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“He’s the thing I’m most sure about,” I state plainly. “He’s caring, and it’s his mission to fix me,” I say with an uncertain laugh, bewildered why anyone would want to bother with me. “He’s invested in us, but we’ve not put a name to what we are yet.”
“How do you feel about being his mission to fix?”
“It’s a positive thing, if that’s what you mean.”
“I don’tmeananything. I’m pleased you find him a positive influence, and I’m curious about the dynamic you have together. When I said you might like to have a conversation with a man, I didn’t expect it to lead to this so quickly.”
I frown, and he’s quick to say, “And I’m making no judgements by saying that. I’m just comparing your relationship to the only other one we’ve spoken of. Your relationship with Jonas.”
“This is much easier,” I state.
“Why’s that?”
“He’s solicitous and hard to refuse. Telling Jonas no was easy. With Max it’s the opposite. It’s impossible.”
Dave’s mouth purses. “Explain what you mean around the theme of not being able to say no.”
A short laugh escapes. “Not like that,” I stress, having no intention of telling him I might want to explore a kink that many people wouldn’t understand. “Intimacy is easy. It’s like he knows what I need without me voicing it, or knowing it myself. He’s leading me towards the light, even if the path is shrouded in darkness.”
Dave’s pen hovers over his notebook. “It isn’t uncommon for survivors of assault to test previously held limitations, or to find comfort in things they would never expect to,” he explains softly. “We are all unique, and what works for you might not work for someone else.”
I nod, wanting to move the conversation on, but it’s clear Dave wants to interrogate my new relationship further. “Do you think he’s someone you could love?”
I know why he asks me this invasive question, and it’s because in the end I couldn’t love Jonas, even though it was clear he loved me and wanted to help me—just like Max. And while splitting from Jonas hurt, I know splitting from Max would be gutting. “Max would be easy to love, and even though I feel secure in . . . inus, I’m worried I can’t live up to the demands of a relationship with him.”
“Why?”
Insecurities about my newly revived, questioning sex life aside, I reply, “I have nothing but sadness.”
Dave frowns. “That’s not true.” The silence extends between us before he asks, “Why else do you think you can’t live up to the demands of the relationship?”
Just spit it out, Ava!“I’m worried I’ll be too vanilla for him. That, and because I could love him, and no one should love me.”
“We’ve discussed the negative opinions you have about yourself. About your self-worth. Shall we spend some time on that again now?”
I was branded. Sold. Just knowing that makes me feel worthless. And then of course, there are the abandonment issues that I still carry from my mother disappearing.
Discussing the low opinions I have of myself takes up the next twenty minutes. Dave reminds me that Max doesn’t appear to see me the way I do. And when I reveal the origin of the ring, and Max’s increased productivity at work due to meeting me, my counsellor points out that there is ample evidence to contradict my opinion of myself. So I’m slightly buoyed when we move on.
“And what about the singing voice, Ava?”
I hear her every day. She was especially loud as I typed up my notes for the police.
“Is there any further clarity on what this voice is leading you to answer or discover?”
“I have to assume she’s driving me forwards.”
“Without this voice urging you on, would you want to stop?”
His question gives me pause. On the one hand, I dread learning more, but on the other, it feels like I’m not alone—as stupid as that sounds. “It’s comforting, actually. I feel emboldened.”
“And you have the support of your sister and family, other friends.” He consults his notes. “Josie, Jenny, Tabitha. And of course, you now have Max.”
I smile. “Yes. Now, I have Max.”
Isla dropsher spoon on the floor—again—laughing and clapping her hands together at how clever she is. Tilly picks it back up—again—but this time drops it in the sink, telling Isla: “No more spoon. Spoon’s gone.”
My phone rings.
