothed into her hair as she sobbed into his chest.
"Please, Ana, please let me get you the help you need." Christian begged her.
Ana sobbed and nodded into his chest. "Okay," she mumbled. Christian's shoulders sagged with relief.
After Ana felt like she couldn't cry any more tears, she pulled back and looked into Christian's eyes. She could see the love and concern on his tired face. He reached up and tenderly wiped the tears from her face. "I'm going to get you some help," he promised her. She nodded, pursing her lips, not trusting herself to say anything as a lump formed in her throat.
"I'm going to make some calls," he told her, feeling the urgency to execute this plan while she was still agreeable. "Why don't you hop in the shower?" he suggested.
Ana nodded and began pulling away from his embrace. She turned and spotted the offending wine bottle on the coffee table. Suddenly, she felt a panicky anxiety bubble up inside her as she contemplated the alcohol that had been such a comforting companion these past couple of months.
Christian's breath caught in his chest as he watched Ana turn to look at the bottle of wine again. Fear crept up his spine as he watched her consider it for a long minute. It felt like a lead weight dropped in his stomach as he watched her pick the bottle up. He had been so close.
Ana walked into the kitchen with the bottle in hand as Christian trailed silently behind her. He watched her pass the empty wine glass on the counter and she kept walking until she reached the sink. And he watched her pour the remaining wine down the drain.
He could not have possibly been more proud of her.
She stared at the puddle of wine in the sink. It hadn't been much wine, but the gesture of the act was significant. Christian came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He reached his other hand to turn on the faucet to wash away the remaining wine.
"I'm so proud of you," he told her as she turned to face him. She gave him a watery smile.
She glanced over at the wine cooler. Christian followed her gaze. "I'll handle it."
She pursed her lips and nodded.
Christian pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Go take your shower."
Ana nodded and left him in the kitchen to head into their bathroom to take her shower. She took her time, not eager to face whatever came next. She blow dried her hair and dressed.
She walked back out into the kitchen to see Christian setting out a plate of toast. Ana glanced over at the wine cooler. It was empty. She wondered where he had stashed the bottles while she was in the shower. She decided she didn't want to know.
"Eat up," he said as he began preparing her tea the way she liked. "We leave in 20 minutes."
"For?" she prompted him.
"You have an appointment with Dr. Greene," he told her.
Ana scrunched her forehead in confusion as she took a bite of the toast. "I thought you wanted me to go see a therapist."
"I do," Christian replied. "Your therapy appointment is at noon today."
"So why do I have to see Dr. Greene?" she asked.
"Because this isn't something you should just stop cold-turkey on your own. You need medical help to not go into withdrawals."
"Oh," was all she said in response and turned her gaze to her toast. The reality of her situation was starting to catch up to her. Her eyes filled with tears and a lump formed in her throat as she tried desperately not to cry.
Christian reached over and rested his hand over hers. "It's okay," he said in an attempt to sooth her.
Ana shook her head. "No it isn't. This isn't okay. I'm not okay."
Christian gave her a grim smile. "No. But you will be okay… one day. And it's okay for you to not be okay today. That's why we're getting you some help."
Ana brushed a stray tear with her free hand and nodded. "Thank you, Christian," she said.
"I love you," he said in reply, lifting their joined hands to place a kiss on her knuckles. "Now, eat your toast and drink your tea. Then we will face the day together."
Ana smiled appreciatively at him and tucked in to her breakfast. She was grateful that Christian hadn't made anything more elaborate than toast. She wasn't sure her stomach could handle anything else. She felt a lingering nausea from the drinking last night.
When she set her empty tea cup down next to her empty plate, Christian looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "You ready?" he asked.
Ana sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be," she said. They stood together and Christian guided her with a gentle hand on her back as they exited the apartment and rode the elevator down to the parking garage.
Before she knew it, she was in the backseat with Christian while Taylor silently pulled out of the garage. Ana clutched Christian's hand the whole way. He ran a thumb over the back of her hand soothingly.
Ana let Christian lead her passively by the hand as they navigated the medical complex. He said the appropriate things to the receptionist that ensured they were swept immediately into a private room. They were in there less than a minute before Dr. Greene came in.
