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“I... he...he cut me,” I stutter out, my eyes going blurry, the flashback coming almost instantaneously. I see him now on top of me, when I was most vulnerable. I awoke to the sharp pain of a dull knife digging into the side of my chest.
“What led up to him physically causing you such violence, Lana?” she questions. Kingston knows a little bit of the story, but he doesn’t know it all. I blink and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to chase away the vivid memories of that night. I feel that acute feeling of panic to run, to cover myself, to find a safe shelter rushing in like a tidal wave. I remember this is all for my son and for my love. If I want Kingston back, then I have to do this.
A strong hand on my thigh has my eyes opening and my body scurrying. I jump and try to crawl away from the touch, when all of a sudden I hear loud voices slamming me back into the here and now.
“Lana! Baby, it’s me! Relax, take a breath. It’s just me.” His voice drops a few decimals, becoming quiet and cautious. I shake my head and breathe in and out heavily, my chest tight with each rise and fall. One second, I’m fine, and then the next, I’m a mess, and that’s why this is so damn hard for me.
“I’m...I’m sorry. I just...I couldn’t focus. It was too much,” I mumble.
“Lana, you’re experiencing what I believe is Trauma Transference Syndrome. It’s a form of PTSD. You are not able to consciously stay present when you begin to talk about those past experiences, because you’re keeping them within the ‘freeze state.’ This is where you keep the memory locked inside until a trigger comes along to release those traumatic memories, which causes you to react as though you are back in that state of abuse.” When my heart rate settles enough and I’m enthralled in what she’s saying, I cling to Kingston, scooting closer to him and burying myself in his safe, strong arms. He’s like a soothing balm I haven’t had in weeks.
“Why does it physically cause me pain when I think about it? The memories almost seem real, because my body feels it like it’s happening again, even though it’s not.”
Nodding she purses her lips in agreement. “This also has to do with you holding in the abuse. It’s the trauma still living inside you. The energy and emotions are in sync, causing it to pass through your body like it’s happening again. This is why it’s important, Lana, to discuss these traumas in a safe setting. Once you begin to discuss these situations—in which you will see are past experiences—you will then be able to separate the past and present, making it where these are not continuous set backs.” Every word she says makes more sense than the last. Never did I view it that way, but of course, how could I? I’m not a doctor.
“Why don’t we try some breathing exercises that you can do when you’re telling us about the abuse. Anytime you start to feel yourself slipping into the memory, take three long breaths, and count them out as you do.” I nod, Kingston responding by way of silent comfort, squeezing me in deeper and kissing the side of my temple.
I’m safe. I repeat this in my head before I begin.
“Well...um, one day, I was with Shayla, my best friend and Kingston’s sister, and we wanted to go to the lake. And uh, that day I found a cute new bathing suit and purchased it. It was a bit racier than what I should have been wearing at seventeen, but I have always loved fashion, and this was what all the girls were wearing.” I pause, feeling the panic slowly build again.
“One,” Kingston says. Turning my gaze on him, we lock eyes. Taking a deep breath, I don’t break our connection. When I exhale completely, he counts again, “Two.” My heart settles a little as I breathe again, but what’s really keeping me calm is Kingston and his soft green eyes, his strong face, and his soothing voice. “Three.” With one last breath, I smile. I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, but it brings me relief to realize it’s working.
Turning my attention back to Dr. Moore, I see her nod for me to go on.
“I went to the lake and had a great time with Kings, Shayla, and Trey. I had asked Joel if he wanted to come, but he said he was busy. Anyway, halfway through the day, I noticed a car parked across the way from where we were sitting and knew insta
ntly it was one of the men Joel had following me. I did my best to relax, not wanting my friends to be worried. I ignored them until I checked my phone and saw there were multiple new messages from Joel. The messages had pictures of me, at the lake, in my swimsuit, attached with a message.” I swallow, reaching out to find Kingston. I watch my hand disappear inside his large one, the contrast of my small to his big—welcoming.
