Page 1 of To Her

Prologue

"Thank you all for coming. I can see new faces here today. Would anyone like to introduce themselves?"

My hand instantly shoots into the air. This is why I was here, after all.

I stand from my seat in the circle. I have been NA and SA self-help group hopping for over 6 months now. They helped me a lot. I think the fact that no one knew me was the appeal.

"Hi, everyone. My name is Oleander," I say. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad, but I never used my real name. I liked to think I could keep this as my secret.

"I'm a victim of both sexual assault, abuse, and most recently, drug addiction." The words come easier now, after so many meetings in so many different towns. "When I was fourteen, I fell in love with a man who thought it was his life mission to break me—every bone in my body and my mind. He succeeded on both."

I pause, taking in the familiar expressions of the group. Some nod in understanding, others look down at their hands. No one interrupts.

"I turned to drugs to become numb, and again, that worked well for me. Then, when I was eighteen, I was sexually assaultedby three men." My voice doesn't waver anymore when I say this part. I've practiced it enough. "This was the one that broke the camel's back, or so they say. I went down the rabbit hole and nearly killed myself. Well, I attempted to kill myself and didn't succeed."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my next words.

"I have kept most of this private from my home life, my boyfriends, and even my friends since. I now attend these meetings simply to have someone to talk to who won't judge me, won't blame me, or look at me with pity, because that's what happens when people know the truth about someone."

The room is silent, save for the occasional shifting in seats or clearing of throats. These strangers, these anonymous faces, are the only ones who know the real me.

"I also don't tell anyone because I never want to give someone the power to know me, truly know me. No matter who they are, no one can break me again if they don't know the real me."

I look around the circle, making brief eye contact with a few people before continuing.

"I've been sober for six months now. I still drink occasionally, but alcohol was never an issue for me."

I nod and take my seat, and the group claps and smiles at me. Because at the end of the day, this is the only place I feel safe. With total strangers that I will never see again, and who will not judge me, because that would mean they would have to judge themselves, and frankly, no one likes to look at themselves too closely.

As the meeting continues, I listen to other stories—tales of addiction, of rock bottom, of slow and painful recovery. Some are worse than mine, some not as bad, but all are valid. All are real. All are human.

I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to tell someone in my real life these things. To let someone see the scars, both visible and invisible, that I carry. To trust someone enough to show them the broken pieces I've spent years gluing back together.

But then I remember the look in his eyes when he realized how much power he had over me. I remember the feeling of being completely at someone else's mercy. I remember the shame, the fear, the helplessness.

And I know I can never go back to that place again.

So I compartmentalize. Geraldine "Geri" Zhang is the waitress, the skin therapist, the friend, the girlfriend. She's sarcastic and tough and doesn't take shit from anyone. She's the person everyone sees.

Oleander is the broken one, the survivor, the addict. She's the one who comes to these meetings, who speaks her truth to strangers, who allows herself to be vulnerable in controlled environments. She's the person no one knows.

And as long as I keep these two versions of myself separate, as long as I never let anyone close enough to see both sides, I'll be safe.

Or at least, that's what I tell myself.

The meeting ends, and people begin to disperse, some lingering to chat, others hurrying out the door. I gather my things, nodding goodbye to a few familiar faces. I won't be back to this particular meeting—I never go to the same one twice. It's safer that way.

As I step out into the cool evening air, I take a deep breath and let Oleander slip away. By the time I reach my car, I'm Geri again—confident, untouchable Geri, who doesn't need anyone and doesn't let anyone need her.

It's exhausting, this double life. But it's the only way I know how to survive.

And survival, after all, is what I do best.

Chapter 1

Geri

The sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds was what woke me. That, and the dull throbbing in my head—a reminder of the extra glass of wine I shouldn't have had last night while waiting up for Ben. I squinted at the clock: 10:37 AM. Late, but not criminally so for a Saturday.

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