"Ana," Dr. Greene said by way of greeting. "What brings you back in so soon?" Dr. Greene had seen her following the assault two months ago.
Ana looked to Christian, communicating with her eyes that she needed him to say the words for her.
"Dr. Greene," Christian said, drawing the doctor's attention to him. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. Ana is in need of medical detox from alcohol."
Dr. Greene nodded at Christian before turning her attention to Ana. "I see. Can you tell me about the drinking? How bad has it gotten?"
Ana fidgeted. She looked at Christian. He seemed to be the one who had been tracking her drinking while she had been blissfully unaware of her habit. He answered for her. "There were a few instances of drinking to excess prior to Ana's assault. Since the assault, it's been daily. Mostly wine. It was a couple glasses of wine at first. I'd say about four weeks ago it increased to a full bottle, or almost all of the bottle, every day. And recently, probably about ten days ago, it's increased to a bottle and a half to two bottles every day."
Ana swelled with embarrassment, hearing her drinking timeline laid out so plainly. She hadn't realized she had gotten so bad.
Dr. Greene nodded at this information, typing the information into her note system on her computer. "Ana, have you experienced any withdrawal symptoms after the alcohol would leave your system? Cravings, trouble sleeping, shakiness, restlessness, nausea, sweating, racing heart?"
"Um," Ana started thinking back. "Yeah, cravings, restlessness, trouble sleeping, and nausea."
Dr. Green nodded and typed a few lines into her computer. "And the increase in quantity… Did you find that you had to drink more to experience the same effects?"
Ana thought about it. She hadn't felt that much more drunk after drinking a whole bottle of wine than she used to feel after a couple of glasses. She guessed that was why it had snuck up on her. Ana nodded.
"And has your drinking interfered with your work?"
Ana hung her head in shame. Ana had come back to light work-from-home duties last month. She had a growing stack of unread manuscripts that she hasn't gotten around to yet. The last time she tried reading one, she recalled the wine glass she had sat down with and how the words blurred together and she couldn't understand what she was looking at. "Yes," she admitted.
"And when was your last drink?"
"Um, a few hours ago," Ana said. "I drank most of a bottle of wine after I woke up from a nightmare."
Dr. Green nodded and typed a few more lines.
"I poured the rest of the bottle down the sink," Ana added. That felt important to say.
Dr. Greene looked at her with kind eyes and gave her a gentle smile. "That was a big step. Is this your first time attempting to stop drinking alcohol?"
Ana nodded.
Dr. Greene jotted down one more quick note and then turned her full attention to Ana. "Okay, here's what we are going to do. I'm going to set you up with an IV of fluid with electrolytes and vitamins to get your levels restabilized. And I'm going to start you on some medication to help with the withdrawal symptoms."
Ana nodded her consent as Dr. Greene started to treat her.
Dr. Greene sat back down in her chair after setting Ana up with her banana bag. "Alright, that will take about a half hour. In the meantime, let's talk about support. Are you working with a therapist?"
"I will be. I have my first session today at noon."
Dr. Greene nodded at this. "Good. Let's see, ah, here it is. Here is a pamphlet for our local Alcoholics Anonymous. It has different meeting times listed on the back page here."
Ana accepted the outstretched pamphlet, looking down at it with a surreal level of shock.
"It can be a really helpful resource," Dr. Greene said, reading her expression.
Ana nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "So, am I an alcoholic?" Ana asked, stumbling over the word.
Dr. Greene smiled kindly at her. "Yes, Ana, I believe you are an alcoholic."
Ana nodded numbly at the doctor. "Will I ever be able to drink in the future?" Ana thought of the lovely dates she had with Chrisitan, pairing fine dining with expensive wines.
"I don't know," Dr. Greene told her honestly. "Some people are able to tolerate a risk-management approach to alcohol with the right support. Others will need to commit to full sobriety and risk relapse if they drink again. I don't have a way of knowing if you will be able to drink again in the future without consequences."
