Page 102 of Atlas
Brian, who was sitting across from me, looked up. “Not coping; what do you mean?”
“Well, it’s pretty clear that they all struggle in one way or the other, but instead of doing intense therapy, they’re numbing themselves in different ways to avoid thinking about it.”
“Classic.” Diane took a bite of her Snickers. “But that’s not unique to cult survivors. We all do that.”
“Yes, and I think that’s what stood out to me. The trouble with trauma is that it’s easy to blame your problems on it, and by doing so, you’re using it as an excuse.”
“My sister is like that,” Brian informed us. “She was twelve when she rode her bike to our grandma’s house and found her dead. Now she dates the worst scum and blames it on her fear of dying alone.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Seeing your grandmother dead made your sister afraid of dying alone.”
Brian rocked in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Maybe it wasn’t so much that she was dead but the fact that it was a warm summer that year and she had been dead for more than a week. The nasty smell of death, the flies, and the maggots coming out of her eyes were probably the worst part.”
“Brian!!” Diane picked up her trash can and spat out the mouthful of Snickers that she’d been chewing on. “Why would you tell us that when I’m eating?”
“Did your sister tell you that or did you make it up?” I questioned.
“Okay, so maybe the part about the maggots was to make it more interesting, but there were definitely bugs.” He grinned. “I didn’t know you’d be so sensitive. I eat my dinner in front of the TV every night, and my favorite shows have forensic experts digging around in…”
“I don’t want to hear what they dig around in,” Diane complained and shook her head. “No wonder your poor sister was traumatized from seeing her dear grandmother in a state of decomposition.”
“Yes, but Jolene is right. My sister’s childhood trauma has been her excuse for years. Every time one of her loser boyfriends mistreats her, she brings it up.”
“Hmm.” I tapped my lip. “It would be interesting to map out the mindset that it takes to overcome trauma. What kind of grit would you have to summon up to keep going?”
“A lot. For my sister to put her key in the door and go into her house, knowing that her physically and mentally abusive boyfriend is in there, man, I couldn’t do it.”
“No, Brian. We already know she does it out of fear. But why is the trauma of seeing her dead grandmother stronger than being abused by her boyfriend? What would it take for her to power through and kick the losers out despite her fear of dying alone?”
“Yes, or for someone to get on a plane after being in a plane crash,” Diane added. “Or take a risk at love after having their hearts broken.”
“Right!” I nodded. “That’s the mindset component we should hone in on — because we can’t take away people’s trauma, but what if we could map out a formula for how to overcome it? You brought up love, Diane, and that would give us a huge test population to study. What does it take to conquer one’s fear and trauma and take another chance on love after having your heart broken because of infidelity or some other betrayal?”
“What other betrayals are there in love?” Brian asked.
Diane had her chair turned toward us. “I can give you a whole list from my personal life. There was the guy who turned out to be gay and only used me for a place to stay. Then there was another boyfriend who stole my credit card and disappeared before I could report him. I’ve had my heart broken plenty of times, but thank God that I didn’t give up or I wouldn’t have met Jared. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I clapped my hands together. “Brilliant example. Thank you, Diane.”
She smiled. “I would love to talk more about this, but I have an email to answer before I run out of here. Jared is cooking lasagna tonight, and I promised to pick up a bottle of wine on my way home.” Diane rolled her chair back to her computer.
“Sounds lovely. I have a long to-do-list myself,” I said. “This morning, I got a new phone number, and I need to check in with everyone back home to make sure they get it and to give them an update on the ordeal with Niklavs.”
“When is Atlas coming in?” Brian asked with his hand on his mouse and his eyes on his screen.
Diane and Brian still had no idea about the turn my relationship with Atlas had taken.
“He had pressing matters at Solver Industries that needed his attention,” I said and focused on my screen again.
Last night Atlas and I had both been exhausted from our first day back from Ireland, but we had still made love on his couch. Every time I sat down today, my sore bottom reminded me that Atlas’ apartment allowed him the privacy to be rougher with me than he had been back in Ireland. I enjoyed our role-playing. It turned me on to see him assertive and domineering.
“I’m getting out of here.” Diana closed down her computer and picked up her jacket. “How about you two?”
“Yup. I can hear my TV and couch calling my name,” Brian said and stretched his arms like a lazy cat.
“I’ll stay a little longer. I have meetings to schedule and some emails to answer.”
“All right.” Diane turned at the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow then. Remember to lock up when you leave.” She held the door open for Brian, who grabbed his jacket and left without a backward glance.
