Page 73 of Darkened Promises

My hands turn clammy at the thought. “No. It’s an embarrassing conversation.”

“Why would it be?”

“Because they might think I’m being needy. Or too demanding. Or worse, decide they don’t like me anymore.”

“To want a deeper emotional connection with someone isn’t demanding or needy, Rosy. You shrinking or minimising your needs isn’t going to make for a successful relationship. Communicating will help build that.”

My fingers twist, knotting the sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt. “What if they decide they don’t want me?”

“What if they decide they do? You’re filling in the blanks and letting your thoughts spiral into all the maybes and what ifs. The only way you’re going to get the answers is by talking to them.”

“That’s daunting.” I huff out a laugh. There’s no way I can stand in front of them all and have that conversation.

Hi…so, why don’t any of you want to get up and personal with my vagina anymore?

Cue the mortification and deathly faint. Or perhaps the universe will finally give me a break and let the ground swallow me.

“From what you’ve told me, your relationships with them are all separate?” At my nod, she continues. “So what if you talked to them one by one? There’s no timeline or deadline for when you need to do it, so I’m not asking you to have them all in the same day. What if you have it with one of them, and open up about how you’re feeling?”

That’s slightly better than what my mind conjured up. When she initially said one by one, I’d pictured them all in a line waiting for their turn.

Thank you for the awkward conversation. NEXT!

“Okay.”

“I’d like to circle back to why you’d automatically think they wouldn’t want you?” she asks, going in for a sucker punch of a question. Wanting me to break down all my self-deprecating ideals.

“Why would they?”

“That’s not answering why they wouldn’t.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m having to have these sessions with you and still have nightmares. I can’t leave the house, so I’m not working. I’m contaminated, and I have all this traumatic baggage,” I spit, a hand circling my head to prove my point.

Her lips purse. I assume to reel out her disagreement with my words. Because of course she’s not going to admit that I’m right. She can’t feel what I can inside me. “Why do you seem to disagree with calling it traumatic?”

With a snap, my mouth closes.

Do I? The word does feel heavy, false to use, but I do anyway because that’s what others tell me it is. That I went through something terrible, something traumatic.

“Because it feels false to say it. I…survived, and others didn’t. I didn’t fight hard enough. I froze and retreated most of the time. I brought it on myself.” I sniffle, hating that these tears never seem to stop.

“Rosy, you survived. You suffered something traumatic, and you said he’d done this to others. You can’t control his actions and decisions; you didn’t do anything to force him to take you. Would you say his other victims brought it on themselves?”

“What? N-no,” I say sharply, scowling at Linda.

“Then why do you think differently of yourself?”

“I…don’t know. It’s easier to blame myself, I guess.”

“I’m going to say something, and I’d like it if you could try repeating it. If that’s okay?” she asks, sitting forward slightly.

“Okay,” I agree, and my nerves twist tightly.

“I survived.”

“I…survived,” I repeat quietly.

“I’m not to blame for what Peter did to me.”