by Roya Carmen
“Your husband is physically abusive,” he says, not so much a question, but a statement. “When was the first time he hit you?”
I remember it like it was yesterday. “It was…” I start off slowly. I don’t want to relive it. “It was two years after we started to date… about seven or eight years ago. He was angry with his mother, and took it out on me.”
“What happened exactly?”
“He slapped me on the face.”
“I see,” he says, staring down at his notebook. “What is the pattern of abuse? Does he slap you, punch you… beat you?”
I swallow hard. “He slaps me. He’s punched me. He pulls my hair, twists my arm. He’s kicked me in the stomach twice.”
“Have you ever been to the hospital?”
I shake my head. “No, never. He’s never sent me to the hospital. He never beats me… he just hits. One hit and it’s over. That’s why I’ve stayed. A hit here and there… it’s not so bad.”
He stares at me, slack jawed. “Hitting is never acceptable.”
He scribbles feverishly in his notebook, and I wonder what he’s writing in there. This woman is crazy. Beyond repair. She thinks it’s okay to be hit in the face.
“I’m sorry…” I mutter.
“It’s fine, Jade,” he says and seems to struggle to find his next words. “Has he verbally abused you as well?”
I nod and stare down at my black skirt, ashamed. “He does… he did. He calls me a bitch. Calls me stupid… but only when he’s angry.”
He scribbles some more. Every time he scribbles, I tense up.
“Do you work outside the home?” he asks.
“No…” I tell him, not wanting him to think I’m just a kept spoiled trophy wife. Even if I know he’s not judging me – he’s trying to help. “I don’t,” I confess. “Michael likes me at home, cooking and keeping the home spotless. We have… had quite a large home. I wanted to study to be a vet tech, but Michael didn’t think it was worth the trouble. He needed my help to start up his business.”
“So you helped your husband with his business?” he asks, jotting down another note. “What business is he in?”
I’m taken aback. I don’t want to tell him my husband is a pot grower. “Uh… production and distribution of medicinal marijuana. He works in collaboration with the Ministry of Health.” I know it’s all legit, but I don’t like to tell people the truth.
Flynn cocks a brow. “And do you retain any ownership in this business.”
I think about it for a second. “I don’t believe I do.”
He jots down something else. I am dying to see those notes. “Does he ever exert control over you? At home, out in public?”
I mull over the question. Alienated friends, restricted outings, complete control of our credit cards, cell accounts, purchases, and everything else. The decision to leave school. The subtle hints at social events, letting me know when it was fine to talk, and when it wasn’t, and what exactly I could say.
“Yes,” I say simply. There’s so much to add, but I’m already at my wit’s end.
He clears his throat again. “Uh… Did you two have a healthy sexual relationship?” he asks. “Was he controlling in the bedroom as well?”
I think about the handcuffs, the scarves, the lingerie and heels, purchased by him, always selected by him. “Uh…” I say, really not wanting to tell this man about my sex life. I’m not sure what sex has to do with anything. My mouth is suddenly dry and my pulse races; not quite a full-on sprint, but more of a jog. “He’s a bit of a dominant,” I confess.
“How do you feel about that?”
Oh my… I don’t want to admit that I liked it. I loved his passion, his intense desire for me. He made me feel so sexy, aroused me so much. I loved that our love life always held surprises. I don’t want to admit that I still think about it all the time, that I miss him. The truth is, if he were to find me right now and press his mouth against my neck, I’d fall back into his arms. I’d want to be loved by him again. I don’t want to admit to Flynn that I desperately miss the sex. I suck in a deep breath. “We were in sync in the bedroom. We had a good sex life.”
He clears his throat again and scribbles in that damn notebook again. I’m really starting to hate that notebook. What the hell is he writing now? Submissive. Likes to be dominated. Likes to be tied up.
He lifts his gaze to mine again, all business. “Before your husband, were you ever physically, verbally or sexually abused?”
