Page 35 of Gunner

“Amber, you are a very strong woman. I have never met anyone who has survived what you went through and gone on to live such a selfishly empowered life. And I use the word selfishly on purpose, because you have made a life where youput yourself first and that is not only remarkable, but incredibly awe-inspiring.”

Amber quickly swiped at a tear that slipped from the corner of her eye.

“How can I help you, Amber?”

“Well, like I said, I’ve been having nightmares. I think seeing Vicious here in my home brought up some things I thought I’d dealt with. Things I thought I had gotten over.”

“Despite working through trauma, it can still be triggered. You could go twenty years without an issue and then the smallest thing can trigger a memory. It doesn’t mean you haven’t dealt with the trauma; it just means that you remember what happened. The same as a happy memory can trigger a warm feeling. A scary memory can trigger a traumatic feeling.”

“So, I don’t have to go through it all again? Will it just resolve on its own?”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t hurt to have help. You don’t have to work through your trauma alone.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“And the other man?”

Amber exhaled and the sound was sad.

“When I was rescued in Louisiana...”

Amber gave me a brief description of what happened after she was rescued, skipping over details she clearly wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Something that was drilled into us in school was to always let the patient go at their own pace. Learning their cues to know when to gently push them to say more without adding to their trauma.

We spent the next hour going over what things might trigger her trauma. Making a list of ways she can work through it right now and things she can share with the men and women living at the clubhouse.

We made a plan to meet twice a week until she felt comfortable enough to space out her sessions. I assured her nothing we talked about would ever be shared with anyone, including things she might share about the club. She expressed there might be things she would have to get permission to speak about, but she was confident King would help in any way he could.

By the time we said goodbye, Amber hugged me tight and expressed how happy she was to have someone to talk with about not only her past but things in her present and possibly her future that she was wary of.

People like Amber were the reason I became a therapist. To help people work through the things that haunted them. The difference between the woman who stood on my step, anxious and troubled when I opened my door and the one who walked out, calm and carefree, had refreshed my mind and renewed my purpose.

My final two appointments of the day had me frustrated all over again.

Adam Langston had severe OCD; except he gave me pushback on every plan we made to work through one of his compulsions.

Clarissa Thompson was dealing with anxiety that stemmed from consistent bullying as a child. Clarissa was making progress, albeit extremely slowly. But as we were taught, slow progress was still progress.

The emotional toll of the day had me venturing out to allow someone else to make me dinner. The Diner and the bar were my only options, unless I wanted to drive to one of the surrounding towns.

As I locked my front door, I still hadn’t quite decided which I wanted; they both had their pros and cons.

Walking toward my car, I felt it again.

For the past few weeks, almost every time I left my house, I felt like I was being watched. Looking up and down the street, nothing looked out of place. Maybe it was just my paranoia. Word had gotten around about Gunner telling Brian I was his woman.

The looks I received varied from envy to pride. The older women in town smiled and nodded as though I had completed some impossible feat, whereas the younger women glared as though I had stolen something precious.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted the man. I just didn’t want everything that came with it. Namely, the property label that would be expected to hang on my back for the whole town to see.

No thank you.

I wasn’t property someone could own. Sure, I wanted him to own my body. To abuse it the way I surmised only he could. As I thought about the way he scorched my hip with a simple touch and a pull. Good Lord, I wanted that man to ruin me.

Nope.

I refused to even consider allowing him to own my soul. That wasn’t what I wanted in a partner. Not that he was even offering to be my partner. I was sure he thought of me the same way I thought of him. A willing participant in a night or two of hot scorching sex.

That was it.

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