by Claire Raye
“I have a therapist appointment, so I’m gonna drop you off and head over there,” I now say and Charlie reaches over, putting a comforting hand in acknowledgment on my shoulder. She hasn’t asked me about therapy. Maybe it feels too intrusive for her. Or maybe she remembers all her therapy sessions too well. She hated the prying her mother always did when she would come back from one. Her mother was desperate to know what she said, but Charlie is and always has been one to keep to herself. She hates to think that anyone, even her mother, would take pity on her.
Charlie is waving at me through the window as I drop her off outside our apartment. She’s hard to read today and maybe that’s because my head is clouded with Adam leaving, but I swear she seems sad. A flash of confusion crosses her face as I watch her walk away. She’s struggling too.
As I drive over to Liz’s office, I tell myself not to break down this time, not to just start crying straight off the bat even if I am already on the verge. I need to be able to talk with her, to talk through all of this without sobbing. It feels like I’m going to get nowhere if all I do is cry.
It’s strange because it’s not like we have an agenda to get through or notes on what we will discuss, but I still feel like I should only be talking about the rape. Today I want to talk about Adam. I want to talk about Adam leaving.
Liz greets me in the small waiting area, a smile on her face and again she’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, something that I’m still getting used to. I have no idea why I expect her to be more formal, but it’s honestly better this way. I feel comfortable almost instantly and that’s probably why she does it.
“Hey, Mila,” she says, her voice soothing. “How are things going today?” She holds the door to her office open and I walk in, taking a seat on the couch once again.
“My boyfriend left to go back to Australia to take care of the estate of his dead fiancée,” I announce, the words falling from my lips in a rush that is far too easy and far too much. I really need to get better about this whole blurting thing. At least I’m not crying.
“Okay, that’s a pretty big deal. How are you feeling about it?” Liz asks, a quietness to her question, the words playing out in my head.
“I’m worried he won’t come back. I’m scared I’m going to be alone again after finally feeling safe with a man,” I admit. I say all the things that have plagued my thoughts since he left. It’s everything I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud to Charlie or Ruby or even Adam.
“Those are all valid concerns,” she agrees, her head moving slightly up and down. “Can we talk about what will happen if any of these things do occur?”
“I guess,” I reply, not really sure you can say no to your therapist’s request for a conversation. That’s the whole reason I’m here.
“If he doesn’t return, how will you feel?”
“Sad, angry, devastated, broken, lost…” I stop listing as Liz’s face looks over mine.
“Again, all valid, but you’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”
“Who else would I blame?” I ask and she laughs a little, but not in a condescending way, not in a way that makes me feel bad.
“Most people make their decisions based on what is right for them and disregard any outside factors, including other people involved. There’s a selfishness that thrives in people, and only a small percentage is able to lead themselves to choices rooted in empathy.” She looks over at me, her eyebrows going up a little. “Learn to remove yourself and understand that you are more than likely not at the core of their decision. It’s like your rape. You want to blame yourself because you need a reason it happened. There is no reason that lives within you.”
“I thought we were talking about Adam leaving?” I respond, my forehead creased as Liz chuckles again. I smile at her, not because anything about this is funny or even fun, but because she’s leading me to see myself differently through this simple discussion.
“We’re talking about you blaming yourself for things that you have no control over. That’s what this is really about. We all want to be in control. A lack of control makes us feel helpless, especially when it comes to our own bodies. Your abortion was a way of controlling what happened to you. The guy who did this to you took your control and he took your self-worth and now you’re left trying to figure out how to regain that.”
“I guess I never looked at it that way,” I say, sounding naïve and immature.
“It’s kind of my job to analyze people,” Liz jokes and now it’s me chuckling.
“This isn’t really about Adam leaving then, huh?” I ask Liz and she smiles.
“You’re catching on quickly.”
“What do I do?” I ask, realizing I sound like I’m looking for an easy fix, for her to just tell me what to do and suddenly I’ll be fine.
“Let’s start with focusing on the things you can control, because right now, you’re solely focused on what you can’t and the outcome of that. What can you control?”
Liz puts me on the spot, and I begin to chew on my lip. Again, I was hoping she was just going to crank out a list for me and I was going to do it.
“I’m not going to fix you, Mila,” she says, that comforting smile on her face. “That’s your job. Think of this like school. The professor doesn’t give you the answers to the test. You find them in a book, you memorize them, you study them, and you practice, and after weeks or months or even years, you find it’s become rote.”
“The people I bring into my life,” I say, almost out of nowhere and Liz jots that down on her notepad.
“Yep.”
“To make decisions based on what I know and not on assumptions.”
“You’re moving along here,” Liz says, again noting what I’ve told her.
“To understand my trauma and use it to find the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Wow, for someone who walked in here wanting me to fix her, you’ve done a solid job of creating a list of things you can control. Let’s start with these three things. I want you to start each day really focusing on them. It’s not just going to happen. Again, this will take effort on your part.”
