by Genna Rulon
The drawback of remembering was the nightmares that plagued my sleep. Every night I became the young girl I’d once been, reliving the worst moments of my life with agonizing realism. Yet each night, Wes was there to comfort me, beating back the monsters that lived in my dreams with love, understanding, and when all else failed…distraction.
My sessions with Thia continued. After once again detailing my past, she picked up where Wes left off, helping me identify erroneous thoughts that had resulted in me accepting blame where I held none. As Sam had warned, Thia’s therapeutic approach was jarring but effective. She found ways to push me past my past, giving me the tools to break down the walls To Ieró had constructed around my individuality and temperament.
In our session on Wednesday, Thia pushed me to have the inevitable and long-overdue heart-to-heart with Sam, Griffin, and Ev that I’d successfully avoided thus far. After that, she moved on to her second favorite topic…my name.
“So, CG—” Thia said with a poorly contained smirk.
“Thia, dammit, I’ve asked you not to call me that! One slip around Sam and I’ll be stuck with the nickname for life. It’s not the most flattering moniker, you know.”
“And I’ve told you, I’ll stop calling you CG just as soon as you pick a name to be called. I refuse to call you ‘Meg’ because it references ‘The Omega.’”
“But CG is just as bad,” I argued.
“Mmm, perhaps,” she replied, pretending to contemplate my grievance. I wasn’t fooled. “At least it’s not directly connected to that godforsaken title. CG is new and has an indirect association. Plus, it has a certain… je ne sais quoi.”
“Not directly connected? Are you nuts?” I barked in frustration. “Thia, you’re calling me ‘Cult Girl’…in what universe is that not directly connected to my past?”
“Well, Cult Girl—that’s a mouthful, CG rolls off the tongue—The Omega is something you were forced to be, whereas Cult Girl is nothing more than a description of where you lived and your experiences. Do you not see the distinction?”
When she put it that way, how could I miss the difference? Thia was right—I reacted to CG because I didn’t want people to know about my past. I was embarrassed, afraid of an intolerant and ignorant society who would assume I chose to join To Ieró willingly, then judge me accordingly. Discrimination against former cult members was a harsh reality for those who escaped and attempted to reintegrate into the ‘normal’ world. Nevertheless, I was not adopting the name Cult Girl—or CG, for that matter—but the significance between CG and The Omega were completely different.
“Fine, call me CG for now…as long as you don’t explain the acronym to anyone,” I granted.
“Only until you decide who you want to be. Pick a name and I promise to respect the choice and use it. If you’re getting hung up on finding something with profound meaning, then go ahead and just pick a name that sounds pretty or badass—I’d go with badass, personally, like ‘Shakira.’ And don’t let your fear of the future or criticism from others keep you trapped in the past. This is your life…make the choice to live it fully.”
Thia was right…again—damn it was annoying—and I knew it. It was time to move forward in full measure, not hiding behind a fake name, false history, and half-truths. My friends had exhibited more patience than I thought them capable of, out of respect and concern for my well-being, but the time was fast approaching. If I didn’t initiate the conversation, they would soon demand answers. It was time to woman up and trust my family to support me—without judgment—as they’ve always done.
With more fanfare than I would have preferred, our motley crew assembled for dinner with the knowledge I was finally going to have “the talk” with Sam, Ev, and Griffin. Wes was thrilled as he considered it another step in my journey to heal, also believing the added support of the trio would provide further fuel for progress. Hunter nearly kissed me with gratitude, anxious for an end to Ev’s incessant grilling—although I noticed his complaints didn’t include the sexual feats she was using in the hopes of tiring him to the point of exhaustion, resulting in a slip of the tongue. Yes, Sam felt the need to share in great detail the evil plots afoot as confessed by Ev.
Wes and Hunter remained in the kitchen as I retold my story, close enough to come to my aid if needed, yet far enough that they could spare themselves from reliving my past again—wimps.
During my account, Ev cried silent tears, Sam threatened to castrate The Alpha and kick my ‘good-for-nothing-bitch-of-a-mother’s’ ass, and Griffin tested the strength of his grip on his thighs, which I suspected would be black and blue the following day.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I said nervously, “You all mean the world to me…you’re the only family I’ve ever known. I didn’t want you to look at me differently, to see me as weak and broken. You are all so strong. Ev, you fought off Heath when he attacked you, Sam, you survived the rape and clawed your way back, to the point where you are now helping others do the same, and Griffin…you’re the one we all turn to when we need someone to hold us up or talk us down. You’re the strength we all count on. Each of you is this remarkable, inspirational person who has overcome challenges and mistakes, only to come back stronger. It’s a lot to live up to. You all cast a big shadow that I’ve been content to hide in.”
“Time to see the sun, girl,” Griffin said definitively. “You deserve the warmth on your face as much as anyone else in this house.”
“Hell yeah,” Sam added, “After what you have survived and the strength it took to claw your way free, you deserve more than just a few rays. You need to move to a tropical island where man-servants are at your beck and call, bringing fruity drinks, lathering you with sunscreen, massaging your back, and—”
“I’m still here, Sam,” Wes interrupted, walking into the room. “The private island and fruity drinks are all good, but I’ll be the only man-servant keeping her company.”