I don’t want to tell him the whole truth. I can’t…
“No,” I tell him. “My father was a nice man… he died of prostate cancer when I was fourteen,” I explain. “And my mother….”
“What about your mother?” he presses.
“My mom was okay… she was a bit distant.” I decide to tell the truth, the whole truth. He can’t help me if I’m not completely honest with him. “She was a drunk. She was a mean drunk.”
“Did she hit you?”
I think back to my youth. I was fifteen, the first time she hit me. After my father’s death, life was hard on her and she took it out on me. I couldn’t wait to get away from her. “Just a slap or two… she often barked at me… she was also verbally abusive. But only when she was drunk,” I’m quick to clarify. “She was always sorry after…”
He writes another note in his book. He looks up at me and for a brief second I see pity in his eyes. I had anticipated this emotion. He might be a licensed therapist, but he’s only human after all.
This goes on for an hour. As I spill all my secrets, I feel slightly sick to my stomach. This man now knows me better than anyone else on the planet. And I barely know him. Almost as if he can sense my apprehension, he finally allows me some reprieve.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I have enough for now. We should get up and stretch our legs.” He stands to his feet and I follow suit. We walk around his office and he tells me all about his horse figurines.
I don’t dare touch as I take in the amazing details. Most of them are displayed on sturdy cherry wood platforms, some with golden plaques. Each one so different than the next. He tells me they are gifts from friends and family.
“Thank you,” I say as I stand by the doorway, ready to leave, my large bag hanging over my shoulder; I’ve got a pair of rain boots in there because I’m planning to go check out the horses again. Just as I turn to leave, it happens…
As I swivel toward the door, my oversized bag accidently hits one of his figurines – the one sitting on a lone round pedestal table nearby, one of his special ones; a gift from his late father.
It falls to the wood floor and shatters.
Flynn
I know she’s broken.
I’ve been prodding her for an hour, filling my session book with notes. I’ve absorbed every word, every story, everything she’s been through – the abuse she’s suffered for years.
But still, I don’t quite see just how broken she is until my horse falls to the ground, the one my father got me for my sixteenth birthday. A quick flash of anger runs through me initially – it’s one of my most prized possessions. But I’m quick to recover.
I don’t care about the horse. I care about her.
She cowers to the floor, her body curled in an almost fetal-like position. Her hands reach for the broken pieces. Her fingers her trembling. Her voice cracks when she whispers, “I-I’m s-sorry…”
Terror. She’s scared of me. I’ve only seen that expression once.
In Liberty’s eyes, years ago. Liberty is one of the horses we got from the rescue centre – she’d been abused by her previous owners. I’ll never forget it. It was so heartbreaking – a gaze filled with terror, apprehension, the unknown, a silent plea for redemption.
For a split second, Jade thinks I will hurt her.
When I reach for her shoulder, she jerks back – an automatic reflex. Unfortunately, I have no words right at that moment. There’s only one question on my mind.
What the hell did he
do to you?
“It’s okay, Jade,” I say softly. “It’s just a horse statue.” I pick one of the pieces; a leg. “Looks like two clean breaks.” It could have been worse – only two legs broken off, easily fixed. I shoot her a grin, and her gaze softens. “It’s called Krazy Glue,” I tease. “Have you ever heard of it? It works like magic. This horse will be as good as new in no time.”
A whisper of a smile traces her lips and it’s all I need. She’s beautiful in that moment. I’ve tried to look beyond her beauty because she’s one of my patients now, but she truly is perfect.
“It’s not the first time this has happened,” I tell her. “My nephew Trevor broke two of my horses. And we fixed them up, and you can’t even tell.”
She hands me the other leg, unsure.
I gather the pieces and put them on my desk. “Really, don’t worry about it,” I press.
She nods to the floor.
“I’ll see you at the barn tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp,” I say. “Don’t forget to wear comfortable clothing, your rubber boots and your hair up.”
She nods again, and shoots me a little smile before she leaves.
I certainly have got my work cut out for me. I was right – this case won’t be like the others.
