Page 137 of The Moment You Know

“More like tangerines to oranges.”

He just looked at her.

She looked right back. “It’s okay to admit I’m right.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re right.”

Settling back on the loveseat, she angled herself so she could look at him as she continued with her story. “So, after about a year of individual therapy, I was introduced to group therapy. At first, I was really reluctant, partly because it doubled my weekly therapy sessions, but mostly because it seemed like a bunch of crap,” she said, making him choke out a laugh.

“The point of group therapy is to share your story of abuse with others in a setting of love and to receive support, empathy, and understanding. And of course, to listen to other women’s stories and give them support, empathy, and understanding in return.

“Some of the stories were brutal, often involving multiple abusers. One woman had actually experienced abuse at the hands of her grandfather, father, and brother—sometimes separately, but sometimes all at once. It sounded like something out of a horror movie and while she was telling us, her voice was flat and emotionless, her eyes dead. When she was finished, the only dry eyes in the room were hers.

“I cried the entire the way home, because I knew her recovery was very questionable. The damage that had been inflicted on her was severe, and likely permanent.”

All three tacos gone, David grabbed his glass of beer and leaned back on the loveseat, angling himself like Paige.

“After hearing a few stories like that one, I actually started to think I had lucked out, because I’d only been abused by one person. Plus, I didn’t remember nearly as much as some of the other women, so I figured it wasn’t ‘that bad’. I never expected I would try to minimize my own abuse and it took me a while to quit doing that, because really, what I wasn’t remembering might have been … ‘that bad’.”

David didn’t like the sound of that.

“At that point, not knowing actually became a big source of anxiety for me. I was worried about what I didn’t know, but more importantly, I was worried about how much I was going to find out. It wasn’t until Lauren assured me I would probably only remember ten percent of what had actually happened to me, that I calmed down. She told me to think of the sum total of my abuse like an iceberg—I’d only ever see the tip and the rest would stay hidden below the surface. She said the subconscious was an amazing thing. It would reveal only enough bread crumbs to let me understand certain aspects of my abuse so I could deal with it, but not be crippled by too much information. Or … repeated information.”

“What do you mean?”

Paige paused for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “I wasn’t going to remember multiple instances of the same abuse.”

“Oh,” he said, thinking that had to be a huge blessing. “How many flashbacks have you had?”

“About a dozen. The last one I had was about a year and a half ago and it was actually in a dream, which was weird. It was also full of emotion, unlike the previous ones that had been focused solely on Carter’s actions and not my reactions. In this flashback, I was in the pitch dark and he was behind me, breathing on my neck, with one hand squeezing my breast and the other one shoved between my legs. I wanted to scream, but I had no voice. And I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t.

“When I woke up, I was literally clawing my way out of bed, panting and shaking,” she said quietly and he could tell she was remembering it. “That one was the worst, because it was mental. Full of overwhelming rage, hatred, helplessness, and fear. It was … overwhelming.”

“Will you have flashbacks for the rest of your life?” he asked. He knew they served a purpose and were part of the healing process, but to keep having them make appearances seemed like a whole lot of hell.

“No. I think that last one was my last one. I hope so, anyway.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath and as he released it, murmured, “I’m so fucking glad he’s dead.”

“Me, too. And not just for the obvious reasons.”

“What other reasons are there?”

“Well, a lot of victims of abuse have to deal with their abuser being alive for years and years, but Carter made things easier for me by taking his own life. I’ll never accidentally run into him at the grocery story, or at the movies, or … anywhere … and not having to worry about that ever again is a relief. Not that I worried about it a lot before, but you know, it was something that took up space in my head.”

David hadn’t thought of that. Not ever running into that cocksucker again was the cherry on top of his suicide sundae. “That must be a big relief.”

She looked contemplative for a moment before nodding. “It is. But the biggest relief is that he no longer owns large chunks of my life—chunks I don’t even remember. That was something I really struggled with, having someone out there who had sexually perverted memories of me. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable, especially since I only remembered ten percent of what happened, while he remembered one hundred percent. He had it all and for all I knew, used it to get himself off on a daily basis.”

David hadn’t thought of that, either. Thankfully.

“So, anyway,” Paige continued, adopting a lighter tone, “a few months into my group therapy, there was a bit of a shift in my ongoing individual therapy. Lauren was a little unconventional and she started having me work on taking back ownership of my body from Carter. My main goal was to become a healthy, sexual person, one who truly enjoyed all aspects of sex, without shame, fear, or insecurity.” She paused for a second. “So, my therapy started to include spending time being naked.”

Chapter 52

David’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you say naked?”

“Yes. Naked.”

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