“Then you better call your travel agent and book the vacay ASAP, because if you leave the planning to me, there will be boy-toys a plenty.”
Sam winked at me as Wes flipped open his phone, typing away like a man possessed while stringing together an impressive combination of curses.
“They are so easy to control, it almost takes the fun out of it,” Sam whispered to me.
Ev came over and hugged me before sharing, “Sometimes it’s easier to accept what we have instead of reaching for what we want most, because the risk of losing everything is daunting,” she glanced in Hunter’s direction before continuing, “but I can promise you that claiming your life, embracing your family, and loving that man,” she said, pointing to Wes, “is worth the risk. You’ve earned your happy ending, paid for by blood, sweat, and tears…now it’s up to you to reach out and grab it.”
An epic group hug followed that left me misty-eyed and immensely grateful for the gift each of them was in my life. I still wasn’t sure if I deserved them, but I wasn’t going to let them go.
“Hold on a sec,” Sam said as Hunter and Wes joined us on the couches. “What the heck do we call you until you pick a name?”
I groaned aloud, sick of this conversation before it even began.
“I don’t know, whatever you want. I’ll pick a name soon, I promise,” I said, stalling. There was no name that felt right. Perhaps Thia had a point—I needed to figure out who I was and wanted to be before I could name me.
“Too bad we didn’t get to meet Jay when he visited. He sounds like a good guy,” Ev said, saving me from the name game.
“He is. Actually, he reminds me of Griffin a little, minus the muscles and Viking vibe,” I shared. “Maybe he’ll come back to visit—and bring his girlfriend,” I said while delivering a pointed look at Wes, “once the FBI does their thing.”
“Absolutely. He can stay in your room,” Sam said impishly, having caught my sharp look at Wes, earning a growl from my man. “What? She’ll be at your house, won’t she?”
“Damn straight,”
Wes confirmed vehemently, “right where she belongs.”
Friday afternoon, I arrived home after my shift at Higher Yearning to find Hunter’s car in my driveway. Foreboding rose, swift and acute, causing me to hasten my steps. As I entered the house, I found Wes and Hunter in the midst of a heated exchange that abruptly ended at my appearance.
“Babe, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in court?” I asked Wes, shocked at his presence when I knew he had spent the entire week preparing for today’s hearing.
“I got a continuance, don’t worry,” he said dismissively. “Come sit down, beautiful, we need to talk.”
This wasn’t going to be good.
Turning my attention to Hunter, I asked, “Is it my mother?”
Wes quickly approached, taking my hand to guide me to the great room. It didn’t escape my notice that Hunter failed to respond to my inquiry. Wes sat next to me on the sofa while Hunter settled on the loveseat to my left.
“Beautiful—” Wes began, but Hunter interjected, “Man, please trust me on this. Let me tell her.”
Wes nodded, clearly unhappy but willing to give Hunter the floor.
“I have some bad news,” Hunter stated the obvious. “The FBI’s regional director contacted me because one of our witnesses was found dead after failing to show for a follow-up interview. I’m so sorry, sweetheart—Jay was killed last night.”
No. No, no, no, no—NO!
This wasn’t happening. There was a mistake. Jay lost track of time while working on a car and would call the FBI to apologize any minute.
“He can’t be. You’ve made a mistake,” I said to Hunter with conviction. “You’re wrong.”
“I’ve spoken to the Special Agent in charge and reviewed the crime scene photos—there’s no mistake. I know how close you were, honey. I’m so terribly sorry.”
“No!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, jumping to my feet, crowding Hunter as I jabbed my finger in his chest. “You promised me he’d be safe when I gave you his contact info. You promised the FBI would protect him, just like they are protecting me. Lies…you lied to me and now Jay is dead, and it’s all your fault.”
I pounded on his chest with my fists, calling him a liar with each blow, as the tears fell in torrents down my face. But nothing could wash away the pain. My heart screamed its denial, refusing to accept the truth that my first friend—my savior—was gone…murdered by the man who claimed to be a god and my husband. I didn’t need to see evidence to know the truth: The Alpha had ordered me home, I disregarded him, and he warned me that my defiance would require a sacrifice in restitution.
I gasped.
“It’s my fault. If I’d returned to To Ieró—” I whispered, collapsing into Wes’ prepared arms before I could finish the thought. “Jay’s dead because of me. The email…it was me or him, and I chose me. I might as well have killed him myself. Selfish, murderous bitch.”
Cries of raw agony poured from the center of my being as grief burned through me like battery acid, corroding everything it touched. There was no escape, no relief from the torturous grief. I embraced the pain, welcomed it like an old friend, because I deserved every moment of soul-flaying agony.
My throat burned with screams of anger that wouldn’t stop tumbling from my lips. I clawed at my chest, desperate to reach the heart that bled with unstaunched anguish, needing to touch the sorrow as if it were a material object.
Voices echoed through the fog of my misery, unrecognizable yet familiar.
“Get her fucking hands, Hunter, before she does any more damage to herself.”
“I’m trying, man. She’s flailing like…God, I don’t even know.”
