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“Except what?”
“Fighting.”
A cool breeze blows by and I emphasize, “They were always yelling.”
“You were young when your mother died, but you remember them fighting?”
“There are very few memories I have of her,” I tell him and moments flash in my mind. “In nearly all of them, she was fighting with my father.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened with your mother?”
“You know what happened.” My blood chills and the sun starts to set, dimming the natural light far too quickly.
“Are their deaths, the trial, their fighting something you think about often?”
Staring blankly at him, I wish I could speak as easily as I just have when talking about my upbringing.
“Do you remember how you felt during those harder times?” Suddenly the topic of sex no longer seems important. Damon watches me like he’s gotten to something he’d like to dig up.
The screaming is what I remember most. I’d wake up from them screaming at each other. “Scared, angry … like any child would be.” With another breeze blowing, I brush my hair from out of my face and cross my arms.
“Guarded?” Damon pokes fun and I tsk him. “It’s just cold.” My heart does a little tap in my chest that’s uneven. Yes. This conversation makes me very guarded and I wonder if Damon saw posts or comments that he shouldn’t have. Kam said they were all removed.
“Did it ever get physical?”
“Yes.” I nod, my throat going tight and dry. “I can still remember the sound of him slapping her so hard she fell to the ground.”
The tapping in my chest continues, intensifying and quickening when he asks, “Do you remember how old you were?”
“I had to be in middle school.”
“I imagine that was difficult.”
Enough. Enough. We’re not supposed to be talking about this. “I don’t see how any of this relates to anything at all.”
“Conflict resolution is a learned behavior. How did you learn to handle your emotions when you were dealt such severe ones at a young age? You just told me you know that you’re ruminating, but don’t know how to stop. You’ve told me a number of stories where you struggle with your emotions.”
“I think that’s normal.”
“Just because it’s normal doesn’t mean it’s healthy. I want to help you, so tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What happened when they fought?’
With a deep breath in, I answer him, “That’s something I haven’t thought about in a while.” He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “You know how we started this conversation with ruminating? I used to stay up at night, thinking about their fights and if I could change anything.”
“And how did you cope with those feelings?” he questions and the events play in my head. Kelly, Trish and Kam … the plan. Uncovering the truth and then covering it all back up. How did I cope? I did something I shouldn’t have.
“I think we should go inside,” I whisper.
Zander
The two of them are sitting in the blue room in front of the fire, and I know right away that the session has pushed Ella to one of her boundaries. Or to a place where she needs someone else to act as a boundary for her. She needs me. Her face is pale, and her eyes shine, but she’s not crying. I pull a chair directly in front of her so I can take her hands in mine and look her in the eye. Damon watches from his seat, his face neutral.
“What’s wrong?”
Damon begins to answer. “Ella and I were discussing her past with her—”
“Wait, Damon. Quiet.” My tone wasn’t meant to come out the way it did. “Please,” I add for good measure. “I want Ella to tell me what happened.” I stroke a lock of hair away from her cheek.
Her only acknowledgement is to scoot on the sofa and make room for me to sit next to her. There’s a sadness that doesn’t leave her gaze, which flicks between the mine and the fire.
“She has a voice, and I want her to use it. Tell me.” She knows a command when she hears one, and her body settles into the sofa a bit.
“There’s a lot,” she admits, and her voice is soft and slightly shaken. “I have a lot of memories. Some of them I wish I could forget … and today,” she pauses to take in an unsteady breath, “I’m just remembering a lot right now.”
“We’re going to go over them now, in a safe place.” I don’t want to push her past what she can take, but because Ella is a submissive, I make the decision for her. She still holds the power over the conversation. She can use her safe word at any time. “I’m listening.”
“James—” Ella lifts her chin a fraction of an inch. “James knew about it. He knew about what happened, and I wish—” Now her eyes brim with tears.