Jade
My heart beats a mile a minute as I trudge drown the path to the barn. I’d rather be in bed reading a book, or at a yoga class – anywhere but here. But it is a beautiful day and I’ve dressed the part; dark leggings, a loose plaid shirt and my stylish rain boots; the polka-dot ones with the decorative laces. I pull at my ponytail, a slight tug at my head – it feels strange. I never usually wear my hair up.
My hair is my best feature and I like to show it off. I’m not one of those tall gorgeous skinny blondes who looks fabulous getting out of bed. I’m short, brunette and could probably lose a pound or two. I’ve struggled these past years to maintain my weight, to be perfect for Michael. Now I feel like I can finally let go and be myself. My favourite jeans are already feeling a bit snug and I couldn’t care less. I’m tired of trying to be something I’m not.
As soon as I step in the barn, he glances up at me, a wide grin tracing his lips. As I slowly make my way to him, he studies me, the playful grin still plastered to his face. “Wow, you even manage to make rain boots look fashionable.”
I laugh. “You like?”
He stares down at my quirky red polka-dot rain boots. “Very cute,” he says with a smirk. “They’ll do the trick.”
He’s wearing his red bandana again, and a tight-fitting plaid shirt – the man looks mighty fine. The both of us make quite the pair.
He’s brushing a small fat horse. The pony eyes me with curiosity, seemingly not too bothered by my presence. There’s a young woman to our right grooming her horse; a huge beast. Tall and black, he’s the one who reminds me of Black Beauty. I’m glad to be working with the little guy.
“Good choice,” I tell Flynn. “I don’t know if I could handle a big guy like that one,” I say, pointing at Black Beauty.
“That’s Chester,” he says. “He’s quite the horse. I’m starting you with Buddy. He’s a Welsh pony. He’s kind of lazy but very sweet.”
I laugh as he hands me a brush.
“You brush his other side,” he says. “Start on his rump.”
I stand frozen to the ground.
He smiles wide. “You will need to get closer if you want to brush him, Jade,” he teases.
Just the sound of my name on his lips makes my insides melt a little. He has a beautiful voice; soothing and soft. There’s such a dichotomy about him – he’s quite a big man, but has such a soft-spoken voice. It takes you by surprise.
As unintimidating as Buddy is, I jerk a little as he shakes his head just as I approach him. He seems a little unsettled. My heart bounces against my rib cage as I press the brush against him. I’m not sure why I’m so on edge. “I don’t think he likes me.”
Flynn smiles. “He probably doesn’t,” he says. “You need to take it down a notch. Horses don’t like uptight people. You need to relax. He can sense that you’re nervous around him and that unsettles him a bit,” he explains. “He’s a good boy. He’s pretty calm. Nothing to worry about,” he reassures me.
I try to take his advice and relax a little. I let out a long soft breath as I brush Buddy, but I seethe a little. I know this is how he sees me – little uptight city girl. But I’m really not like that. Well, I didn’t use to be, anyway. Michael has made me that way – I’m a princess now. I’ve almost forgotten the girl who used to be covered in mud because she played with pigs all day. “I’m just… I’ve never really been around horses, that’s all,” I explain. “But I love animals.”
He grins. He keeps brushing Buddy, not looking at me as we both stand on either side of the lazy pony. “Touch his mane, dig your fingers in there,” he urges. “Get to know him.”
I hesitate for a second or two but I want to be a good student. I venture a feel, my fingers cautious. His mane feels rougher to the touch than I would have imagined, but it takes me back to my childhood for some reason, to when my life wasn’t so picture-perfect.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask him, curious.
He looks up at me and his gaze seems to get lost in mine for a second. “I grew up on this farm, so I’ve been doing this forever,” he says, “but I’ve also spent quite a few years away studying. I’ve lived in both Toronto and Montreal.
I wonder about his life then. Was he a party boy? Did he have a lot of girlfriends? I bet he did. “Who knew you were such a city boy?” I tease, and then I quickly catch myself, but the words have slipped out. I was just making an observation but my words came out kind of flirty, a little too playful.
