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There was no response, but he was still there, she could feel him, and she hated it. “Please just go. Don’t make me call the sheriff.”
He snorted on the other side of the door. “Really? You’d call Blake on me? Come on out here Rebelle, and just talk to me,” he coaxed. But she’d heard that tone from a man before, pretending to just want to talk, just to get her close enough to hurt her. It never ended well for her.
Steely resolve fused her spine and she stepped away, hurrying over to the phone cradle where she had Blake’s number saved. She dialed and when he answered, she explained the situation.
“Okay, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” Blake said before ending the call. A moment later, Rebelle heard the blare of heavy metal music, then heard Will’s voice and hurried back towards the door to listen.
“Y’ello? Blake, my man, how’s it going?” His voice faded as he moved away from the building. Rebelle unlocked the door as quietly as possible and peeked outside.
“Nah, I’m helping out at the shelter,” Will continued and she watched as his back muscles flexed underneath his decorated skin as he lifted another piece of rock like it weighed nothing. And was he wearing dress pants with suspenders? The suspenders were hanging around his waist, the loops curving around his backside, framing each of the incredibly firm, rounded cheeks. Who did manual labor dressed so formally and where was his shirt? Her eyes were drawn to his chest as the sun glinted off the metal hoop through one of his nipples. Something hot slithered through her and she didn’t like it.
“Oh, she did, huh?” Will said, then turned back towards the building. She quickly shut the door and locked it again, listening with bated breath. His footsteps were coming closer. “Okay man. Shit, yeah, I’m leaving now. Thanks, see you soon Blake.”
There was silence and Rebelle pushed herself closer to the door, straining her ear to pick up any sound. Another tap on the door had her yelping in surprise.
“Rebelle? I’m leaving now.” There was a pause, and she could feel him lingering. “I, uh, I just wanted to help out. I didn’t mean to… Look, I’m sorry. I really hope I’ll see you around.” His voice had previously been booming and confident but now it was soft, quiet and a dash of guilt pricked at her at the hurt lacing his tone.
Her breath released in awhooshwhen she heard his car start up and the kick of gravel as he drove off. Tears stung her eyes and her adrenaline faded, leaving her weak and dizzy. Caught off guard at the light-headedness, she slumped to the floor. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, but when she came back to herself, her cheeks were still wet with tears, and Betty and Veronica were sat at her feet.
The tears flowed faster as she realized once again just how not okay she was. She didn’t want this anymore. Couldn’t live like this. Didn’t want to be frozen in place by debilitating fear.
She reached for the phone again with shaky fingers and dialed another number.
“Rebelle, you okay?” Justine’s concerned voice answered.
Rebelle sniffled. “I, uh, do you think we could schedule one of our chats for later?”
Rebelle could hear the smile in Justine’s voice and instantly felt comforted. “Of course, swing by at the usual time. I’ve got some new fruit teas for us to try!”
*
“So, what do you want to talk about today?” Justine asked as she sat on the couch opposite Rebelle in her office, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet up under her. Her hands absentmindedly stroked her pregnant belly. It might be cheesy to say it but Justine truly glowed with happiness.
Justine’s office always gave Rebelle a calm feeling, the natural light from the large windows contrasted with the dark wood furniture and the cream tones of the walls along with large green plants dotted around. The result was a zen atmosphere and Rebelle instantly felt at peace when she came here.
Months ago, after a particularly harrowing nightmare, Rebelle had worked up the courage to come into Justine’s office and ask for help. Rebelle had tried to book sessions but Justinehad refused to take any money, insisting that they have a weekly catch up over coffee like friends do, and in this time Rebelle could talk about anything she wanted. At first, Rebelle struggled to accept the handout. Her pride and newfound hard-won independence recoiled at the charity. However, she needed help, needed to move on and start living her life now she finally had a chance. In the end her desire to shake her fears had overruled her pride and she had accepted the generous offer.
“I want to…” Rebelle trailed off, mashing her lips together, struggling to get the words out.
Justine waited patiently. She looked so elegant in her orange jumpsuit with leopard print heels kicked off, chunky gold earrings adorned her ears and immaculate hair and make-up sent envy crawling through Rebelle. The Latina beauty looked so stunning and ‘together’ and Rebelle always felt inadequate next to her, next to most women.
She wasn’t vain. Marcus had beaten that out of her and constantly told her how disgusting he found her. But she wanted clothes, hell even just bras and panties that weren’t second hand or ripped and torn. She wanted to try make-up, she’d only ever worn it as a teenager and when she had tried to as an adult, Marcus would smear it across her face, calling her a whore. She kept her hair short, had learned not to let it grow too long or Marcus could grab hold of it. It had become yet another tool for his abuse.
“Take your time,” Justine murmured, sipping the fruit tea she’d made. Rebelle had revealed in their first session that she didn’t like coffee, but not why. The stench of it triggered memories of Marcus, looming over her, huffing his stale coffee breath in her face as he assaulted her. With Justine avoiding caffeine during her pregnancy, she had instead bought a box of fruit teas, lots of different flavors and said their goal would beto work through them. This week was raspberry, and it was the most delicious thing Rebelle had ever tasted.
She liked that Justine was patient and always gave her space to pick through her violent, chaotic thoughts and pull her words together in a considered way.
“I want to stop being afraid of men,” Rebelle said, immediately taking a sip of her tea to distract herself from the vulnerability her words betrayed. Justine’s silence forced Rebelle to make eye contact with her.
“Do you want to tell me the reason that you’re afraid of men?” Justine probed quietly. Rebelle drew in a shaky breath and shook her head, no. She had only revealed a few small tidbits in their previous two sessions.
Justine’s expression softened. “You know anything you share with me will remain confidential. Just because these are chats and not official sessions doesn’t mean I take them any less seriously.”
Rebelle’s emotions rose as she panicked at having to open doors she wanted to keep bolted shut. She tried to modulate her breathing. She began rubbing her palms over her thighs, pressing deep to create pressure to focus on that feeling, that movement, as a way to self-soothe, like Justine had taught her.
Justine cocked her head. “I’m pleased to see you implementing some of the calming techniques we discussed last time. How are you finding them?”
Jumping at the chance to change the subject, Rebelle replied, “I’ve got a candle. It’s a rose scented one, it reminds me of home.”Of my sister,she amended in her head.
