Page 69 of Beg Me Angel

Therapy. . . Talk to a doctor about what? I didn't feel the need to pour my secrets out to someone I didn't know. I still had no idea what happened, so as far as I knew, there was nothing to mend yet.

Doctor Calleri, the woman who checked me over at the hospital, tried to make it seem like without therapy I'd never be the same. She was right, Iwouldnever be the same, but it wasn't from the memories I couldn't drudge up.

I felt different because I missed the man I gave my virginity to, I missed the man who had cared for me, who had showed me that you can get so much more from the world around you if you listened to it, read it, worked for it.

I wasn't ready to have some shrink tell me that I had Stockholm syndrome or that my feelings were wrong. What I felt wasn't forced or scared into my bones, it was real.

Everyone around me kept expecting me to break down and fill their heads with stories of torture from inside the cabin. But it was nothing like that, and I didn't think anyone would understand.

When the world was pointing its finger at the man I came to trust and feel for, when they're calling him a monster from sick rumors some asshole made up; How do I tell them they're wrong?

Their minds were made up, nothing I could say would change that.

Twisting the tip of my toe into the ceramic tiles, I followed the grout lines. “Not really, I'm not sure if I'm ready to go. What do I even say? I can't remember anything, so how could they help me work through it?”

Her hand stopped rotating as she peered over her shoulder. “Honey, sometimes it's just good to talk.”

“I know.”

“If you know, then why haven't you told me anything about this man?”

My heart froze inside my chest as my fingers tingled and the letter burned a hole in my pocket.Should I show her what he sent me? Should I let her read his words to me?

I didn't want to, I was afraid of what she'd say, of how she might interpret his thoughts. And I wasn't sure I wanted to know the judgment she cast on him. Especially if I still wasn't sure what was real and what was fake.

“What is there to say?”

Flipping her eyes up, she let her head roll side to side. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe you can tell me what he was like or what you guys did while you were there.”

“Mom.” My tone fell flat, coming out low and stern.

“What?” Shrugging her shoulders, her face lowered back to the bowl. “I'm curious, Vera. You can't fault me for wanting to know. Besides, I can see it in your eyes, Sweetie.”

Snapping my back straight, I stood up. “See what?”

“The way your eyes light up when he gets mentioned, the way they burn when his name gets dragged through the dirt by the police, like he's not a man but something closer to an animal.” Her hand moved faster, shrinking from large circles into small whirls. “I was married to your father for twenty years, you think I can't see it?”

All my nerves surged, the electricity flowing like lightening in a summer thunderstorm. “What do you want me to say, Mom?” I wasn't ready to admit she was right, she was seeing right through me as if my brain was transparent and all my thoughts swirled above my head in giant white bubbles.

Pursing her lips, she kept whipping the batter. “Tell me—did he hurt you?”

“Well if the detective's right—”

Cutting me off, she said, “No, it's not about what the detective thinks, I want to know what you think. After you woke up, did he ever hurt you?”

Lowering my head, I eyed the floor. “No.”

“Do you think he's the one who did this?”

Letting out a heavy breath, I dragged my hands through my hair, pulling it tight against my scalp. “No—I don't know—I don't want to think he did. Maybe that's my problem, maybe that's why it's taking me so long to remember, because I don't want to admit it to myself.”

Turning on her heels, my mom wiped her hands against her waist, drawing long white streaks of flour across the tops of her thighs. “What do you feel, Vera? Don't think about it and just say it. Do you think he did this to you and Sara?”

“No.” Forcing my head up, I stared into my mom's eyes. “I don't think he did, and until I can remember, I'm left questioning what I feel.”

“Sometimes it's all you need to know the truth. Feelings can speak more than any one man's word. I can tell you that if I could go back and change anything, I'd allow myself those feelings, Vera, because you can't get time back, you only lose it.” Grabbing a copper pan off the hanging rack in the center of the ceiling, she flicked on the stove. “Why don't you go grab the plates, set one up for your brother too, he's always starving when he gets up.”

I stood still for a moment, contemplating where she was going with all of this. My mother never really seemed to be the understanding type, we always used to butt heads.

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