The voices faded but gentle hands wiped my face, stroking my head tenderly.
No! I didn’t deserve comfort. The compassion hurt more than the grief—compassion fed the guilt. Frantic to escape the white-hot flame of responsibility, I struggled to break free of the binds restraining me, kicking, clawing, and biting anything that came in contact with me.
“…call Thia.”
“…dead…breakdown…”
“Griffin, we need you…”
“Beautiful…please, baby…love you so much…not your fault….”
Time lost all meaning and eternity claimed me in an ocean of fiery regret.
A sharp pain captured my attention, then…
"People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die." -Plato
Westly
Covering my beautiful girl with a blanket, I stared at her face, which was covered in anguish even in sleep. Needing to connect, I kissed her forehead to reassure myself she would return from whatever hell she was currently trapped in.
“What the hell did you give her?” I asked Thia with far more hostility than was warranted, but my fear and frustration needed an outlet.
“Lion tranquilizer—why, do you think that was the wrong choice? I didn’t have any of the usual human stuff on hand,” she shot back.
“Thia, I’m not in the fucking mood for games,” I cautioned.
“And I’m not worried in the slightest,” she said sarcastically. “Let me ask, did either of you two idiots think to call me before you dropped that nuclear bomb on our girl like she was Hiroshima? Oh no, you morons with your zero years of professional training had it under control. You were so prepared, you didn’t even bother to call Griffin, who would actually be a doctor of psychiatry by now if he hadn’t decided offing a psychopathic rapist was a more noble cause. God save us all from good intentions!”
“Thia—” Griffin said, undoubtedly attempting to intervene in our verbal berating. But Thia was having none of it.
“Shh! You’re the only one in the room not currently on my shit list, Griffin. Let’s keep it that way,” she advised before returning her attention to Hunter and me. “At least Griffin had actual training and clinical hours under his belt when he waded into Sam’s recovery. He knew what he was doing, whereas you know-it-alls with hero complexes had nothing but confidence and ego. What on earth were you thinking? Don’t answer that—you weren’t, obviously, or CG wouldn’t be knocked out on the couch, battling a heavily armed battalion of guilt.”
“We knew it would be tough for her to accept,” Hunter explained, “and were prepared for her guilt, but this was way beyond ordinary guilt, Thia. She kept saying she killed him—over and over. There was no breaking through.”
“She’s only just let go of twenty-five years of misplaced guilt, which is no small feat. Yes, she was doing exceptionally well, but this loss would be difficult for anyone to confront. Without preparation or professional guidance, the news served as a reminder of all the guilt she’d recently released, which increased exponentially with the addition of Jay’s death.”
“Jay’s death is not her fault. He was cooperating with the FBI, and odds are that sick bastard would have come after him no matter what,” I argued for no purpose other than it felt good.
“She’s feeling appropriate guilt in regards to her friend’s death,” Thia said, holding up her hand to stop my objection. “Like it or not, his connection to her and To Ieró resulted in his death. Is that CG’s fault? Of course not. But feeling guilty that his relationship with her was the ‘cause’ of his death is natural. With time, she will see that it was Jay’s choice to reach out to her when they were young, help her again after she fled, and most recently, cooperate with the FBI. She will achieve that level of understanding and clarity; it will just take a little time and a lot of hard work.”
Helplessness was a brutal emotion—anger, scorn, hatred…those were more tolerable companions. As I sat next to my brave girl, heart aching for her loss and pain, I realized this was what love was—feeling another’s emotions as if they were your own. Crying with them, laughing with them, smiling with them, and hurting with them. It sucked! It was also the result of the most intimate and fulfilling connection I’ve ever had, and one that I could
no longer live without.
With nothing to do to make it better, no way to fix her problems or heal her as she slept, I remained at her side and did the only thing I could—I just loved her.
“Wes?” she said in a hoarse voice, reaching for my hand.
“I’m here, beautiful.”
“Tell me it was all a bad dream,” she asked, more fragile than I’d ever heard her.
“I wish I could, baby.”
Her silent tears fell until the pillow was stained with the evidence of her grief in the form of large, dark circles. Gathering her in my arms, I held her close, offering the love and forgiveness she needed from me that she wasn’t willing to grant herself.
“He is a monster,” she said with absolute conviction.
There was no need to clarify who he was. I wanted nothing more than to find her monster and slay him, ensuring his cruelty would never touch her again.
“I’m an apple,” she said randomly.
Shit! Was she having another breakdown? Where the hell was Thia when I needed her?
“I like apples,” I replied stupidly, because really, was there a correct response to that declaration?
“No, you are missing the point. I am an apple, like in Snow White. I’m poison, ruined…rotten! The evil king dipped me in his cauldron of filth and contaminated me. Now everyone that comes near me is in danger of being infected—or worse, killed.”
Although Disney was not my area of expertise, I was fairly certain it was an evil queen. Nevertheless, her point was clear…and completely off-base.
“Beautiful, if you are an apple, then it is one that brought nourishment to a starving man, not toxic but life-giving. It destroys me to hear you say these things about yourself because they aren’t your words, but those of the evil king.”
