Page 16 of Cruel Cravings

“That’s right. You take a moment to recollect, correct? How do you do that?”

“Count to ten.”

He nods along. “You practice your breathing exercises that I taught you. Why don’t you go ahead and show me?”

I hesitate a second and then do as I’m told. Closing my eyes and relaxing my shoulders, I breathe in through my nose. My exhale comes out slower, slipping past my pursed lips. I repeat myself several more times ’til it feels like I’ve emptied the toxic air and breathed in newer, fresher air.

But as I’ve breathed and counted, trying to center myself as Dr. Wolford calls it, something else has happened.

There’s a crinkling noise. The sound of leather shifting from across the room, followed by the quiet pad of footsteps coming closer.

It’s Dr. Wolford getting up out of his chair.

He crosses the room, where a wavy-shaped coffee table sits between us, and steps behind the armchair I’m perched in.

All of a sudden, his register is lower, gravely but gentler.

“That’s right, Jael,” he says. “Breathe in. Then breathe out.”

Uncertainty clenches in my belly. I forget the number I’m on which causes my next breath to come out as a sputter.

Dr. Wolford’s hands fall onto the balls of my shoulders. “You can do better than that, Jael. Focus.”

I bite down on my bottom lip and try harder.

Recollect. Recenter. Refocus.

Stay grounded.

But instead of finding my ground, any footing I did have slips out from under me. My stomach jerks despite the fact that my body remains in the chair. It’s like I’m falling down a hole, plunging further and further into a deep black pit.

Deeper into the dark closet where I hide from the monster seeking me out. My legs quake as I try my best to keepquiet, clutching my Barbie doll to my chest, the trilling music everywhere.

He’s going to find me. He always comes and finds me…

More air sputters out of me. Sharp and desperate gasps.

Dr. Wolford hushes me. “Shhh, it’s okay, Jael. Just stay calm. Just breathe.”

His left hand leaves my shoulder. It snakes down the front of my chest, warm and heavy until he’s reaching the first button on my blouse.

I go still.

Except my fingernails which dig into my thighs.

But if Dr. Wolford picks up on my discomfort, he doesn’t signal he does. His fingers make quick work of the first few buttons. His hand slides inside, warm flesh on warm flesh.

My breast cupped in his palm like he’s groping fruit at a farmers’ market.

I’m not even wearing a bra…

Tears prick my eyes. They slip out from under my closed eyelids.

The closet door flies open and there he is, his silhouette menacing as he stares me down and then starts toward me.

I try to bury myself between the rack of coats, but it’s no use. His hand clamps down on my wrist and he drags me away. He presses a finger to his lips and tells me to be quiet or he’ll make it worse.

If I behave myself, if I’m a good girl, it might even feel good…

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