Page 102 of Crimson Tears

“Why are you looking at me like I’m the boogeyman, Nessa?”

Her head tilts to the side ever so slightly, and I take a deep breath.

“Don’t feel pressured to talk about anything you are not ready to talk about yet. I can be here as often as you need.”

I nod, her reassurance helping to take some of the weight off my shoulders I wasn’t aware of.

“What would you like to talk about today?” she asks.

I look around the room, trying to find the right words.

“Everything, maybe?” I respond with a shrug.

Dr. K lets out a small hum of contemplation. “Everything is quite a big topic for one day.”

“I guess my biggest problem right now is that I feel too needy. When I wake up, I find that I need Boris and Cillian there. If they aren’t, I begin to panic.”

“I see. Do you know what started that?”

I think back to the cell I was held in, but realize that maybe this started before that.

“Boris tried to leave me. To walk away from us because of Cillian.”

Her eyes grow wide, and I raise my hands in the air, showing my shock of the situation as well.

“It was surprising but also not. Cillian and Boris banter a lot, and it led to Boris telling Cillian to have his way with me.”

I don’t go into detail because Dr. K is like a mother figure to all of us and the last thing I would ever talk to my mother about is sex.

“I see,” she says. “So Boris tried to leave, and then you were kidnapped. Were you kept separate?”

I lower my head. “Yes, but I could see them. I couldn’t feel them, but I could hear them.”

I hate thinking about how cold that room felt and how all I wanted was to be pressed against one of them. Maybe even both of them.

“And that is why you crave them to be close when you wake up. I would deduce that your mind is trying to find a tangible way to wake up with the belief that you’re safe. Feeling their heat or body pressed against yours likely helps you wake in a calm state.”

Scoffing, I shake my head at myself.

“But that’s no way to live. I can’t ask them to be there every single time I wake up to prevent a panic attack. Iwon’task that of them. That is no way for any of us to live. I refuse to be dependent on another person like that.”

“Nessa, I have a question for you.” She tilts her head in that therapist way, the move they make right before they drop a bomb on you by putting your thoughts in a realistic order.

“If you fell and broke both of your arms, would you refuse their help?”

My brow pinches. “No.” I would literally need them to do almost anything.

“Then why is this any different?”

I raise my arms. “Because I am fully capable of using these.”

I can see her trying to hold back a laugh.

“Do you think that mental scars are not as traumatic or valid as physical scars?”

I look down at my arms and the scabs that are nearly healed over. Then I think about my friends, my family, and everything we have endured in our lives.

“I would almost argue that it’s the opposite,” I admit.

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