Page 34 of Gunner

“Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, come in.” I held the door open, allowing her room to enter, and then closed the door behind her. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, thank you.” She looked around my living room and smiled. “It’s nice in here. Peaceful.”

It seemed an odd word to describe a room, but I imagined the clubhouse was loud and anything but peaceful with the number of men that lived there.

“Please, have a seat.” I led her to the couch, and I sat in one of the chairs opposite her. There was no television in my living room. I didn’t watch much, so I only had one in the bedroom. Because of that fact, the focal point was the center of the room. The furniture was arranged in a way that you could talk to another person regardless of where you sat.

Amber placed herself in the corner of the couch. She slipped off her shoes and brought her feet up under her. I smiled at the way she made herself comfortable.

“What can I do for you, Amber? How can I help?”

“Well.” She picked at the hem of the faded T-shirt she wore. I knew she was nervous. “Everything I tell you is confidential, right? You won’t tell anyone?”

“Absolutely. Unless you ask me to share it with someone, and as long as you don’t tell me you are contemplating a crime or hurting a child, then everything you tell me stays here.”

“Ok, King gave me permission to talk with you. He thought it might help.”

Permission?

“Amber, are you at the clubhouse against your will?”

Her eyes rounded and she sat forward immediately.

“Oh no, not at all.” She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she dropped her face into her hands. “God, I’m screwing this up. I don’t know how to begin.”

I reached out my hand and gently touched her arm. “Take a deep breath and start wherever you feel most comfortable. There is plenty of time.”

Amber inhaled deeply and sat up straight. “I’ve been having nightmares. King thought it might be good to talk to someone and when he learned you were a therapist, he suggested I meet with you. I should have called and made an appointment. I’m sorry. I just needed to get out of the clubhouse, and this was the only option for leaving.”

She stood and moved to put her shoes back on.

Leaping from my seat, I stopped her. “Amber, stop. Sit down. Take a breath and try to relax. I have two hours until my next appointment. I have nothing going on. Let’s just talk, and you can share as much or as little as you like.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I smiled at her the way we were taught. A smile filled with compassion but not pity. A warm token to help the client feel heard but not judged.

“Ok, I guess I should start at the beginning. It really isn’t as bad as it sounds. I never knew my mom. She died when I was born...”

As Amber told me her story, I listened and did my best not to cry. The things she had been through, not only at the hands of her father, who should have protected her, but the men who exploited her in the name of safety and freedom, made me want to scream.

Why did so many men believe they had the right to make decisions for others? Decisions that not only harmed them but scarred them for life. Both physically and mentally.

“...So last month, some men showed up. I recognized two of them. One of them helped rescue me in Louisiana. The other helped me escape from Louisiana.”

“I don’t understand. Did they frighten you?”

“Not exactly. Neither said a word to me, in fact. Or acknowledge they knew who I was in any way. I’m sure they both assumed I hadn’t told any of the brothers what happened, but when I came to the clubhouse, I shared almost everything with King.”

“He knew what you had been through and still allowed his men to use you?”

Amber stiffened.

“They don’t use me. If anything, I use them. I have strict boundaries they all respect.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Amber looked away, and I saw a brief sense of shame cross over her expression.

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