Ana nodded, fingering the pamphlet. Christian reached over and squeezed her hand. Ana risked a glance up at him. She saw nothing but love and support in his eyes.
"Ana," Dr. Greene began again, drawing Ana's attention back to her. "Oftentimes alcohol abuse doesn't come up out of nowhere. It is a tool people turn to to try to self-medicate. You mentioned drinking after having a nightmare. Can you tell me what else you are dealing with that you have been trying to manage with the drinking?"
"Um, I just get really overwhelmed, like all of the time. By big emotions. I get scared, or I get sad, or angry, or anxious. And it's too much. The wine helps me calm down, it makes me feel numb, which is a relief. If I lie down to try to go to sleep, my mind keeps replaying… things. So I try to get myself so drunk I pass out so I can get some sleep."
Christian squeezed her hand in encouragement.
Dr. Green nodded at Ana's response. "Ana, I think you have developed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is understandable given your assault. It seems like you have been trying to manage your symptoms with alcohol. I'd like to prescribe you an antidepressant to help with the big emotions and a sedative to help you sleep. I'll also prescribe you something for anxiety that you can take as-needed when the anxiety gets too intense. The medication alone is not going to treat your PTSD, you have to be going to therapy." She gave Ana an expectant look. Ana nodded. She suddenly was filled with regret for resisting all of Christian's attempts at getting her to go to therapy these past couple of months.
"Now, Ana," Dr. Green started again, leveling a serious look at Ana. "I don't want these medications to become something else you abuse, so I'd recommend that Christian here help with your medication management, at least while you start your recovery. Would you be okay with that?"
Ana swallowed thickly and nodded. "Okay."
Dr. Greene turned to Christian. "Do you have a secure space in the home where you can store Ana's medication?"
Christian nodded. "I do."
Dr. Greene nodded. "And can you be available to give Ana her doses every day? She will need to take her medication once in the morning and once right before bed. Anxiety medication as needed."
Christian nodded. "Yes, I'm available for anything Ana needs."
Dr. Greene nodded again then pulled out a pad of paper from her desk. She began scribbling on the pad for a few pages and ripped out each page, which she handed to Christian. "You can take these to the pharmacy on the third floor to get these filled." Christian took the prescriptions from Dr. Greene.
Dr. Greene turned back to Ana. "Alright, Ana, you've got about 10 more minutes with your IV drip, then you are free to go. I'll have my nurse come in when you're done to take it out. I want to see you back here in ten days for a follow-up, okay?"
Ana nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Dr. Greene," she said thickly.
Dr. Greene reached over and squeezed Ana's hand encouragingly. "You're welcome, sweetie."
With that, Dr. Greene stood and left them alone. Ana immediately burst into tears. Christian pulled her toward his chest and rubbed soothing circles on her back. Neither of them said anything while they waited out the next ten minutes.
Ana wiped her face quickly when the nurse knocked on the door to take the IV out of her arm. Ana stood and was surprised at how much better she felt after the IV. Sober, but also more energized.
Ana followed Christian out of the office and waited by his side while he scheduled her follow-up appointment with the receptionist at the front desk.
Then she let Christian lead her by the hand to the elevator, which they took to the third floor. She let him hand over the prescription to the pharmacist. She handed over the requested ID and insurance cards that the pharmacist asked her for. Then they sat for 15 minutes of silence while they waited for her prescription to be filled. Ana didn't get up when they called her name. She let Christian go and take the bag from the pharmacist, who asked Christian if he had any questions about the medications. Christian asked the pharmacist about dosage and instructions and side effects to watch out for. Ana tuned out the chatter.
Finally, Christian sat down next to her. "Your morning meds need to be taken with food. We have a bit over an hour before your therapy session. Let's go get a bit of something to eat."
Ana nodded and followed him out of the medical complex, paper bag of pills now rattling in Christian's hand that wasn't holding hers.