I take in a deep breath. I’ve always known this would take work, but I guess I thought if I was selfish enough, it would fix itself. Turns out I was selfish in a way that was only damaging to me and to everyone else around me.
I walk out of Liz’s office feeling confident, but also worried that I won’t be able to view myself in anything but a negative light. And maybe the negative space is where I’ll need to live before I can find my way out.
“Things I can control,” I whisper to myself as I sit down and start the car, realizing this is the start of what I hope is a way out.
I pull my phone from my purse and send a text to Madison, and even though this was not something Liz and I discussed, it feels like something I can control.
Me: when’s the survivors group?
Madison: Tuesday and Thursday nights. I’ll go with you. Just let me know when you want to go.
Me: Will do. I’m going to file charges against him.
Things I can control.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adam
It’s been three days since I got back to Australia and so far, I’ve done absolutely fuck all about sorting things out with Rachel’s parents. Up until tonight, I haven’t even left my parents’ house, spending most of the first day sleeping and the next two days catching up with them.
They have been far more understanding about everything I’ve done than I expected them to be. Of course, this has only made me feel even more guilty about the past year, especially knowing now that they looked after everything when I just up and disappeared, leaving nothing more than a note on their kitchen table.
The mortgage on the house Rachel and I had bought just before she died was still being paid off and it was also being looked after even though no one was living there. I don’t know what I expected would happen when I left, I hadn�
��t really cared at the time, but it sure as hell hadn’t been that. I guess I figured someone would sort it out, maybe sell it or something, but that’s not what has happened.
And to top things off, when I told them I’d pay them back for everything, they waved it off, insisting I didn’t need to.
They know about Mila too. Apparently, Josh had told them all about her and us after we’d done the whole intro thing on FaceTime. Mum had asked me a million questions about her, wanting to know everything about how we met, what she did and if things were serious between us.
I’m not sure what I’d expected with that either, but again, they seem cool about it, happy that I’ve met someone, that I’m happy now, even if Mum did ask me about whether that meant I’m going back to the US. I didn’t miss the look on her face when I told her that yes, my plan is to go back.
Even if I kept the as soon as possible part of my answer to myself.
“Do you need a lift out?” Dad asks as I walk into the kitchen, slipping my phone into my pocket after having just left Mila a message.
In the three days I’ve been back, I feel shit about everything, but nothing comes close to how shit I feel about leaving her or how much I miss her right now. I hate being this far away from her and not knowing what’s going on or how she’s feeling. We’ve barely spoken since I got back too, just a couple of texts and one quick phone call soon after I arrived.
I want to speak to her properly, fuck I want to be with her, but here I am, about to go out with some friends. Catch up with my best mates from childhood for a night of drinking and whatever, as though I’m here to have fun, not to sort out my former life so I can get back to my current one.
“Yeah sure,” I tell my dad. “That’d be great, thanks.”
He nods once as he grabs his car keys and we both head outside to the car. It feels weird to have him drop me off, like I’m eighteen again and getting a lift out to go get drunk with my friends because I can’t afford the taxi.
“So, how’s it feel to be back?” he asks, as we turn off our street.
I shrug. “Dunno, weird.”
“I’ll bet,” he says, almost to himself. “You thought anymore about what you’re going to do?”
I glance over at him, trying to gauge exactly what he’s asking me with that question. “No, not really,” I admit. “Why do you ask?”
He looks over at me quickly before turning back to the road. “You’re planning on going back to the States, right?” he asks. “Guess I just wondered what the long-term plan was with that, that’s all.”
I exhale, hating that my life has come to this, a series of explanations that never seem to make anyone happy. “Honestly, Dad,” I start, “I have no fucking clue what my long-term plans are. But yeah, I do want to go back there. I have to.”
Dad smiles. “Must be a pretty special girl?” he says, surprising me.
I relax into my seat a little. “She is, yeah.” The car falls silent as Dad makes his way toward the highway, almost as though he’s giving me the space to talk. “Does it bother you that I’m going back?” I eventually ask.
“Well, I mean sure,” he says, glancing over. “It’s a long way away and we all miss you, but we get it too.”
“Do you?”
He stops at a red light, turning to look at me now. “Yeah, Adam,” he says. “We really do. You were dealt a shitty hand in life and it kills me that my kid had to go through that. We’ve only ever wanted you to be happy. I hope you know that.”
The light turns green, and he continues on, leaving the conversation to hang there between us, daring me to say more, to explain myself to him.
“I love her,” I eventually blurt out, not missing the quick look he gives me. “I mean obviously I loved… But, Mila, she’s…she’s fucking amazing, Dad and she makes me feel…well she makes me feel everything again, when I never thought I would.”
