Mistrust (43 page)

“Do either of you have any questions for me?” I shake my head, and look over to Mom. She shakes her head too.

“Thank you for seeing us today. Shall we make an appointment for tomorrow on the way out?” Mom asks.

“Yes, make it for later in the day though. I’m not sure what time I’ll have the results back and I don’t want you to have to sit here, waiting. It’s only a matter of them sending it through electronically, but it depends on the backlog of work they have.”

“Okay, well we’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” I stand and press the button on the bottom of my phone. It flicks to life and the time brightens up the screen. We have about twenty minutes before my appointment with the counselor.

We leave the doctor’s office and I’m suddenly overcome with anxiety. Mom drives to the counselor’s office. She’s chatting, but I can tell she’s just trying to distract me. She laughs nervously over something she’s said, and I look over to her, not really having heard a word she’s spoken.

She smiles at me, and reaches across the center console to hold my hand. She gives it a small squeeze and lets go, returning her hand to the steering wheel. We head to the opposite side of town, and Mom easily finds the street thanks to her navigation unit.

We pull up outside an older-style home in a residential neighborhood. It has clean, crisp, white stucco on the outside with ocean blue window shutters. The house is well maintained with a lush green garden running along the length of the house, only interrupted by the five steps leading up to the porch.

“We’re here,” Mom needlessly points out as she turns and watches my reaction.

“It’s cute,” I answer, unbuckling my seatbelt.

Mom rubs her hands together, then tucks some hair behind her ear. She’s nervous; this is obvious. But I’m not sure if she’s anxious for me, or for another reason.

Hesitating, I open the car door, taking a minute to look at the cute, inviting house. Mom moves first toward the steps, and I follow close behind. As we approach I notice the gold plaque on the side wall near the door. It’s small and not intimidating, but it lists Tara’s full name, and what she specializes in. There’s a lot of letters in her title separated by a lot of commas, so I can only imagine the amount of training she’s had.

Mom stands to the side and waits for me to open the door. I reach out and grab the handle, turning it and walking through to a welcoming, light blue waiting room. There are a couple of sofas and four single chairs lining the L-shaped waiting room. To the left is a small, yet organized white desk with an older lady sitting behind it.

“Hello, dear,” she says with a nice, warm smile on her face.

“Um, hi. My mom and I are here to see Tara. We have an appointment. My name’s Dakota Bennett.”

“Oh, yes. Now Mrs. Bennett, there’s some paperwork for you to fill in. Here you go.” She hands Mom a folder and a pen and indicates she can sit anywhere and fill it out. “Tara won’t be long.”

“Thank you,” Mom and I reply in unison.

We sit down and I can’t help but look around the waiting room nervously. My entire body is tense, nerves thrumming while I try to distract myself in the waiting room, I can’t help but feel anxious. Nausea makes an appearance and I concentrate on my breathing to push the sick feeling aside.

I pick up an old, dated magazine and flick through it but nothing holds my attention for long.

“Dakota?” An older lady stands in front of me and smiles warmly. She has blonde hair, thick –black rimmed- glasses and a gentle, caring smile. “I’m Tara, would you like to come in?” I look to Mom, petrified. Tara catches my panicked gaze and adds, “Would you like your mom to come in too?”

“Yes please. Is that okay, Mom?”

“Of course, honey. Anything you need.” Mom hands the completed paperwork to the lady at the front desk, and we all follow Tara into a room.

“Please, sit wherever you’ll be most comfortable.” She sweeps her hand across the room indicating any of the seating available.

Mom and I sit in two side-by-side armchairs. I take in Tara’s appearance. She’s older but dressed quite casually, in a t-shirt, jeans and black slip-on shoes.

“Your mom called me late yesterday and explained the reason you’re here.” I nod my head. “Do you want to be here, Dakota?”

What an odd and strange question. But I take the time to really think about it, I stare out the window and see a large tree shading us from the late afternoon sun. “At first, no,” I answer honestly. “I didn’t want anyone to know, and I didn’t think I needed help.”

“You didn’t think you needed help?”

“Let me correct myself. I mean, I didn’t think I needed help beyond what my family can provide.”

“But now?”

“Now I think it’s dangerous for me
not
to get help.”

“Can you explain that to me?” She picks up a notebook and begins to scribble. “Why do you think it would be dangerous?”

“I’ve held this secret for months, and forced my younger sister to keep it too. I figured I’d eventually bury it so deep inside that I’d forget about it. But I suppose you can never forget something like that. I’m afraid it’ll affect any relationship I may have in the future.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Sam’s fourteen.”

“And how do you feel now knowing this is no longer a secret, particularly from your parents?”

“A little relieved. When it first happened, I did everything possible so no one would find out. Then I convinced myself that it was too late to say anything. And I also convinced myself that no one would believe me, or they’d think I’d been drinking and deserved it.”

“Before you were raped.” Every hair on my body stands to attention when she says it so bluntly. My breath gets caught and I shiver with revulsion at myself. “Is that what you thought when you heard of anyone being raped? They’d been drinking and deserved it?”

“I’ve never considered it before. I don’t think I ever paid attention.” I cross my legs on the chair and lean back so I’m comfortable.

“So this happened at your prom, right?” I nod my head. “And your parents found out yesterday?” I nod my head again. “What happened when they found out?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

She places the book on her lap and steeples her fingers together, placing the tips to her mouth. “Tell me how your parents found out.”

“Someone at his work showed my Dad a photo from social media. His son was added to a group yesterday that shared photos of me.” I gulp. “Explicit photos of me from that night. His son recognized me from a company picnic, he showed his dad, who showed my dad.”