“He said I needed to cover myself up because my bathing suit was inappropriate and it made me look like a desperate...” I breathe in a long drag of air, preparing myself. “He said it made me look like a desperate whore, and he was beyond pissed at me for thinking I could wear that outside the house. He told me I was repulsive. He called me fat. He kept calling me a slut.”
I begin to cry, because when someone you once loved and trusted violates you or demeans you in such a way, you lose a sense of humility. You lose a piece of yourself.
“That’s the most common attack from an abuser, verbal derogatory comments,” Dr. Moore adds, and I nod, still not finding it okay. Whether there’s a reason or not, it still hurts. I don’t argue with her. I just press forward with Kingston squeezing my hand in support. He gets it.
“I didn’t respond. I just put on my bathing suit cover and prayed that would be the end of it. And I started to believe it when he didn’t text back. Instead, that afternoon on our way home, he sent me this sweet message saying how he knew we hadn’t spent time together and he wanted to take me out on a date that night. I was hesitant at first, but he was in such a good mood I didn’t want to have it turn sour. I would rather have him be kind to me, and me fake it like I enjoyed it, then have him mad and beating me.”
Kingston’s arm moves from my shoulder and his hand finds the back of my neck, his nimble fingers, running little circles.
“I went home and got ready. I dressed up, did my makeup like I knew he liked it, and then drove to his place. When I got there, he had decorated his entire apartment in flowers and candles, like a scene out of a movie. I hate to admit this, but I actually felt butterflies for the first time since before the abuse. When he saw me in my black spaghetti-strapped slip dress, he smiled and pulled me in. Turning on the charm that I fell in love with. He danced with me, whispered in my ear how much he loved me. He told me I was beautiful.”
Whisking a piece of hair from my face, I tuck it behind my ear, my eyes still heavy with tears. I start to breathe again, but this time, with each breath, Kingston whispers in my ear, “You got this, angel. You’re doing so good. So good, baby.”
I nod, Dr. Moore almost fading into the background like she isn’t even here and it’s just my love and me.
“Well, one thing led to another and we never went out on a date. Instead, we made love for hours and it felt so real. He actually took care of me and my body first.” I feel Kingston stiffen next to me. These words are not easy to say, nor fun for him to hear, I’m sure. I bring my free hand to his thigh and rub circles there, hoping it will help him relax a bit. I don’t face him, not sure I can look him in the eye when I’m being this honest, completely vulnerable to not only myself but to them. If I chance it and look into his eyes to see anything unsettling, I might recoil, and then we’ll be right where we were when we walked in here together.
“I fell asleep after, feeling content for the first time since the abuse. I believed maybe he had turned a leaf and realized he was not a good man. I was wrong. That night, I woke up to this searing pain, cold metal digging into the side of my chest.” Voicing this has me no longer able to contain my emotions, and I begin to sob. My hands start shaking and my body goes numb from the waist down.
“He was above me, his knees pinning my hands down to my side, while he took his pocket knife and dug the dull end so hard against my skin, until it ripped open. Then he dragged it painfully and unevenly down my skin.” I sob, coughing out with each deep breath I take in. My body is moved, lifted from the couch and placed in Kingston’s lap, where I feel his wet tears fall and mix with mine. As I look up, he cradles my face, whispering apologies.
“I’m sorry, baby. I am so sorry.” His green eyes turn lighter the more he mourns alongside me. Here it is; he wanted this moment, and now he has it, the hardest thing we have both ever done.
“I know, baby.” I take his apology. Even though it’s not his fault, I take the apology selfishly, looking for some kind of retribution for what was done to me. Kingston is willing to give it, and I’m more than willing to take it.
We rock each other slowly, knowing this moment would come, but not knowing how we would react to it when it did.
After what feels like hours, Dr. Moore speaks, breaking the silence. “That was quite the share, Lana. Do you feel comfortable enough to explore this more, to talk about it?”
