Chapter 18

18

SLOAN

T he soft whirl of the overhead fan is the only sound in Dr. Grayback's office. She's sitting across from me, elegantly casual in her black cigarette pants and royal blue sleeveless blouse. Her silvered hair is pulled back in a French twist, her face framed by a single lock floating down to her jaw. I know she's watching me, one leg crossed over the other and a plain white mug of tea cradled in her hands.

After encountering Paul, Bones decided to call off the assignment in Tyler. I barely remember him taking us back to our hotel room and packing our things. Vague memories of him arguing with someone on the phone while I sat, useless, at the end of the bed. I let him take over completely; going where he guided me, eating what he put in front of me, wearing the jacket he told me to, just . . . everything.

It's like I've been catapulted back in time. Back to when Father Xavius had told me Paul had moved to another compound after months of him distancing himself. My heart, already aching from what I witnessed and forced to participate in as a Light Justiciar, had finally broken apart like a too-cracked window. I'd been abandoned by the man I believed to be the love of my life, whom I believed loved me just as much in return; left all alone in the place that was slowly becoming my own personal hell.

"I remember the night he's talking about," I croak out, my mouth unexpectedly dry. I can't bring myself to look at Dr. Grayback; or anyone. I've reverted to what she tells me are survival adaptations and I don't know how to break out of them right now. I'm grateful that Bones got me in to see her the very next morning after our return, even if I can't yet bring myself to say that to him.

She doesn't say anything giving me the space and acceptance to take all the time I need. I stare at where the cream colored carpet meets the pale espresso painted walls below the picture window.

"I was in my dorm room and he knocked on the door, telling me he needed to speak to me." I'm reciting the memory like it's happened to someone else. It's easier that way. "I'd just seen him earlier that day, talking with another woman. When I'd said hello to him, he ignored me. Worse, actually. He looked at me like I was nothing and then put his arm around the other woman's back and left. So I refused to open the door."

"You were hurt."

I take a deep breath, looking down at my legs where I start to worry at a loose thread along a seam of my leggings. I know my decision to wear the most simple clothing I have is connected to this dissociation.

"I think I was angry," I admit quietly. "He told me he loved me. I left everything for him. I was starting to learn what actually went on at the place he'd brought me. Then he just walked away like I was nothing."

"You can be angry and hurt," Dr. Grayback reminds me gently.

I nod, more out of acknowledgement than agreement, still twisting and moving the loose black thread. "I think I was hurt later, but when he knocked on my door and demanded I let him in, I wanted him to feel what it was like to be completely ignored as if he didn't exist." I remind myself to breathe. "And then, hearing him yesterday just. . . "

"Triggered you."

"Yeah." I brave bringing my gaze up to hers. I appreciate how there's no pity there. I wouldn't know what to do with it right now. "Now I keep thinking: what if I'd opened that door? What if he did still love me? What if he thought I'd hurt him first so that's why he ignored me? What if I'd gone with him? Would Father Xavius have let me leave? Logically, knowing what I do now, I don't think so. But it's hard to not wonder if I screwed myself by being angry."

She tilts her chin in understanding. "What if's can be dangerous when we let them control us. It's completely natural though. Since you've been triggered, has anything pulled you out of this compulsive thinking?"

I hesitate and she must realize I'm holding something back, since she tilts her head. I chew my lower lip, not sure if I can bring myself to admit that the only time I was able to stop thinking was when Bones held me and kissed my lips so gently. She changes direction, giving me a pass for now but I know she'll come back to it. Even before Paul's re-appearance, I'd wanted to talk to her about relationships. Now, I can't avoid the topic.

"Have you considered Paul might have been lying?"

The gray shield around me grows thin and brittle at her unexpected question; as if it's struggling to exist as Dr. Grayback rocks the base of my reality. I clear my throat and reach for the chamomile tea that has been sitting untouched since the beginning of the emergency appointment. "What do you mean?" I feel stupid for asking. I hide behind the tea, taking a swallow of the lukewarm beverage.

Dr. Grayback sets her tea on the small chair table beside her, uncrossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "It's natural to assume Paul is telling you the truth. He was your first abuser, Sloan. He groomed you when you were a teenager and took you away from your support system. He's trained you to believe everything he says. But I want you to take some time and consider that he might be lying."

