Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“How?” one of them asked.
“Drug overdose.”
“Why are you telling us this?” another asked.
I laughed, not one-hundred percent sure I had a good answer. “Because I think I forgot how important it is to talk about it. Because sometimes it’s good to share with people who get it. Sometimes it’s good to feel not so alone. Because sometimes it feels good to know that you can. Even nine years later. Of course, we have top therapists and doctors here. But they don’t know for sure when they say you’ll make it through this. They will do their best and believe in you every step of the way, but even then, it’s a hope. They don’t understand the doubt, hurt, and anger because they didn’t feel it. They don’t understand the hope that lingers that maybe you won’t have to make it through this,” I whispered.
Some eyes dropped away, and I knew it was true. I’d hit that point a million times, hoping that if it just all ended, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain and shame anymore. Not everyone got that.
“They don’t understand that you did everything right. You didn’t leave a drink unattended. You never went anywhere alone. And yet, somehow, it still happened. They don’t understand the fear of waking back up in the hell we escaped.”
A few head nods encouraged me to keep going. “I guess I’m here because I found myself needing to talk about it. Because I realized that even though I handled it and accepted the past, shame and anger still had a tight hold of me. I think I just needed to be around people who really understood.
“I wanted to share with you that this place was founded by someone who does understand. Coming here at first feels great. You’re free—physically. But mentally, the battle has just begun. When I first talked about my captivity, I didn’t know how to explain to my therapist that there were days when men wouldn’t come to my bed, and I’d cry, almost wanting them to. Because if they came, then they still needed me. If they came, then I wasn’t trash that needed to be taken out. If they came, I was still useful and got another day with my sister.
“There were also days when I hoped that they would just come in and kill me. Probably more of those than the others. But Sofia always bitched at me to never say that again.” I wiped my eyes and laughed. “She was the strong one. The brave one. The positive one. She was the one that should have lived. Even nine years later, no one can convince me that fate made the wrong choice.”
“I made a friend,” one of the girls interjected. “She was my brave one. And she died. How—How do you handle it? How do you live with yourself knowing you lived when you didn’t even want to?” she asked, tears clogging her throat, choking the question off.
“You just do. I wish I had a better answer. A step-by-step guide to getting through it, but I don’t. You just hang in there and go to therapy and live each day and each hour or even each minute. You live it enough for them. You live a life they’d be proud of. You embrace the feeling of guilt and regret. You absorb it and feel every painful ache. And slowly, you dissolve it with each step you take forward. It’s been almost ten years, and mine still lives within me, but it’s minuscule compared to what it was.”
Motion at the glass doors caught my eyes, and I looked up and froze. Blond hair, ice-blue eyes made even brighter by the light blue shirt tucked into black jeans. His head dipped with a small smile, hitting me right in my heart. When had he got here? How much had he heard?
Not that it mattered, it was Daniel. He knew everything and never treated me differently. He never treated me as a fragile thing on the brink of collapse. He pushed me and demanded I be strong for myself in ways I hadn’t known I needed to be.
“Eventually, there comes a moment—or a person— that helps you want to be more,” I said, looking right at him. “We cover our darkest parts and hide it under a pretty blanket we worked so hard to make with therapy and time. We pretend it’s not there until we’re ready to face it. And I can tell you that one day you will be able to face it—even if it’s only bits and pieces at a time.”
Tears clouded my vision of Daniel. He’d been my moment—my person that had helped me face the darkest parts and beat them. He’d been the person to remind me that I could have done it all along.