Page 149 of Trailer Trash

Ever so subtly, she sighs, but I catch it.

Yep. I’m hopeless.

“Has he contacted you?” she asks.

“I wish,” I say with angst. “He doesn’t have his phone. I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. Is it bad that I miss him?”

She shakes her head and her black curls sway.

“It isn’t unusual for the victim to miss their abuser. Rapists often groom and build trust with the victim before attacking. You are not alone.”

“I’m not?”

“No, not at all. These feelings can be confusing.”

“But I loved Killian. I still do. I assume people don’t usually get raped by someone they love.”

“Oh, they do. Their husbands. Boyfriends. Family members. Close friends. It makes it that more difficult to accurately identify them for who they are — rapists.”

A chill shoots down my spine. I don’t believe he wanted to attack me. None of this makes sense.

“I don’t know. The hardest part is I took care of Killian. For a while, I kept him sober. Now he’s just gone. I feel responsible. If I had given up my job, I think he would’ve stayed clean.”

“I understand how you feel.” She nods and pens another note.

“Could you stop making those notes? I don’t think you’re really hearing me.” I sit straighter and talk louder. “Killian needed me to believe he could stay sober. I think then he would’ve believed it himself. This is my fault.”

She doesn’t skip a beat.

“What happened to you, the attack, was not your fault. I want you to say it.”

I swallow hard, not liking her redirection.

“Go on. Tell yourself that truth,” she pushes.

In a meek voice, I echo her words. “It was not my fault.”

“Good. It was not your fault you were raped. Go on.”

Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, sudden and unwelcome. I fight to choke them back. “It was not my fault I was raped.”

“Very good. When that feeling of guilt surfaces, I want you to repeat that. It will help retrain your brain. We mustn’t blame ourselves for the misdeeds of others.”

I nod, but honestly, I don’t believe her entirely. I grab a tissue from the side table and blow my nose. “When will I feel better?”

“It’s different for everyone.”

Lower, I murmur, “When will I stop loving him?”

“If this person was very close to you, those feelings may never go away. They should get quieter, though.”

“I hope so,” I reply.

“That’s our time for today. I’ll see you next Friday.”

“Yes,” I say, surprised by how fast our hour flew by.

I leave her office feeling in a daze, a state I tend to slip into whenever I can’t escape my thoughts. I drop into my car and buckle in. Gripping the steering wheel, I take a deep breath and glance over.