Page 25 of Finish Line

“Well, maybe you aren’t right now, but I’m sure you will be in a few days.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Your uncle is excited to celebrate with us.”

She takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. “I don’t know what happened to you, and I’m not sure I want to, but it would be good for you to see a therapist to help you cope with this. Life is short, and I don’t want you to miss your senior year. There are more dances and graduation.”

The more information she dumps on me, the more I panic. “I’m sorry, Mom. I need to use the bathroom.”

I rush to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I didn’t want to have a full-blown panic attack in front of her. I take a few deep breaths, but my chest tightens. I’m hyperventilating. If I don’t calm down, I’ll pass out.

A wave of dizziness blacks out my vision, and I slide to the cold tile floor. I lie flat, close my eyes, breathe in, hold it, and let it out.

In. Hold.

Out. Hold.

I keep doing this until I regain control.

Mom means well and loves me, but why can’t she listen to what I’m telling her? Why can’t she understand the effect everything is having on me? It’s like she wants to pretend that the torture I experienced never happened.

When I can stand without falling over, I open the door to my bedroom and heave a sigh of relief when I find the room empty.

The next day, Cin comes in and plops down on my couch beside me. “What do you want to do today?”

“I’m not in the mood to do anything.” I’m tired of them coming in here and asking me that question every day, sometimes multiple times a day.

“Come on. You’ve been holed up in this room, sleeping for a week. I didn’t let you wallow the last time or after the ball, and I’m not going to let you do it now,” Cin states.

She couldn’t be more wrong. I haven’t been sleeping at all. “I’m not ready.”

She puts her hands out and goes to reach for my wrists, but I slap them away.

“Cin,” I warn.

“Chill. I’m just helping you up.” She puts her hands out to grab me again.

This time, I push her away and jump up.

“Why doesn’t anybody listen to me?” I yell.

“What is going on in here?” Mom shouts, walking into the room.

“I was trying to convince Shelby to do something, but she’s freaking out.” Cin shakes her head.

I stare at my cousin in disbelief.

Mom sighs in exasperation before looking at me. “That’s exactly what you need, honey. Oh, we can go Christmas shopping! I still have?—”

“Enough!” I interrupt. “I do not want to go shopping, Mom. I don’t want to be around people, and I’m not in the mood to celebrate anything.”

“Oh, honey. You still have a couple of weeks.” She reaches out for me.

I step back. “No, Mom, a couple of weeks won’t change things. And please, stop trying to touch me.”

“And why can’t I touch you.” She puts on an exaggerated pout and puts her arm on her hip.

“You’re trying to help me in your way, but I’m having a hard time dealing with everything. A therapist is a good idea, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” I shudder.

“Every time someone touched me during the month I was gone, it wasn’t in a good way. I was in hell. I was mentally and physically abused. I was made to do things I didn’t want to do. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?” I pin Mom and Cin with a stare.

“I was made to believe that someone I love had died because he trusted me. And before I was even taken, I had to live with the guys turning on me. Roger planned to break me. And guess what? He succeeded.” Angry tears flow down my cheeks. “I’m not the same person, and I can’t ever return to who I was before.”

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