They sat down at the cafe next door and ordered sandwiches. After Ana finished her sandwich, she watched Christian pull out several bottles from the paper bag. He studied each one, before opening two, shaking out the recommended number of pills from each. Christian held out his palm with three small pills and a bottle of water. Ana looked at the pills in his hand for a long twenty seconds. She noticed that defiant part of her bubble up again. She considered slapping his hand and scattering the pills. Then she sighed. She knew that Christian was just trying to help her, and that she needed this help. She finally reached out and picked up one small pill and the bottle of water. She took the pill. Then the next. And one more.
Christian reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm so proud of you, Ana." Ana didn't say anything. Christian glanced at this watch. "Are you ready to head over to your therapy session?" Ana shrugged. Christian pursed his lips at Ana's lack of verbal responses. She hadn't said anything since Dr. Greene left them alone. He decided not to push it. He stood and led her out to the lot where Taylor had swung the car around for them.
The drive to the therapy office was silent. They went into the plush waiting room together where a clipboard rested on the welcoming coffee table. There was no one else there.
Ana sat and stared around the room while Christian began filling out the intake form for her. Then they sat in silence for another five minutes before an inner door opened and a woman in her late thirties stepped out. "Ana?" Ana looked up. "Hi, I'm Cynthia. Come on in," the woman gestured an arm into the room she had just stepped out of.
Ana started to stand nervously. She looked at Christian, suddenly uncertain.
"It's okay, you can do this," he soothed. He handed her the clipboard he had filled out for her. She took it and turned to Cynthia.
Ana followed her into the room and Cynthia closed the door behind them. Ana handed out the clipboard to the woman. "Thank you. If you want any tea or water, you can help yourself," Cynthia gestured to a small tea station with a water kettle and mugs. "You can have a seat wherever you like." Cynthia gestured around the space to Ana. Ana looked between a long couch, a plush armchair and what she assumed was the chair Cynthia sat in given its position and the cup of water on the table next to it. Ana sat in the middle of the couch.
She watched Cynthia sit in the chair Ana had correctly guessed was the therapist chair. Ana watched in mild fascination as Cynthia kicked off her ballet flats and tucked her feet under her on the chair. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable," Cynthia invited.
Ana considered the invitation and reached to place a pillow behind her back. Then she grabbed another pillow and hugged to her chest protectively. Ana watched Cynthia look down and scan the paperwork Christian had filled out for her. After a minute, she put it to the side.
"So, Ana," Cynthia began. "Tell me, why are you here?"
Ana nodded her head toward the clipboard next to Cynthia. "Doesn't it say that on the form?"
Cynthia offered a glance at the form. "That form says that you are struggling with alcoholism, PTSD and have suffered a sexual assault two months ago."
Ana nodded as if that should answer her question.
Cynthia settled into her seat. "So, why are you here?" She asked again.
Ana fidgeted. "I don't understand," she admitted.
Cynthia nodded. "I know your diagnoses, I know that you have a trauma history. I don't know your "why". Why did you agree to come to therapy today? I understand from the call I got from your partner this morning that he has been trying to get you to come to therapy since your assault, but you have been resistant until now."
Ana fingered a loose thread of the pillow and looked down, unable to maintain eye contact with Cynthia's penetrating gaze. "Something happened last night… or this morning, I guess."
Cynthia nodded encouragingly. "What happened this morning?"
"I had a nightmare in the middle of the night. And I drank most of a bottle of wine. Christian came out and I yelled at him when he tried to take care of me. I broke a vase after he left me alone. In the morning, Christian… he confronted me about my drinking. And I was so mad! I was so mad that I wanted to drink. And when Christian sat the bottle down in front of me, I knew that I had a problem. And when he begged me to let him get me help, I accepted."
"Why?" Cynthia prompted her.
"Because I realized I wasn't dealing with what happened to me in a healthy way."
"What would be a healthy way of dealing with what happened to you?"
Ana shifted in her seat. "Um, I guess talking about it. Coming to therapy?"
"Hmm. Can you tell me why you didn't want to go to therapy after your assault?"
Ana played with a loose tassel on the throw pillow in her lap. "I just wanted to move on. I didn't want to talk about it or think about it or be defined by it. I wanted it to be one bad night that stayed in the past. I don't think that worked though, because I couldn't forget it, I kept reliving it in my dreams. And then I had all these feelings that I didn't know what to do with. So I drank. I guess that I was worried if I came to therapy that I'd have to actually feel the feelings I wasn't ready to feel."
