Page 5 of Jersey

"Grab an appointment for next week on my online scheduler, and we can talk more about it then," she says. "Caitlyn. I'm proud of you for making it all five nights."

The call ends, and I feel a wave of guilt for being glad it's over.

I know more than most how hard therapy is. I also know its healing power, and I know that some traumas can't be completely cured. You never know until someone gets to the root of their issues whether healing will happen. The road to restoring your mental health is always long and arduous.

Knowing all this still doesn't help me gain any more insight into my own healing. I want to avoid it altogether at this point, but I know that's not the smart thing to do.

I place my phone on the coffee table and give Kiva all my attention, using both hands to rub her little belly. She sneezes, something she always does when she's on her back, and it makes me laugh to see her body bow up in preparation.

She's a happy girl, grateful for every touch and belly rub I have to offer.

She wasn't always like this, however.

When I first saw her in the kennel at the animal shelter, the way she was huddled in the corner, shivering when the worker reached in to get her, it made me feel like she was a kindred spirit. I too cringe and curl into myself to avoid the touch of others.

Kiva no longer shies away from my touch. Instead, she begs for it, following me around our little house like a shadow, hoping I'll squat down and give her a little scratch. Although she isn't too keen on being handled by adults, she has loved the children I've worked with.

I wanted to be more like her. She's the reason I started therapy.

She's the reason I want to be what most would consider normal rather than pressing my back to the wall if it looks like someone might brush up against me.

I don't want to continue to be different. It was bad enough in high school and college. Although they may say something else, people aren't too receptive to different people.

I can be very cordial with people. I can carry on a normal conversation. I can discuss my aversion to being touched, and they claim to understand. But then most will turn around and try to test the theory or even go so far as to think that a simple conversation with me equals permission for them to press their palm to my shoulder or hand to my back. Then, they get offended when their touch is shrugged off, or they get yelled at out of instinct when I've just been triggered too hard. It's natural not to like boundaries. Most people hate them, and it takes a very well-rounded person to be okay with others setting boundaries and being cognizant enough to avoid crossing them.

I haven't met many people like that in my life, and I don't know if I ever will. As humans, I think we try to push boundaries all the time, and there aren't many around who will fully respect that others have some that can't be crossed, no matter how close they might be.

I roll my shoulders, trying not to cringe at just the thought of the nights I spent at the club.

Five hours of enduring the most uncomfortable interactions. It's less about sexual freedom for me and more about wanting to have a normal life that includes a sexual aspect.

I'm still not sure that letting strangers touch me in that way is the same as how I might feel if it were someone I truly trusted not to hurt me in any way.

Thinking of trust and companionship shouldn't take my mind full circle back to that one man at the club, but, of course, that's where my mind always goes.

I can't comprehend that my body would somehow know that he might be important to me. Scientifically, that doesn't make any sense.

I don't believe in love at first sight or anything like that, but it is weird that I couldn't take my eyes off him the second I noticed him across the room while others were touching me.

I stand from the sofa, smiling down at Kiva when she gives a little yelp of distaste because I stopped petting her.

"I've got to get ready for work," I explain, earning yet another huff of annoyance from the little dog. "I need to see if Mr. Hart will allow me to bring you for a visit. I think Eli would really like to meet you."

Chapter 2

Jersey

"We may need help," Eli says a second before slurping a milky spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"You think I'll be helpful?" I ask him with the best grin I can manage.

"The box is really heavy," Eli continues. "I bet you can lift it easily."

I lift my arm, pulling the sleeve of my t-shirt back to reveal my bicep before flexing.

His face lights up. "Yes! You could easily carry the box."

"What am I here for?" Jericho asks his son.

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