Page 30 of Static

"Would you like some water?"

Jerking, I was pulled out of the internal panic attack before it could begin. "Please," I whispered.

She moved slowly toward a little kitchenette area. She was making very deliberate, slow movements.

I wasn't sure if it was to give me time to pull myself together? Or if she didn't want to startle me. Either way, I appreciated it. I didn't need quite that level of care most of the time, but coming here today was going to force me to face Trent again. To relive what he did to me. To remember what he might have done to my babies. Gritting my teeth, I accepted the glass of water and sipped it. "Thank you." I blew out a breath and met her eyes. "I want you to know that I'm not a wimp. Or a coward," I added.

Her eyebrows shot upward and she looked startled. "I'm not sure why you think anyone would see you that way?"

Looking down, shame made heat creep into my cheeks. "Because I haven't been able to handle this alone," I admitted. "I was...stronger than this once."

"You've survived a trauma, Gwen. It's normal to feel the effects of it. But I can assure you, no one is looking at you with anything but concern and care." She paused and when I didn't speak, she asked, "Do you see your brother Gage, or your friend Jordan, as weak?"

It was my turn to be startled. My eyes swept up to her. "No!" I shook my head. "Why would I?"

"Why would they see you that way?" she countered. "They're seeking help with the events of that night, as well."

She had a point. I would never think anything bad about either of them. And in fact, I'd urged them to seek help, while I stubbornly refused. "Thank you for seeing me today," I told her, changing the subject. "I wasn't sure you'd be willing to see me on such short notice."

"It's my pleasure," she told me with a smile. She didn't call me out for changing topics.

This was supposed to be Gage's appointment. Dr. Donaldson had been booked out for the next three weeks, but my brother insisted I come in to see her as soon as possible. His appointment was the soonest, so he set it all up for me.

"How can I help you, Gwen?"

I glanced up at her. The last therapist I'd seen—Gage had hated the man and I hadn't liked him much either—had been a bulldog. He ran the sessions. He decided what we spoke about. And if you didn't answer the way he wanted? Let's just say Gage and I learned to hide our emotions from our aunt so we wouldn't have to go back. Looking back on it now, all we'd needed to do was tell her we wanted to see someone else, but we didn't want to inconvenience her any more than we already had. She didn't see us as a burden. That woman loved us and we loved her just as much. "Um..."

"I want to be able to help you," she continued. "So, we can start with what happened that night. Or we can talk about your childhood. Anything is on the table. You just start talking."

I swallowed and stared down at my hands. They were twisted together in my lap, my knuckles white from the force. I was trying to hold myself together. "I haven't made meatloaf since April of last year."

The only sound in the room was her pen writing on the notepad she held.

"I was making dinner. It...was...like any other night." I took another sip of my water to wet my dry throat. "Sean and Grace." I looked up from her shoes. "They're my children," I told her. She smiled and nodded at me. My eyes dropped back to her sensible black pumps. "They were sitting at the dining room table, coloring while I made dinner." I shook my head. "Why is this so hard?"

"It's coming up on the anniversary of your attack."

It was a statement, not a question. There was only a little over two months before we got to that date in mid-April. The dreams were getting worse. And now I understood why.

"Have you spoken to anyone about it?" she asked. It wasn't an accusation, just a question.

"I told my brother and Jordan what happened before they got there," I told her. And I knew they'd told Lock and from there everyone knew what happened. But they all took their cues from me and I hadn't wanted to talk about it. "Not really," I amended. "And now it's sort of...built up in my head. And it's like it's fighting me to get out, but I just want to forget about it." I searched her kind brown eyes. "How do I make it go away?"

"It'll never go away, Gwen," she replied, a solemn look on her face. "But you can give it less power."

"I want to take that power back," I told her. "Get back what he took from me." I dropped my head back with a sigh, closing my eyes. "How do I do that?"

"Let it all out."

I nodded. "I was making meatloaf." Giving a weak laugh, I shook my head. "It seems so...ordinary...now. But I had no idea that in just a few minutes my life was going to change." I gave her a strained look. "Trent and I were divorced, but he was showing interest in being around the kids again. He stopped by, brought them a few gifts, spent a few minutes here and there with them. And I wanted to give them the opportunity to know their father. That was a mistake," I muttered. "Gage was staying with us at the time, so I had him, Jordan, and Trent over for dinner before all this went down. Let's just say it didn't go well. Gage hates...hated Trent. But, I wanted to try."

"It's honorable to try to allow your children to know both of their parents. There's no shame in that," she told me. "The things that Trent did and said were not your mistakes. They're his."

It was something I'd told myself a hundred times over. And I still couldn't quite shake off the guilt of bringing that monster back into my kids' lives. "He'd never done anything like this before. I realized my mistak-" I broke off as she looked up from her notepad with an arched brow. "I realized he was only coming back to try to keep up appearances," I amended, taking out the word mistake as it applied to me. "He wanted people to think he was a good guy. And a good guy saw his kids. He didn't care about them."

"They're fortunate to have you."

It wasn't possible to hold back my smile. I beamed at her. "My kids are the best thing I've ever done." She returned the smile even as mine faltered.

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