"And how is it for you to be in my office right now?" Cynthia asked.
"Um," Ana began. "I don't know. Okay, I guess. But, I'm also really anxious."
"It's normal to be a little nervous when starting therapy. Can you tell me more about what you feel nervous about?"
"I guess I feel nervous that we're about to start talking about what happened and then I'm going to feel things and then I'm going to feel overwhelmed and then I'm going to want to drink and that I might then leave here to go have a drink."
Cynthia nodded. "Hmm, yes, that feels like a very valid reason to be anxious." Ana scrunched her face in confusion at Cynthia's response. Cynthia took a leap at interpreting Ana's expression. "You know, Ana, your emotional experience is valid."
Ana was confused at the tears that suddenly sprung to her eyes. Cynthia didn't say anything as Ana reached over to grab a tissue from the box in front of her to dab her eyes.
"Sorry," Ana said. "I don't know why that made me want to cry."
"You don't have to apologize for your emotions. There isn't anything wrong with having emotions."
Ana groaned in exasperation. "But why am I so scared of letting myself feel them all of a sudden? I don't feel like I used to have this problem."
"Maybe because they will hurt on the way out. Maybe because you're scared that if you let them out they won't stop."
Ana let out a stray tear, which turned into a sniffle before she quickly devolved into sobs. Once she started, she didn't feel like she could stop. She started gasping for breath, her panic rising. If there was any alcohol in this office, she'd drink it on the spot, just to make it stop. She looked at Cynthia with wild pleading eyes.
"You're okay Ana," Cynthia soothed. "Let's do a breathing technique that I think will help. Are you willing to try that?" Ana didn't say anything as she gasped for breath, but managed to nod at Cynthia.
"Good, follow my lead, one nice big exhale. Good. Now breathe in slowly four, three, two, one. Hold for four, three, two, one. Breathe out for four, three, two, one. Hold for four, three, two, one. Good, let's do that two more times."
Cynthia drew a box in the air with her hand in time to the breathing instructions. Up to inhale for four counts, over to the right to hold for four counts, down to exhale for four counts, over to the left to hold for four counts. And again. Ana focused on matching her breath to Cynthia's instructions.
"Very good," Cynthia said. "You can breathe normally now. How do you feel?"
Ana took a moment to take stock. "Um, better. I feel calm."
Cynthia nodded. "I'll make you a deal, Ana. We don't have to talk about anything in here that you aren't ready to talk about. I go at your pace. There will be times when you are going to feel your emotions here, that can't be helped. If you start feeling overwhelmed by your emotions, I want you to let me know and we'll slow down and practice some techniques to help you self-regulate."
Ana nodded. "Okay, I can do that. What was that, the breathing thing?"
"It's called box breathing. You saw how I made the shape of a box with my hand? It's a simple, but very effective breathing technique for panic attacks."
Ana nodded. "I liked that."
Cynthia nodded. "Good. We'll add it to the toolbox."
Ana scrunched her face in confusion. "Toolbox?"
"Yes, that's what I call it. We're going to be building you a metaphorical toolbox for your mental health. I want you to have a number of tools that you can reach for when you are having a hard time. I understand that you've been using alcohol as a tool to manage your emotions. Now you have another one to add to the toolbox. So now you have a choice when you have an overwhelming emotion. You could still reach for a drink, or you can try to do the box breathing technique."
"Hmm, a metaphorical toolbox for mental health, interesting. I used to work at a hardware store, but it sounds like you have different tools than I'm used to. So like, I guess I'm the project…" Ana trailed off as she registered the last bit of what Cynthia said. "Wait, so you aren't going to make me stop drinking?"
"I can't make you do anything, Ana," Cynthia said. "Do you want to stop drinking?"
Ana was stumped by the question. After the morning she had, she was forced to face the fact that she was an alcoholic. She was given treatment to stop drinking. She was handed a brochure for AA. But no one had asked her if she wanted to stop drinking. Ana let herself go back to that feeling she had when she dumped the wine down the sink.
