Page 31 of Reckoning

“Maybe we should call it entirely.” I snap back.

He fixes me with that disappointing look I think he must practice in the mirror because he’s got it down to perfection. It’s one I’ve dreamed about wiping off his face. “I’ll see you in a week.”

I grunt back, grab my bag, and practically sprint as quickly as my legs will carry me.

As the door slams shut behind me all that tension, all that fear and panic subsides. Maybe it’s because that room is becoming as much a trigger for me as my memories are. Maybe it’s because my therapist is a man.

I asked to see a woman, but apparently Martin was the ‘most qualified’, though I have no idea who made that decision.

I let out a sigh, a breath of air that isn’t full of lavender and vanilla, and I turn, wanting to be away, to be back, safe in my own four walls.

The lift is broken, has been broken for some weeks – you’d think they’d get it fixed considering it’s an access point, but apparently it’s not high on their list of priorities, so instead I take the stairs. It’s only three flights so not all that arduous but the space is cold in a way that makes you wary.

Every step echoes on the beige vinyl covered floor.

I’m wearing heavy boots, doc martens, ones that would hurt if I needed to fight but even they make a racket as I make my way down.

My skin starts to prickle. My hair stands on end. I glance around but there’s no sound, nothing – it’s just me. I readjust my bag, picking up pace, once I’m out, once I’m in the car, I can relax but until then I feel more than a little jittery.

As I reach the door, I yank it open, but someone is there, taking up the entire space beyond. He looks like a giant. An actual fucking monster.

I let out a cry, stepping back, my logical brain telling me I’m overreacting just like I did before, but my heart, my fear is telling me to get away, to run for my life.

He’s quick to close the distance, quick to pounce.

I sprint back up the stairs but I barely make it halfway before I’m slammed into them, shoved down by the weight of a man twice my size. I kick out, I scream as a hand clamps down around my mouth.

“Stop fighting.” He growls in my ear, as if I’d do such a thing, as if I’d just give up.

The needle bites into my skin. I scream more, I jerk, not caring what the consequences are –they’redrugging me.They’redoing it again.

And I can’t have that.

I can’t go back there. I won’t let them turn me back into that shell of a person.

But it’s too strong, too powerful. I can’t fight it as it takes over my system.

My eyes roll back in my head, my body goes limp, and I’m useless, helpless, completely and utterly fucking defenceless.

* * *

Hands.

Too many hands.

Touching where they shouldn’t. Holding me down. Preventing me from moving.

I groan, trying to get my bearings. My head hurts like I’ve drunk the entire contents of a wine cellar. My body aches as though I’ve done ten rounds in a ring with someone far more capable of boxing than I am.

I can hear a radio, chattering, sirens.

There’s too much noise. I feel dizzy. Sick. Completely confused as the world around me does somersaults.

I blink, trying to focus on the now.

And when I register what’s happening, that I’m being carried, I freak out more.

“Calm down.” Someone says, as if I’ll just obey and become docile.

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