Page 142 of Taking Turns

I nod, drawing in a deep breath. “It’s the shame. The shame my mother made me feel about it all growing up. It’s natural. And if consenting adults agree, it’s normal, no matter how they like it.”

She’s silent, but I know her well enough to understand she’s nodding her head at me.

After seven years of being on her couch, trying to work all this shame out of my fucked-up mind, I know her just as well as she knows me. And we’ve been over this a million times.

I am consumed with shame. My mother put it in my head for over a decade. She subjected me to relentless ostracizing and punishments. My father refused to stop her. And yes, it’s all their fault… but I’m the only one who can make it go away.

“I don’t think Smith, or Quin, or Bric are the problem here. Do you?”

“No,” I admit. “They’re not. I am.”

“Do you remember the session we had just before Rochelle left?”

“We taped it.”

“Yes. And we promised each other that we’d watch it together when things got bad. To understand why the two of you made these decisions.”

“But Rochelle’s gone.”

“We don’t need Rochelle to work on you, Chella. Do you want to watch it? So you can get some perspective? Remember why you wanted to play that game to begin with?”

I’m silent. I don’t know if I want to see that tape. I don’t know if I can handle it. I was so sure I was… cured. Even though I knew then, and I know now, I don’t have a disease. I can’t be cured because there is nothing wrong with me. It’s all in my head. My mother’s voice. Her disapproving looks and comments. Her—

“We don’t have to,” she says in her conciliatory tone. “But you were excited. Remember?”

I nod, my eyes trying to close tighter.

“You were ready. And it was Rochelle who was crying that day, remember?”

“I know why now,” I sob.

“Why, Chella?”

“Because they’re really good guys. She didn’t want to leave them. Not even Smith. She wanted things to be different and she didn’t know how to do that so she had to leave to figure it out.” I stop to breathe for a few moments. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“Didn’t realize what?” she prods.

“I just didn’t expect to like them.”

“You thought it would easy? And you’d develop no feelings for them?”

“Yes,” I say, barely a whisper.

“I like them too. But we need to move on now and decide what you’re going to do.”

“About what?” I ask, opening my eyes.

“Well,” she says. “You told me you had two things left on your checklist that were needed to help yourself heal. From the past. You wanted to confront your father, which you did. Very nicely, Bric tells me.”

“You talked to Bric?”

“He’s in the waiting room right now. But let’s concentrate on you for a moment more. You confronted your father with who you are and what happened to you. What your mother did to you. How do you feel now? Do you wish you hadn’t done that?”

“No.” I smile.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“Yes,” I say, sitting up. My head is pounding, so I massage my temples with my fingertips. “I wish I could say it all again, only this time not cry.”