My forehead furrows as I struggle to do as she asks. The cognitive dissonance takes my mind in a siege. Butterflies are committing violence in my gut as every other thought screams in denial of her suggestion. I want to move, to run, to refuse to consider that Paul would do this. I can't move though, my skin is frozen and I exhale shakily. Slamming my eyes shut, I focus on my breathing and grounding myself in the present with her. When I can open my eyes again, I start cataloging things in the room to pull me back from edge of a panic attack.

I physically feel my heart aching at the thought of Paul lying to me, so I latch on to a different--safe--thought.

"Bones didn't trust him." Talking about his reaction slowly thaws my muscles. "He got me out of there as fast as he could. Then he brought us home." My voice was stronger, more confident. "I--I think Bones thinks he was lying."

Dr. Grayback holds my gaze. "Do you think he could be lying?"

I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess. I just don't know why he would."

She watches me, her patience evergreen and bottomless. I force myself to turn her words over in my head, breathing hard through the instinct to deny it. I blink rapidly, eyes darting to hers. "To draw me back to him?"

"Your abuser may have seen a chance to insert him back into your life. It may not have been intentional, but rather than considering all the what-if's believing him, I think you should consider what if he was lying?"

The gray apathy doesn't fully disappear around me but it's like the world is a little bit brighter, a little bit easier to endure.

"This isn't something that's answered in a day, Sloan," Dr. Grayback says softly as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and threading her fingers together. "What you're experiencing is completely natural and you're not alone in dealing with things like this. It'll take time and practice. Realistically, it'll take years until you overcome the smallest of the traumas you've survived. One thing you can do is find what helped paused that what-if spiral and consider if it's something you can safely regularly use."

Her gaze is gentle and supportive and I could be adding an implied question to her words, but my thoughts go to Bones. I look out the window, the blinds open to the small landscaped yard in front of her office building. I purse my lips, debating on how to phrase my question. Long moments pass and she relaxes back in her chair, taking up her tea again.

I take a few more drinks of my own herbal drink, needing to wet my perpetually parched mouth. Then, looking at the chair over her shoulder, I gather my courage. "When--what. . ." I take a breath and try again. "What if I think I'm falling in love with someone? What if they're what helps keep me grounded and helps me pull out of these spirals?"

Dr. Grayback studies me carefully and I wring my hands in my lap, waiting for her to tell me how stupid I am. Not just to jump into a sexual relationship so soon but also for being with a demon. What if she tells me I'm only attracted to Bones because he's what the Light Justicars were against?

She takes so long that I'm on the verge of pulling back the question, regretting I ever asked it. Then she lets out a long, measured breath.

"The degree of success in having a healthy, mutually reciprocal relationship is directly related to how much individual work the trauma survivor has done. A therapist's perfect scenario would be to say that a trauma survivor should not enter in a relationship until they take the time, years if necessary, to heal to a certain level. At the minimum, the trauma survivor needs to have done the work to overcome their triggers." She crosses a leg over the other knee, her hands resting lightly on the armrests.

"Without doing the work so that they can be present and whole and ready for a relationship will naturally result in replaying the roles of the trauma. It's why it's common for trauma survivors to wind up in unhealthy relationships over and over. Even if the partner has the best intentions and is completely supportive, those who pair up with an unhealed survivor actually eventually adopts the persona of an abuser."

Sorrow and disappointment weighs down my shoulders and I curl into myself. The idea of having to pull away from Bones for my own sake is--it's a worse reaction than considering that Paul may be lying. There's one minuscule ember of hope still glowing valiantly against the growing darkness in me. I can't look at her as I ask it, knowing her answer may devastate me.

"What if you're mates?" I whisper, barely audible.

She doesn't reply, the feel of the room turning to something different. Like I've walked up to a precipice and something vital has the chance to change my entire universe. I drag my eyes up, cradling that tiny ember of hope in my palms.

Dr. Grayback's eyes are conflicted, but her expression isn't enough to snuff the hope inside me. If anything, it flairs a little brighter.

"If," she starts, her words cautionary, " if the trauma survivor finds their fated mate close to ground zero, they can have a healthy successful relationship only-- " she strongly emphasizes the word-- "if they actively are aware of potential hurdles, actively prevent them, and work together and individually to help the trauma survivor heal as a completely separate person than their mate. Fated mates don't guarantee healthy relationships. All relationships are hard work. Having a mate is only a slight, but realistic, advantage to have a successful relationship."

That small ember grows with every word of hers, despite the gravity of her warning. It grows until it's a small flame, nothing larger than a candle flame. But it's there and no longer on the verge of being extinguished.