Page 65 of Save Me

“What triggers them?”

I rub my fingers together, my forefinger tracing the scab on my thumb as my foot taps on the ground. “Nothing. Everything. There doesn’t seem to be just one thing I can pinpoint.” I take a shaky breath. “I was assaulted—raped—and um…” I feel the bileas it coats my throat and the familiar fear as it winds its way within me.

“I want to pause you right there, Evi, and remind you that you are safe. That we are here, in this room, and we do not have to discuss anything that is too triggering or too much for you to talk about right now. I’d like to do some grounding and containment exercises before we go any further with this conversation.”

I follow her lead, working on my breathing, focusing on her words, and allowing her exercises to help bring my heart rate back down.

“This is what happens,” I say, as a wave of humiliation washes over me. “It can be something as simple as saying it out loud, or looking at a painting—he had one in his living room,” I explain. “Or last night, I had a dream, but it was more of a flashback I guess, and when I woke up my boyfriend was hugging me in my sleep and I panicked. I just couldn’t differentiate the feeling of him touching me versus the guy who did… well,thatto me.”

She nods while I keep talking, explaining how I want, and need, the flashbacks and panic attacks to stop. How I want to be able to put this all behind me and move forward with my life. How I want to be happy, how Ishouldbe happy.

She asks me more questions, questions that feel more like an assessment rather than conversation, and I answer them as honestly as I can. I tell her how I have support through my boyfriend and friends, how I have thoughts of not wanting to be here, but not wanting to die, and how I’m still experiencing a high level of stress and anxiety.

“It’s not uncommon to experience all these things after a traumatic event, especially after something as traumatic as you’re describing. During our next sessions we’ll work together to process through what happened to you and find ways that youcan manage the symptoms you’re experiencing. I’m also going to prescribe you something for your panic attacks, since you’re having them so frequently.”

“I don’t want them,” I say quickly.

“Any particular reason?”

“I’m trying not to rely on anything to take the edge off.” I shift uncomfortably, not sure how much to disclose about my drug use in the past. “I’m sure it’s helpful, I’m sure it’s safe, but I just want to try this whole therapy thing first and if that doesn’t work then I’ll try it.”

“That’s totally fine, Evi. You’re in control here. My goal is to help you reach your goals, following whatever route you take to try to get there. If you don’t mind though I’m going to recommend some resources for you. There are some books and worksheets I think you might find helpful.”

The rest of the session flows smoothly, and by the time I leave I’m exhausted.

I step outside and walk down the large stone steps into the parking lot where Jax is waiting for me, leaning up against his car. He smiles at me as I approach him, giving me a kiss that consumes me before opening the car door.

I slide in, and a moment later he’s sitting behind the wheel beside me.

“So, how’d it go?” he asks, looking at me carefully.

“I like her, she’s nice,” I say with a smile. “Though, I’m not going to lie, I’m exhausted. It was a lot of information to take in and a lot of talking.”

“What do you want to do, love?”

“I could use a coffee if you know a place around here.”

He smiles at me as he starts the car.

*

The coffee shopJax chooses is small, with only a few wooden tables scattered throughout, and decorated with bright paintings. We grab our coffees and sit down, and I can’t help but laugh at the normalcy of this.

“Something funny?” he asks with a smile of his own.

“I just never thought acrime lordwould sit down at a café,” I whisper quietly, stifling my laughter. “It’s very… normal.”

He chuckles in response before whispering back to me, “What? Are crime lords not allowed caffeine?”

We laugh, and we talk, and I soak all of him in. The way his hand holds onto mine, his thumb stroking my skin softly, the way he looks at me, as though I’m the only thing that matters, and the way he leans in to kiss me, reaching across the table so our lips can meet, if only briefly. I’m not used to these public displays of affection, not used to someone being so gentle, so tender with me, and I’m relishing every moment of seeing Jax embrace his softer side with me. I love how there are two very distinct sides to him, one that is ruthless and one that is compassionate, and I love being privy to both.

I silence my phone as it dings, Sam’s name appearing on my screen.

“Are you avoiding her?” Jax asks me as he lifts his coffee to his mouth, taking a sip.

“No. Yes. Kind of,” I say sheepishly.

“Why?”

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