"Yes, I want to stop drinking," she said softly, but it felt like a declaration.
"Then I will help you with your goal to stop drinking," Cynthia promised. "Which is why it is extra important for us to add more tools to your toolbox if we are going to remove the main tool you've been using."
Ana nodded in understanding. "So what else can I do? What are my other tools?"
Cynthia smiled at her. "I like the enthusiasm. I understand that you have just started new medication." Ana nodded. "So we'll consider that as more tools that were added to your toolbox. How do you feel about going to an AA meeting?"
Ana cringed. "I'm not thrilled with the idea. My doctor gave me a brochure for it."
Cynthia nodded in understanding. "Can you tell me more about what comes up for you when you think of attending an AA meeting?"
Ana shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm scared of having to tell more people. I think I feel ashamed that it got as bad as it did. I didn't think of myself as an alcoholic until this morning, and I'm still wrapping my head around it."
Cynthia nodded. "That's very understandable. And shame can be a hard emotion to sit with."
Ana nodded, feeling encouraged by the validation. "I just feel so embarrassed. I never, ever thought I'd be this person."
"What person is that?" Cynthia inquired.
"An angry drunk."
"Hmmm…" Cyntia said. "You have a lot of anger, huh?"
Ana gave a bitter laugh. "I'm so angry. I'm angry all the time. I try to tamp it down with the wine, but then Christian goes and tries to get me to talk or go to therapy or put the wine down and this anger bubbles up. I don't know how to describe it…. I feel wild. I get so defiant. To be honest, I don't even know if I really didn't want to come to therapy or stop drinking, or if I just enjoyed telling him no to anything he tries to get me to do."
"Hmmm," Cynthia said wisely. "Well, you certainly have a lot to be angry about. And it makes sense, that you would be finding pathways to say no."
Ana looked at Cynthia in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Well, after a sexual assault where your 'no' wasn't honored, part of recovering from that is saying 'no' to things and getting to experience those 'no's be respected."
Ana opened her mouth and closed it. Cynthia allowed the silence to stretch as Ana took in the insight into her defiant behavior.
"Oh, my god," Ana finally said. "That's why I keep pushing back on everything Christian tries to do to help me. And that's why I keep turning him down for sex."
Cynthia nodded in confirmation. "And how has Christian responded when you tell him 'no'?"
Ana softened. "He's backed off, every time."
Cynthia nodded appreciatively. "That's good. I have some exercises I can suggest that can help you practice boundary setting in a healthier, more conscious way. Rebuilding your confidence that your 'no' will be honored will be an important part of your recovery. And in that process, we will also make room for you to find what you want to say 'yes' to."
Ana scrunched her brow at this last bit. "Will I ever be able to have sex again like I used to?"
Cynthia tilted her head in consideration. "Sex can be a challenging terrain to navigate after a sexual assault. Your boundaries likely changed from where they were before your assault. You will have more triggers than you used to. I can't guarantee that your sex life will ever be exactly like it was before. But I can offer you reassurance that with time and patience from both you and your partner, you can rebuild a healthy and positive relationship to sex."
Ana nodded, not sure what to do with the simultaneous disappointment and hope that she was currently feeling.
Cynthia glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, Ana, we have about five minutes left of our session. So I'd like to start winding us down for today." Ana glanced at the clock, surprised at how quickly the session was passing. "I'd like to review your toolbox here. So today we talked about removing drinking from the toolbox and we've added in the box breathing and your new medication from your doctor. I think that AA could be a useful tool to add to your toolbox. I know you mentioned having some apprehension about AA, so what do you say to going to just one meeting and checking it out? You don't even have to say anything, you can just go and listen to other people talk. Then you can decide for yourself if it's a useful tool for you or not."
Ana sighed and nodded. "I can do that."
"Okay. And I'm going to suggest one more tool that I'd like you to add to your toolbox before we close out here today. I'd like you to get a journal. I want you to write in it anytime you notice an emotion. You can write as much or as little as you want. It can be one word: happy, sad, angry, whatever. But write in it every time you have an emotional experience you notice. No one else will see what you write in it, unless you want to share it with them."