I trail off, a little embarrassed at how much I’ve just spilled my guts. But when I look over at Dad, he’s got a smile on his face and as he pulls to a stop outside the pub I’m meeting the boys at, he glances over and just says, “Have a good night.”
As weird as it is being home again, it’s pretty sweet catching up with my mates again, guys I haven’t seen since I lived here, since the engagement party and the funeral, I guess. And even though it’s awkward at first, as I mumble my way through apologies that barely cover the fact I’ve essentially ignored them for the past twelve months, after a couple of beers, it’s like no time has passed at all.
“So word on the street is you’ve shacked up with someone over there?” James, my oldest friend asks, as he throws an arm around my shoulder.
I shake my head, a relaxed smile on my face because of course my brother opened his big mouth to everyone as soon as he found out about Mila. “Kinda, yeah.”
“That’s great, man,” James says. “You deserve it,” he adds as Chris wanders over with a couple of girls in tow.
He makes the introductions just as my phone starts to ring and when I slide it out of my pocket and see Mila’s name on the screen, I tell the guys I need to take this before making my way toward the outdoor area.
“Hey, baby,” I say, so fucking excited to finally hear from her.
“Hey,” she replies, a slight delay over the line. “What are you up to?”
I glance back at the bar, see all of my friends laughing and drinking together, a couple of them waving at me to come back inside. The whole situation feels like a test, like I can’t possibly have too much fun with them when the one person I really want to be with is a million miles away.
But at the same time, I’ve really fucking missed hanging out with these guys. Missed the history and the easy friendship we share that doesn’t seem to have been affected by me disappearing like I did.
“I’m just catching up with some friends,” I say as a loud cheer erupts. “What are you up to?”
The line breaks up a little as Mila answers and I miss whatever it is she says, before she adds, “Sounds like you’re having fun though.”
As soon as she says it, I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt. I’m not here to have fun, I’m supposed to be here to sort out my fucking life.
“Mila, I—”
“It’s okay, Adam,” she says, cutting me off. “I get it.”
I’m shaking my head, even though I know she can’t see me. “No, I’m just…I just…fuck,” I say, exhaling as I scrub a hand down my face. “I miss you.”
The line goes quiet, and I walk further away from the door in case the noise of the bar is somehow stopping me from hearing her.
“Mila?”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh.
“Are you okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling a lot more sober than I was two seconds ago.
“Yeah, I just…I miss you too.”
My eyes close as a feeling of relief washes over me. “I’m going over to see Rachel’s parents tomorrow,” I tell her. “I’m hoping I can sort this out soon and book my flight back. I really miss you, baby.”
“I know,” she replies. “Take your time, do whatever you have to do, okay. Hang around and catch up with your friends,” she adds. “I’m sure they all want to see you.”
Now it’s me exhaling, worried that she’s still thinking I’m not coming back. “It’s just tonight,” I tell her, taking a seat on the low wall around the outdoor area. “Just tonight and then I’m sorting things tomorrow, I promise.”
“It’s okay, Adam.”
I suck in a deep breath, needing to change the subject because the last thing I want to do is get into a fight over the phone. “How are you doing, is everything okay with school and stuff?” I ask now. It’s a loaded question though, because we both know the stuff at the end includes so many things. Things we haven’t even begun to talk about even though my mind has been turning over all the possibilities as to what’s happened in Mila’s past. It was a huge part of what I thought about on my flig
ht home and when I finally started piecing things together, it all took me to one very dark place that honestly scared the fucking shit out of me.
I don’t want to go there, but unfortunately my gut tells me that’s exactly what happened to her and it makes me feel a million times worse for being all the way over here. Because even though she’s seeing a therapist, and even though I have no idea how or what I can do to help make this better for her, I do know that being apart like this is not a good thing.
“Yeah, things are okay,” she says, bringing me back to the present. “I kinda think Charlie might be missing your brother though.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s missing her too.”
“It’s a shame he lives so far away,” she says, just as I see James walk outside with a beer, which he holds out to me.
I mouth a thanks as I take it, standing now. “Yeah, I know,” I reply. “Maybe I can convince him to come back too?”
“Maybe,” she murmurs. “Anyway, I should go, I need to get to class.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she replies. “I hope everything goes well with Rachel’s family.”
“It will be fine,” I lie. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” she replies.
The next day, I wake up with a hangover, having stumbled in sometime around three in the morning. After I hung up with Mila, I went back into the bar and proceeded to get shit-face drunk in an attempt not to think about all the things she was thinking or going through and all the crap I couldn’t control or fix.
Now I was regretting it, because in addition to feeling like complete shit, I was going to have to face Rachel’s parents hungover and probably reeking of alcohol.
“Good night?” Dad asks with a laugh as I wander into the kitchen.
“Mmm,” I mumble, moving to the coffee machine.
I feel a hand on my back as he stands beside me. “You want some food?” he asks, pushing me back toward the kitchen table as he takes over making my coffee.
