Page 116 of Borrowed Pain
I perched on the bed's edge, leg bouncing. "What if I can't explain how she broke down my defenses? What if they think I'm weak for falling for her manipulation?"
"Hey." Rowan's hand cupped my face. "Tomorrow you'll help Congress understand how medical abuse operates. Tonight, you're just Miles."
Later that night, lying in the dark beside him, I couldn't sleep. The hearing would change everything. After I testified, every potential client who Googled my name would find footage of me describing pharmaceutical manipulation and psychological torture.
How do you rebuild a therapeutic practice when everyone knows how you broke?
The Senate hearing room was intimidating—soaring ceilings, cameras positioned to catch every facial expression, and a horseshoe of senators elevated above the witness table like judges at a trial. I sat facing them, acutely aware of Rowan in the gallery behind me, close enough for moral support but too far away to help when my voice faltered.
"Dr. McCabe," Senator Hess began, "Thank you for appearing before this committee. Please state your credentials for the record."
I repeated my credentials, and I'd anticipated the first request.
"Dr. McCabe, please describe your initial contact with Dr. Celeste Harrow."
I straightened in my chair. "Dr. Harrow contacted me by phone while I was with my family. She claimed to have developed revolutionary trauma treatment protocols and expressed interest in professional collaboration."
"Did this contact seem unusual?"
"Yes and no. Professional networking isn't uncommon in our field, but the timing felt strategic. She contacted me during a crisis—the same day Patricia Hendricks was arrested for obstruction of justice."
Senator Isaac leaned forward. "And you agreed to meet despite this timing?"
As expected, I had to explain how Harrow could lead me into her web so easily. I dreaded the necessity of explaining terror in bureaucratic language.
"The manipulation was sophisticated. Dr. Harrow used standard therapeutic techniques as weapons for psychological—."
Senator Minton interrupted. "Can you be more specific?"
I glanced toward the gallery, finding Rowan's steady gaze. "She corrupted the five-four-three-two-one grounding technique—a standard intervention for anxiety and trauma responses. Instead of helping me describe safe surroundings, she forced me to inventory my imprisonment."
Several senators shifted in their seats. Senator Hess's expression was grim.
"How were you able to resist these techniques?"
"Professional training, and the memory of family, anchored me." I straightened. "My therapeutic education taught me to recognize manipulation, even when experiencing it firsthand. And memories of my family—particularly something my mother told me when I was twelve—provided psychological grounding that the pharmaceuticals couldn't reach."
"What did your mother tell you?"
Surprisingly, I smiled. "That hurt is part of loving, and someone has to witness it when it gets too big to carry alone. That's what therapy is—not eliminating pain, but sitting with it."
The room fell silent except for cameras whirring and pens scratching against notepads.
Senator Hess leaned forward. "Dr. McCabe, how would you recommend preventing similar systematic abuse?"
"Enhanced oversight of experimental protocols. Mandatory verification of institutional review board approvals. Federal protection for whistleblowers who report suspicious research activities."
"And for trauma survivors who may have been victimized?"
"Specialized treatment from therapists trained to recognize and address systematic psychological manipulation. Recovery requires understanding that the victim's trust wasn't misplaced—it was expertly exploited."
Several questions followed, but none surprised me. Finally, Senator Hess nodded slowly. "Dr. McCabe, thank you for your courage in testifying today."
The gavel fell, but the cameras kept rolling. It was done. I'd explained psychological torture to politicians in clinical terms, maintained professional composure, and provided policy recommendations.
Now I had to live with being the therapist whose trauma was public record.
Our hotel lobby buzzed with reporters and camera crews. Rowan guided me toward the elevators.
