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To say I wasn’t looking forward to it was an understatement. I was terrified to do this, terrified that I would back pedal, though Dr. Gresham was confident that I wouldn’t.
“Let’s talk about your mother first,” Dr. Gresham began, diving straight into the therapy session. I swallowed nervously. “Let’s start with her name.”
“Loretta Thompson,” I bitterly replied.
Dr. Gresham nodded. “It’s good that you can say her name. Some patients have problems saying the names of people who have hurt them.” I shrugged. “Would we like to call her mom during our sessions or Loretta?”
“Loretta,” I instantly told him. “She was barely a mother to me.”
He nodded in understanding. “Tell me how she was when you were a small child,” he instructed.
I crossed my legs on the couch I was sitting on, twisting my fingers together in my lap. “She fed me if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, shrugging again. “I got left at home by myself a lot, but I knew how to operate the microwave, and she always left me when bottles of juice and water, so I wasn’t ever left hungry or thirsty.”
“So, not much love then?”
I shook my head, my throat closing up with tears.” No,” I told him, my voice sounding strangled. I’d never realized how much that bothered me until now. “No love at all. Not that I can remember.”
“Did she ever abuse you?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “No. She preferred to pretend that I didn’t exist. When she did come home, it was really only to sleep, make sure I went to school so the law and the school board would stay off her ass. Other than that, there wasn’t any interaction between the two of us.”
“And this led to you meeting your ex?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “Jayden stayed down the street from me,” I told Dr. Gresham. “I got locked out of the house one night. I didn’t have a phone to call anyone. Hell, I didn’t even know my mom’s phone number, even if I did have one. It was pretty cold out—below freezing. I believe it was in the twenties if I remember correctly.” I sighed. “Jayden saw me sitting outside in the cold, and he stopped to ask me if I had a death wish.”
I shook my head, hating how foolish I was at that age. “When I explained to him that I was locked out of the house, and I lied saying that I couldn’t find my phone and I didn’t know my mom’s number by heart, Jayden offered to let me crash on his couch.” I shrugged. “I took the offer. He seemed nice enough.”
“But he wasn’t.”
I shook my head again. “He was at first, but it was only so he could sink his claws deep into me. He offered me a job selling drugs for him at school, and in turn, he gave me money for food and bills. We were getting notices on the door that we were behind on the mortgage, the lights were going to get cut off, things like that.” I frowned. “I was the devil’s child. Everyone already hated me, so I took what Jayden offered me, essentially giving him ownership over me.”
“When you say ownership, what do you mean by that?” Dr. Gresham asked me.
“He kept me alive, made sure I had a roof over my head, food in my stomach. Without him, I’d have been dead soon. My mother didn’t give a single fuck about me.”
“And where is Jayden now?” he asked me.
“Dead,” I bluntly replied. “He died in car accident with his brother.” And I was thankful to both of my men for making that happen. It was one less nightmare I had to deal with.
“Let’s talk about how much you dislike your mother,” Dr. Gresham said, back pedaling a little bit. “We’ll start there.”
“I fucking hate her,” I snapped. “I don’t just dislike her.”
“Vent.”
I drew in a deep breath and rubbed my palms over my leggings. “She never took care of me. I had to grow up early, never having a real childhood. As soon as she found I had a boyfriend, she stopped paying the bills, as if she didn’t need to even provide for me anymore.” I released a bitter laugh. “And yes, I might have begun to hate Jayden not too long after we got together, but the final straw for me on everything was when I caught him sleeping with my mother,” I sneered. “Jayden called the cops on me that night. I beat her unconscious—hospitalized her. I was so angry, so angry that I even forgot about the Percocet that I was carrying in my pocket. So, when I got arrested, not only did I get slapped with domestic violence and assault, not to mention criminal destruction of property because I trashed the house, but I also got charged for the drugs,” I told him bitterly. “I spent three years in juvie. I was released on my eighteenth birthday.
