Page 81 of The Last Session

“There is.” I cleared my throat. “At least for me. They stole my diary.”

“What?” He frowned.

“Yeah. It disappeared. And it was filled with stuff about Adam and Pastor John.” Though not what had happened at the camp—I’d been too depressed or ashamed to record that.

“Okay. But how did they know that my ‘pattern’ overlapped with yours?”

“Did you mention anything in the application for the retreat?”

“Nope. Just some vague bullshit about dating issues.”

It made me think of Ramit’s session, how Moon had known things she couldn’t have known. And this time, she’d seemed to know them even before we started the session.

“I think they’re really good at reading people.” I shrugged. “Moon especially. That has to be it, right?”

“I guess.” He rubbed at his chin. “In any case, it doesn’t change what we came here to do. In fact, it makes it even more important. Moon and Sol are good. Catherine could’ve easily gotten caught up in their—whatever’s going on with them.”

“I agree. You still want to do the search tonight?”

“Yep. An hour after everyone goes to bed, let’s meet at the hot tub.”

“Sounds good.” I rubbed my temples. “I think I need to lie down for a few minutes.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you at the bonfire.”

My sense of time was off. The hours and intensity of the sessions made it feel like we’d been here for weeks instead of days. I needed something to ground me, to remind me of my normal life. The Wi-Fi wasn’t working—Grace had mentioned it could go in and out—so I opened up my photos instead. I looked at pictures of Ryan: Exaggeratedly excited over a giant burger. Sticking out his tongue at me in bed. Kissing my cheek in a selfie as we waited to ride the Cyclone at Coney Island. For the first time, I didn’t feel that sharp pain of longing and shame.

Maybe if Ryan had been more open, it would’ve helped me undo the handcuffs holding my sexuality hostage. But I also could’ve started that work on my own.

A deep calm settled over me. I’d finally told the story. About how after my best friend failed me, I’d searched for support from my pastor, who had groomed me and then almost literally slammed a doorin my face—and slammed it for good. How that loss had opened me up to Adam’s predatory advances. Sure, I’d kissed him back, followed him willingly enough. But I’d also been in a state of shock, and I never would’ve done anything physical with him in my right mind. He was intuitive; it’s why he was such a good bully. I felt sure it was why he’d come on to me in the first place.

I cried a little more, for the thirteen-year-old who’d felt so lonely and unloved. It had started much earlier, of course—I’d known, even as a child, that my mom was disappointed in me. Her quiet, shy daughter had just reminded her of the boisterous family her body had refused to give her. But maybe she would’ve been the same with more kids: faintly disgusted and put upon by their needs. I didn’t know. Dad had been a presence more than a person, either absent or controlling. The few people I’d bonded with—Melissa, Pastor John—had cut me off. No wonder relationships were so hard for me.

I wanted nothing more than to stay in the yurt, but forced myself to reapply mascara and walk to the bonfire. Moon had us sit across from our accountability partners and gaze into their eyes for five full minutes. The flames reflected in Jonah’s dark irises. Such a short time, and yet it seemed to last forever. It was awkward initially, but melted into something else: a connection or an understanding.

Moon had us stand, embrace our partners, and then hug everyone. She called upon her ancestors to bless our work together. Sol set up speakers and played drum-heavy music. And then we danced. Something in me felt electric, like I needed to shake some stale energy out. We laughed at one another’s wild moves. Dawne tried to grind up on Moon, and she laughed and went along with it. Sol pumped his fist like a club kid. Ramit surprised us all, whipping his head and hips with abandon. Grace and Mikki undulated, their arms over their heads, while Karenwoo-hooed into the night.

Somehow I found myself in front of Jonah. He grabbed my hand and twirled me like we were at a wedding reception. We laughed and swung each other around in a circle. His palms were warm and strong, keeping me from spinning out into the darkness.

34

I was back in the cave.

It was tiny, too small for me to stand. I was curled up on a ledge, listening to the rushing of water nearby. My body was numb with cold. There was something dead in the water near me; the rotting stench reached my nose when the current buoyed the corpse to the surface.

She’d pushed me. But they’d all betrayed me. I tried to scream, but my throat was too sore; nothing came out. I moaned and shuddered.

Someone—something—was hissing at me. I could just barely make out the words over the gushing of water.

Save her?

My eyes flipped open. My alarm trilled on the pillow next to me. I’d kept it turned down, not wanting to wake up anyone nearby when I got up to meet Jonah.

I sat up slowly, still disturbed by the nightmare. I’d had a similar one a few weeks ago, when I’d distractedly drawn a cave in art class (Is this a cunt?). This time, it had been more visceral. If I closed my eyes I could imagine the frigid water, the rotting smell.

I got up in the dark clothes I’d worn to bed and shrugged on my jacket. Outside, a crisp wind blew into my face, helping me fully wake. I shook off the last remnants of the dream. Time to focus.

Jonah leaned against the hot tub, silently watching me approach. In his leather jacket, he looked like James Dean waiting by his motorcycle. I felt a tug in my stomach, a sudden desire to grab him, pull his lips to mine. For him to lift me onto the edge, unzipping my jeans.

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