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“Pretend?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, coming to stand in front of me, taking the empty cup out of my hand and setting it down on the desk next to me.
He smoothed a hand over my cheek, the touch cold and empty as he inched his lips toward mine.
I let him kiss me, mostly because I was too slow to stop it. His lips met mine, hard and aggressive, nothing like Jim’s. There was no care, no tenderness, no thought about what I liked at all. It was just…for him.
“Hey,” I said when his hands started roaming over my body. “I don’t—”
“Shh,” he said over me, touching me everywhere. “You said you liked me.”
Did I? I couldn’t remember—
“You look so much like her tonight,” he said. “If I ask really nice, will you let me call you by her name?”he mumbled against my neck, kissing and groping.
Ice encased my body, my sluggish mind finally catching up with the situation.
“I’ve always wanted to be with her,” he continued, his movements frantic, possessive. “But she’s untouchable. Not you, though, right?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, lifting my heavy arms, trying to push him off.
“Your sister,” he said. “For tonight, you’re Persephone. You’re going to be her for me, right?”
Cold dread filled my gut, my stomach plummeting to the floor. He tugged me toward the bed as my mind fully shut down…
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I finished telling her what happened, my body trembling with anger and shame and panic. “The next morning, when my mind was clear, I asked him how he was able to do what he did. He acted confused, arrogant even. Told me that I never saidno.”
Dr. Casson inhaled sharply, but managed to breathe out slowly. She gripped her pen a bit harder, but her voice was even when she asked, “Did you file a report?”
“Heavens no,” I said, rubbing my arms to try and bring life back into my body. I was wearing a warm sweater and slacks, but every inch of me felt cold. “Ididn’tsay no,” I said. “I shut down. It was like an automatic response when it came to people wanting me to be my sister.” I hugged myself, unable to stop shaking. “I was an idiot. I should’ve fought harder, should’ve screamed and raged. I should’ve done anything but shut down.” I shook my head. “All that time Jim and I were waiting. I shouldn’t have waited. Kent stole that from me, but I let him.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, firm and supportive. “Anne.” The intensity in her voice had me focusing on her as she crossed the room, plopping in the chair right next to me. She reached out, taking my trembling hands in hers. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said again, and it cracked open some dam inside me.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, my body jerking slightly from the sob that came out of me. She pulled me into a hug as I took a deep breath, trying like hell to get a hold of my emotions.
“You’ve blamed yourself for way too long,” she said. “The fault is on him. He took advantage of you—”
“But I was drunk,” I said. “And I didn’t—”
“You could’ve been drunk, naked, and dancing on a table. That doesnotgive anyone the right to do anything to you without your consent.”
I held on to her a little harder before finally letting her go. I swiped at my face, slumping back in the chair. “I hate him,” I admitted. “But I hated my family more because I couldn’t tell them. The shame it would’ve brought to the VanDoren name would’ve been the worst thing to ever happen to them.”
Dr. Casson furrowed her brow, holding onto my hands. “That’s how they made you feel,” she said. “That you were the worst thing to ever happen to them.”
I nodded. “My father especially. My mother sometimes.”
“And your sister?”
A new wave of tears washed over me, but I held them back. “Never,” I said. “She never did anything to make me feel like I was the bad sister, the bane of the family’s existence.”
“But after what happened, she became the reason behind the trauma.”
“Yes,” I admitted, swirls of guilt sloshing around my insides. “She had no idea why I started treating her the way I did. But after a lifetime of never adding up to her and then after what Kent did…” I shook my head. “I shifted everything to her.”
Dr. Casson nodded. “That was a trauma response, Anne. So was the alcohol and the partying and losing yourself in marriage after marriage. Those were all ways of trying to cope with what happened without actually coping.”
I sighed, a weight lifting off my chest at her words.