Ana nodded. "Okay. I can do that."
Cynthia nodded. "Well, Ana, that brings us to the end of our time today. How are you feeling? Would you like to continue working together?"
"I feel.. good. And yes, I'd like to continue working with you."
Cynthia smiled at her. "Good. I'd like to see you twice a week. I have this noon spot on Mondays and Thursdays at 2pm open." Ana nodded her agreement to the schedule. "We can reduce our frequency to once a week once you feel a bit more stable. If you need to schedule an emergency session between our scheduled times, you can always give me a call and I'll fit you in as soon as I can." Cynthia handed Ana her business card with her contact information on it.
Ana nodded. "Thank you, Cynthia. I'll see you on Thursday." Cynthia rose with Ana and took a moment to slip back into her shoes before walking Ana to the door and opening it for her.
"It was lovely to meet with you today Ana, I'll see you on Thursday," Cythia said as a way of parting before closing the door behind Ana.
Christian looked up expectantly from his chair in the waiting room. Ana gave him a small, sheepish smile. His returning smile was big and full of relief.
He stood up and wrapped her in his arms. "I'm so proud of you," Christian said. It was turning into his mantra of the day. He kissed her on the forehead. "How was it?"
"It was good. Really good actually."
Christian sighed in relief. "I'm glad. Are you ready to go home?"
"Can we make a stop on the way?" she asked.
"Sure, where?"
"I need to buy a journal. Therapy homework," she added sheepishly.
Christian smiled brightly. "Happily. Let's go get you that journal."
Christian silently trailed Ana around the stationery store as she browsed through their impressive journal selection. For the last twenty minutes, Christian looked on as Ana picked up each journal, considered it, then put it down.
Christian watched as she picked one up and stared at it for over a minute, apparently mesmerized by the cover. Christian came up beside her to look at it with her. It was a dark brown leather notebook, but it had grooves carved into its skin that was painted gold.
"Hmmm, kintsugi," he commented in recognition.
Ana looked up at him with raised eyebrows.
"The pattern there, with the gold," Christian pointed. "It's referencing the Japanese art of kintsugi. It's when they repair broken pottery with gold, which makes it stronger and more beautiful than it was before it was broken."
Ana fingered the gold grooves in the notebook. She thought of the vase she had broken in the middle of the night after having her last glass of wine, which she hadn't known at the time was her last. And when that vase had broken, she finally accepted how broken she was. But she was ready to start gluing her pieces back together. The idea that she could end up stronger at the end of it was inspiring in a way that she hadn't let herself begin to consider.
Ana looked up at Christian with tears in her eyes. Christian gave her a small, knowing smile. He tenderly tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "I love you so much, Anastasia." He leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her lips. She allowed the sweet intimacy, her heart feeling full of hope for the first time since her assault.
Ana clutched the journal to her chest as she made her way out of the aisle, hand in hand with Christian.
There was one stack that caught her eye at the end of the table that made her pause. She stared and considered it, before allowing herself to impulsively reach out and grab the notebook that said "Recipes" on it.
Christian raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
"I think I might still like to watch the cooking channel. But maybe instead of drinking wine… I can take notes. And maybe I can try getting back into cooking," Ana shared the half-formed thought out loud.
Christian kissed the top of her head. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Come, let's get you some nice pens for your new journals."
They spent another ten minutes trying out the pens that were left out for sampling on the pad of paper full of scribbles already. Ana made her selection and groaned when Christian insisted on buying her 20 of the pens she had selected, even though she was sure she had picked the most expensive one. "I hope that you write a lot," he insisted. "Plus, pens have a way of wandering off, so it's smart to have extra." Ana smiled at him and acquiesced.
They went up to the register and Christian paid for the selection. The cashier handed the bag to Ana. Ana's heart felt full as emotion filled her chest.
"Hang on," she said to Christian, who had started to turn toward the exit.
Ana went over to the padded chair in the corner of the store, pulled out her new kintsugi journal and brand new pen. She flipped to the first page and wrote one word on it.
Hope.