Page 39 of Deadly Knight
After immigrating to Canada nearly a decade ago, I found the culture and social habits were so different from Russia. My parents encouraged me to make friends with people in my program and dorm building. They were becoming friendly with the nice couple owning the house beside their new one and wanted the same for me, but it was easier said than done, especially being the person I was back then.
Everything was so new, and I didn’t handle it as well as I pretended to.
During my degree, I got close to a couple people, but every outing with them required a kind of strength I didn’t possess. Going out at night was unthinkable, and that was when they preferred to hang out. I couldn’t, not while keeping my heart in my chest and not panicking at every little noise, or studying every person I passed or interacted with, assuming they were out to get me.
Everywhere I went, everything I did, I sawthem.
It wasn’t pleasant. It was terrifying and draining. Being social soon became pointless, and it was simpler to be alone with my memories and nightmares, my nails scratching my lower arm until it bled with the reminder that I was safe and far away from danger.
My roommate, after witnessing one too many nightmares, breakdowns, and me tearing into my arm, suggested visiting a therapist on campus. At first I tuned her out, but later during one of my self-harm episodes, I recalled the psychologist that visited me in the hospital.
Though I was so angry at the time that only I was receiving support when there were two of us affected, her suggestion to seek further professional help stuck with me. That’s two people who recommended it, and when mentioning it to my parents, they both agreed. It became four against one, and the one wasexhausted from waking screaming into her pillow and having to hide her arms.
So I went. Choked up the strength and spilled everything to the friendly counsellor. Like writing in my diary, it feltgoodto open up, but unlike my diary, someone was able to respond and validate my feelings.
After a few more months of counselling, the profession stuck with me. My motivation for going into teaching was to influence the younger generation, but what better way than supporting them through shitty, unexpected situations, like the therapist was doing for me. So I changed my major from teaching to counselling psychology, and after graduation, hired my own since I could no longer access the free one on campus.
I’ve been seeing Ava for over three years, and she’s encouraged, as part of a multi-step process, to go out at least once a month with a trusted person to a place that’s nottoocomfortable, but also not too overstimulating.
Over the two years of working as this centre’s therapist, Nora became that person. She’s one of the few I interact with, and her personal life isn’t tied up in children and relationships. It’s simple and easy with her.
It also helps that last year I took Ava’s recommendation to take self-defence classes, so now I’m not totally helpless. Prepared should the worst happen.
Unlike in the past.
“Ugh,” Nora groans, rubbing her face, breaking my trailing thoughts. “It must be a full moon or something, because fuck, they’re rambunctious today. I put out one fire, and three more spark. So far, I’ve had a kid kicked by anotheraccidentally”—she rolls her eyes at the emphasis, indicating it wasn’t an accident—“one breaking into the storage room, and another refusing to leave the gym when his father came to pick him up—and it’s only noon. I’m terrified for the afternoon.”
I chuckle, picking up my salad to return to eating and bringing my legs up beneath me on the chair. Nora’s role within the building is so different from mine, and sometimes it’s refreshing to hear about the problems others deal with—not to say they don’t work through some doozies sometimes—and escape the trauma and heartache more often bouncing around this small room.
“Good thing it’s Friday.”
“Yeah. How’s your day?”
“Not bad. Just finished a meeting with a mother.”
“At least you’re productive.” She rolls her head onto the back of the small chair. “Wanted to make sure you’re still up for tonight. ’Cause after today, I need a break.”
Nora got us tickets to a magic show touring around the country. Fake magic doesn’t thrill me. All it does is hide a person’s true intentions, and humanity has too much wickedness already. The veil is a lie, and not one I will be amused by.
But it’s an outing, and it’s better than some of Nora’s other ideas.
“Yep, looking forward to it,” I lie, plastering on a smile that, if she were to truly know me, she’d see is fake bravado. I’ve become well practiced in phony smiles over the years.
“Good. Also, we’re going to have a few more joining us.”
More people to be social with? Fuck.“Oh?” My voice rises to sound interested, which isn’t a complete lie. I’m interested in who else she’s invited so I know how much faking I’ll be doing tonight. “Who?”
“Well, Melissa and I were talking earlier, and turns out she and her husband are attending. Then, Caleb—you know, the new guy—mentioned he got last-minute tickets the other night, so I invited him too, figuring we could make it a whole thing.”
That’s so many people.Ava would be proud I’m not backing out. Only severely considering it.
“The new tutor?”
The centre hosts small summer school–like classrooms to support kids before their upcoming school year to catch up on anything they might have failed at or misunderstood in the year prior. A month ago, the high school tutor abruptly quit, leaving the centre in a bit of chaos when the small class of a dozen was left without a teacher, and being this close to their new school year, it was unfortunate. Finally, after a week of this, Caleb was hired.
When I met him, I forgot how to breathe. It’s been a long time—ten years, to be precise—since a man has had such an effect on me. There was something about him that immediately struck me, but I’m not sure if it had to do with his dark hair or piercing eyes, his crooked grin that was all for me or his chiseled jawline. Or if it was something else entirely. All I know is I made that introduction awkward not knowing how to act.
Over the years, I’ve managed to work through enough of the past to maintain occasional relationships, but nothing long term. Although it helps knowing none of them will look at me differently, that none of themknowwhat my body and mind have gone through, they never went beyond a couple of dates before my shattered heart would remind me it couldn’t handle any more jerking around. That it was already owned by a person it can no longer have.