He smiles down at Buddy. “Not much of a city boy I’m afraid… I much prefer the country.”
“Me too…” I say.
He shoots a look up at me, seemingly surprised. “Really?!”
“Well, I grew up in the country,” I explain. “We had a little farm. Some pigs and some chickens. Lots of cats and dogs running around. But no horses…”
“Good then,” he says. “This must take you back.”
“It does,” I tell him. “I’m not afraid to get dirty,” I add with a grin.
We fall into silence again and every now and then I steal a look at him and take in every detail of him; gorgeous skin, long lashes, beautiful lips.
Hottest. Doctor. Ever.
Flynn
Damn, that girl is cute.
She shows up looking like she’s just been playing dress-up with her best friend. Her ponytail bounces with every step and she’s wearing the most ridiculous boots. I thought she was beautiful with her hair down but with it up, she’s just intolerably adorable.
The man in me wants to play, just for a second. The professional in me tells the man to settle down. I’ve told myself this wouldn’t be a problem but every time I see her, I doubt myself a little more. I’ve never been in this situation before. Sure, I’ve had an attractive client or two but I’ve always been able to draw a clear line. Honestly, I have no clue what’s come over me.
I start her off with basic bonding exercises; grooming, and interacting with the animal, earning trust. But Jade is wound so tight, Buddy can sense it. I feel him a bit unsettled but with her soft voice, quiet way and small stature, Jade is not too intimidating. Yet, the animal can still sense that she’s not comfortable around him. This will come in time.
Patience is key.
Following the grooming, I ask her to talk to the horse. She looks at me like I have three heads. She smiles, not quite knowing what to say.
“Tell him your name,” I suggest, “tell him about yourself,” I add, anticipating her words. I’m sure Buddy couldn’t care less, but I do. I want to know more about her. Not the big hard stuff I already know. I want to know the little stuff.
She starts off, shy. “Hi Buddy. My name is Jade,” she says, and then looks at me for approval.
I nod. “Touch him as you speak to him.”
She brings a hand to Buddy’s mane, cautious. “I’m twenty-nine years old,” she tells him. “I like animals… especially cats.”
I smile. I want to tell her I have five cats but I remain quiet.
“I like polka-dots,” she goes on. “Look at my boots.”
I hope she doesn’t expect Buddy to check out her footwear. She turns and smirks at me.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
For a moment I forget the fact that I’m her therapist. For a brief second, she’s just a woman, and I’m just a man. I jerk my gaze away.
“I hear you’re on a diet,” she says to Buddy. “Me too. I’m always on a diet. I used to be chubby as a kid. I love food… cupcakes especially. Now I try to not eat so much. I wish I could lose a few pounds but I love cupcakes too much. So I know how you feel, Buddy.”
Her words break my heart. She looks perfect to me. She’d still be beautiful with a few extra pounds too. It seems she’s fallen into the self-imposed agony of body fixation and weight obsession. I’ve treated a few women with eating disorders and it breaks my heart every time. Jade, like the others, needs to learn how amazing and powerful she is, no matter her waist size. She needs to shift the focus from her body to her mind. Unfortunately, that’s a lot easier said than done.
She runs her fingers lightly through Buddy’s mane. “My favourite colour is green, and I’m a Virgo. They say Virgos are creative. I’m not super creative but I like to make jewelry… I suppose that’s creative. My auntie Ruthie taught me.”
I see her slowly relax as she bonds with Buddy. I see the two of them easing into each other, forming a bond. She’s doing extremely well – her love of animals is speeding the process, I’m sure. At this rate, I know it won’t be long until we’re doing trust and obstacle exercises.
She gives Buddy a treat; a bruised MacIntosh. If he didn’t like her before, he sure will now. A quick moment of true happiness is reflected in her face as Buddy takes the cut-up apple from her hands. It’s beautiful to see because all I’ve observed so far is a broken woman. The therapy is already working wonders and we’ve barely started.
