Page 410 of Rage

Beckett

The support group became our silent sanctuary, where we didn’t need words to understand each other. Mila’s presence there was a constant, her strength resonating through the room like a quiet hum because that was just how powerful she was. She still held herself tightly, but there was a softening around her edges and it filled me with such selfish pride that I played a small part of it.

We made our Wednesday nights at the club a mutual affair from that point forward. It was different now; there was no hiding in the darkness, no anonymity. It was just Mila and me learning the language of touch and trust. Each week, I watched her uncoil a little more, her breaths coming easier, and her body less like a taut string ready to snap.

It wasn’t for several months that we started having sex outside of the safe haven the club became for Mila.

One evening, as we walked out into the cool night air, she surprised me by suggesting I spend the night at her house.

I agreed without hesitation, and we found that having actual beds and sheets to make love on only made it better.

Coffee dates before work became another part of our days. The little Greek place across the street served a strong coffee thatcould kickstart any morning. Sitting across from Mila, sipping the dark liquid as the world woke up, became a moment of peace I craved. She’d tease me about my work boots and how the knots were always lopsided or challenged my opinions on music, and I found myself looking forward to those debates more than I cared to admit.

Our relationship was evolving, becoming something neither of us had anticipated, but both desperately needed. With each shared experience, each moment spent together outside the confines of therapy or dimly lit rooms, Mila’s confidence grew a bit more.

I knew we were far from okay or perfect; healing isn’t linear or quick. But watching Mila smile as she waved goodbye from her doorstep after an evening out filled me with hope that maybe we were on our way to something like happiness. Real happiness.

It allowed me to open up more during our sessions as well.

“I was ten,” I began, my voice steadier than expected. “I was already scared of him, of course. He’d beat me before, but this time... this time, he forced me to my knees.” I had to pause, the memory a bitter taste in my mouth. “He shoved my head down hard. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. My only thought was to get it over with. I gagged and fought to keep my teeth from scraping him, but he was forceful and rough. I felt them dig in and draw blood. But I didn’t mean it. Or maybe I did–I don’t know–I can’t remember. And then…”

I trailed off, running my fingers along the faint line that marked my jaw, a permanent reminder. “He pulled away so fast that my head snapped back. I heard the crack and felt the pain explode across my face.” I took a shaky breath, the scar a phantom ache. “He broke a bottle on my jaw.”

Nancy reached out to place her hand on my shaking knee. Her eyes were kind and encouraging, and she spoke softly.“Beckett, I don’t believe we’ve ever heard you describe that particular incident before. Are you ready to talk about who did this?”

Ready felt like the wrong word, but I knew it was time. I glanced at Mila, seeking the strength reflected in her eyes. She offered me a small, supportive smile, and I turned back to the group, my voice steady.

“It was my father.”

The words hung heavy like a fresh wound, raw and real. I had never said them out loud before, and at that moment, I felt exposed and vulnerable, but I also felt a strange sense of release.

The group murmured support, and I felt their collective embrace, a comfort I had come to rely on. The therapist nodded, her expression gentle. “It takes incredible courage to name your abuser, Beckett. Sharing this today is a significant step. Remember, you don’t have to rush into further details. Take your time.”

I offered a small smile of gratitude, knowing her words were genuine. This group, these people, understood the burden of secrets and the power of unburdening them.

I glanced at Mila again, grateful for her again to not only be in my life but to have her as a beacon of support in the room. We had shared so much already, and I knew we could only continue to heal.

I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on Mila’s and told the whole story of my father that day.

Chapter Nine

Mila

Iknew something was on Beckett’s mind. We were curled up on my couch; our new Saturday routine of ordering takeout and binging a new show had reached the point where the food was gone, the show forgotten, and we were simply enjoying each other’s company. But something was troubling him.

“Spit it out,” I said, nudging him playfully. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

He ran a hand through his hair, which I knew meant he was choosing his words carefully. “I was thinking... about your trip.”

I stiffened before looking at him, my hand pausing on his chest. “What about it?”

“I know you want to do this on your own, and I support that. But…” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “I just want you to know I’m here if you need me. If at any point you feel like you can’t handle it or you just want some company, I’ll be on the next flight out.”

I felt a rush of warmth at his words and tossed my hair over my shoulder as I adjusted myself in his arms. “Thank you,” I said softly, leaning up to kiss him. “But I promise, I’m okay. I need to do this for myself. To prove that I can.”

Beckett had nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “I understand. And I’m proud of you for taking this step.”

I smiled, tracing patterns on his chest. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You know that, right? You’ve given me the strength to face my demons.”

---