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“Have you been in public by yourself yet?” Dr. Gresham asked me.
I shook my head. “No, not yet,” I told him. “I’m a bit scared to, to be honest. When I go anywhere, I always have Lincoln and Jessie with me for me to lean on if things get to be too much. They read me so well that they get me out of wherever we’re in without me even having to say a word.” I swallowed nervously. “And I’m afraid that what happened at the garage might happen again if I go somewhere alone.”
“That fear—that stems from your ex, Jayden, and everything he did to you, yes?” Dr. Gresham asked me.
I nodded. “Have you looked at the scar on your arm yet?” he softly asked me.
I shook my head. “I’m scared to.”
Dr. Gresham leaned forward in his chair. “I want you to take a look at it while you’re here.” I shook my head, clenching my jaw. I didn’t want to see it. “West, you’re doing so good. If it pedals you back a little bit, you’re here, and we can work through it. You’re in a safe environment,” he assured me.
“I don’t want to,” I told him, my voice breaking.
“We’re going to,” he retorted, putting his foot down on the matter. “This is one of those things we need to work on. Things are different now. You have two very amazing men standing by your side now, and they’ll never allow you to fall into any kind of toxic, dangerous trap ever again, and they’ll never treat you like your ex did. You’re safe now, West—forever,” he reminded me.
“I’m s-scared,” I stuttered, my head beginning to pound at my temples as my chest tightened.
Dr. Gresham gently grabbed my arm and lifted it, exposing the scar on the inside of my upper arm. “Take a look, West. You’re safe,” he assured me.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I turned my head to my arm, my breathing becoming shallow. “Breathe and open your eyes,” Dr. Gresham ordered. I shook my head. “West, come on. You’re stronger than this.”
I whimpered and ripped my eyes open, my eyes locking on the five half-moon-shaped scars on the soft flesh of my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, my breathing becoming even shallower as a memory shoved itself to the front of my brain, one I had completely forgotten about—one I honestly didn’t even remember happening.
“West!” My mother screeched as she stormed into the house. The smell of alcohol wafted in the door with her. I was in the living room trying to do my homework, but I cringed at the smell. It was horrible. I hated that smell.
Her eyes landed on me. They were bloodshot, her pupils extremely dilated. I was old enough to understand that meant she was both high and drunk.
Which meant I wasn’t going to be able to escape to school in the morning like I always did.
“Get up when I’m talking to you!” she yelled at me as she slammed the front door closed so hard that a couple of picture frames fell off the wall. It only served to make her angrier.
I obediently scrambled to my feet, only for her hand to come across my face. Tears built up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I stumbled, falling against the couch.
Her hand wrapped around my arm, yanking me back up to my feet, her nails digging painfully into the flesh but not hard enough to draw blood. “I wish I’d aborted your expensive ass the moment I found out about you,” she sneered.
“M-mom,” I begged, just wanting her to stop. I knew she hated me. I knew she would never love me. I had come to terms with that long ago. But I hated it when she hurt me like this.
“Shut up!” she screeched. I winced, flinching back from her on instinct. She hit me again, and this time, blood trickled down from my nose, a throb pulsing through it. “Get in your fucking room,” she snarled at me. “I don’t want to see your damn face.”
When I came back into the room, Meghan was holding my hands in hers, and Dr. Gresham was holding me in place, both of them looking at me with worry and concern.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I was wrong,” I choked out. I sobbed. “Sh-she-she.” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
“Was it your mother?” Dr. Gresham asked me. I could only nod my head, my voice failing me. “Did your mother abuse you, West?”
I sobbed and nodded again. Meghan wrapped me up in her arms. “It’s okay,” she soothed. I whimpered. “West, sweetheart, it’s okay; I promise,” she assured me. “Sometimes, our mind buries things because it’ll be too much for us to remember them. If you had remembered that before today, your mind might not have been ready for it.”