“Were you frightened, relieved, or indifferent? There was probably something running through your mind. Can you remember?”

“I was definitely scared, because I was worried that Mom and Dad wouldn’t believe me.” Mom reaches out and rubs her hand up and down my back. “At first they thought I’d had sex and let the other person take pictures, but when I told them the truth, they were both as horrified to hear it as I was to say it.”

“Then what happened?” She picks up her pen and notebook and continues jotting down notes.

“There were a lot of tears, explanations, and then there was the police.”

“The police are firmly involved?” I nod my head. “Okay, we’ll get back to that, but right now, I want to know how you’re feeling.”

I look down at my fingers and begin picking at my nails. I push the cuticles back on every finger, while my leg twitches beneath my body. Eventually I find the courage to answer her. “I don’t know how I feel. Maybe the best way to describe me is numb. I’m numb to what happened that night, I’m numb to the blood test I had an hour ago to see if I have a sexually transmitted disease or if I’m pregnant. I’m even numb to you. I’m numb to sitting in here, and numb to talking. My body is aching, my heart has been ripped out, stomped on and shoved back in while it’s only partially working. I don’t think I have any more tears left, and my head is splitting in two from a headache I’ve had ever since it all came out. I can’t say anything else but I’m numb.”

“I think your explanation is quite beautiful.” She jots down more notes.

I stare out the window, and listen to everything Tara has to say.

We’re only skimming over everything, and when she asks me to tell her what I remember of that night, I break down. I thought I had no more tears left, but as it turns out, I have plenty. The session seems to go on forever and toward the end of it, she has me looking at the situation differently, analyzing it.

We leave the office after making another appointment on Monday, three days away. Tara wants me to try some meditation techniques to help me relax when everything gets to be too much. She also said this weekend will probably be the worst for me because everything’s coming back up to the surface.

We walk out of her office and I’m a mess. My tears won’t stop, my head is banging loudly and my body is aching. All I want to do is go home, crawl into bed and forget about the world.

Forget about this entire chaotic situation and forget how one degrading night changed my entire life.

These last few days have been a blur. Night and day blend into each other, with no clear distinction separating the two. My appetite has been lost, and it seems all I do is cry.

Today is Sunday, and tomorrow is my next appointment with Tara. She pushed me on Friday. She made me look at the severity of the situation, and dragged parts of me out that I had managed to bury deep. It feels as if I’ve run a marathon with no training. My body is aching, it’s sore and it holds so much tension.

We went back to the doctor’s office late yesterday, and he confirmed I wasn’t pregnant. I breathed a big sigh of relief. Now begins the long, drawn-out, and incredibly painful process of waiting to find out if my HIV tests come back negative.

“Sweetheart, you need to get out of bed and eat something,” Mom says gently as she sits on the edge of my bed and rubs circles on my back.

“I’m not hungry,” I reply, my back to her as I stare at the blank, pale yellow wall.

She sighs, and I can tell she’s frustrated with me. Truthfully,
I’m
frustrated with me. I simply can’t help it. Something inside of me is broken. It’s collapsed the carefully built wall that kept me from having to face things, and now I can’t seem to rebuild it.

“I don’t care,” her tone changes into something more assertive. “You’re going to get up and come out to the kitchen where I’ll make you an omelet. Then you’re going to call Sophie and have her come over so you can talk with her. She’s been calling every day, and she sounds worried. Have you talked to her?”

“I sent her a text and told her I was okay.”

“But you’re not okay, Dakota. You’re far from it. It’s going to be hard to overcome this, and it’s something you’re never going to forget. But we’re here for you, all of us. Reece called this morning and asked if he can come and see you because he said you’re brushing him off. Sophie’s worried. We’re all worried. Right now, this is the eye of the storm and it may last another year before you can feel the sunlight. Don’t shut everyone out, sweetheart, because we need you as much as you need us.” Mom stops rubbing my back, leans over and kisses my forehead, then leaves me to my own thoughts.

I wipe the tears away, and swallow down the lump that’s been sitting in my throat for the last few days. Right now, it all feels so hopeless. I feel worthless, as if I don’t belong. Not because of the people around me, but because
he’s
made me feel this way. Whoever
he
is. Does he even think about the devastation he’s caused me? I doubt it.

I throw back my covers, and force myself out of bed. I don’t even look at my reflection because I know I won’t like what I see. Walking over to my bedroom window, I roll the blinds up and let the sun filter into my room. I can’t continue to live in darkness, even though that’s exactly what I want to do.

Opening my door, I head out to the kitchen where the delicious aroma of fresh cooked eggs fills the entire room. Sitting down at the breakfast bar, I lean my elbows on the counter and watch Mom flutter around the kitchen. She hasn’t realized I’m here yet, and she’s quietly humming a sad tune to herself.

Sam comes in, sees me and a big smile spreads across her face. She sits beside me and looks at me. “I’m happy to have you back,” she says.

Mom startles and turns around with the spatula in her hands. She looks at me, then at Sam and smiles. She doesn’t need to say anything. Seeing us together makes her proud. It’s obvious by the way she pulls her shoulders back and continues cooking. “I’m making omelets,” she announces and turns back to continue.

Sam leans in and throws her arms around me. She embraces me tightly. She sniffs and declares, “You need a shower.”

I push her away, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. “You did not just say that.”

“Hey, you’re a little heavy on the nose. Seriously, I’d suggest a shower.” She waves her hand in front of her nose dramatizing my odor, but she’s smiling at the same time.

“Alright, smart-ass, I’ll go after I have something to eat.”

“Phew, save us all having to follow you around with perfume.” She giggles to herself.