OnlyUs

Alex

*Alex*


It's not that I'm disinterested, I just don't know how to become interested in anything other than my own thoughts, my nightmares and the self loathing I feel every single day since I was taken. 

I hear Jack talking to me, and I hear Jenna. I hear my mom when she comes. I hear my dad when he calls to check in, my sisters when they do too. I hear from my dad and sisters the least. They don't know what to say to me, so they don't really try. I appreciate that from them, though.
They feel bad, and I feel grateful. 
I appreciate the distractions that Jenna gives when she's here and Jack's at work.
We play games. Board games, card games, fun games like Mario Party or Mario Kart. I won't pick any violent games and she doesn't suggest them. 
It's not that seeing anyone get hit or smacked around in a fighting type game like Soulcalibur, which is one of my favorite games, triggers me or anything. It's the fact that I never want to see anyone lay a hand on another person ever again. 
I know what it feels like now to be on the receiving end of that hand. The mental and emotional trauma of that experience is unreal, and I can't bear to put that weight on anyone, even a video game character.
Unless we're bashing Goombas with pretend hammers. That's fine. That's fun.
We watch movies together too. I tried to watch Twilight, but then we got to the scene where James lures Bella to the ballet studio and I had to turn it off.
I started hyperventilating, my chest felt like it was caving in on me.
The scene was so dark, James was so sadistic and disgusting. Bella was me. I was Bella.
I was scared. I felt her emotion and her fear. I saw the look in her eyes and I knew it was the same look that I had.
I couldn't keep it on. Jenna turned it off, she tried to comfort me but I wouldn't let her touch me.
I wanted Jack, but he was at work.
So I sat alone in our bed until he came home, every single light on, wrapped tightly in a blanket so that only my head was sticking out of it. No other part of me could be exposed, I wouldn't allow it.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm so okay with letting Jack and only Jack touch me.
At first, I didn't want him to, when I was in the hospital. That wasn't because I was afraid of him though. It was because I didn't want him to touch me now that I'm used up, beaten down and disgusting.
I couldn't let him know that though. He thinks I didn't want him to touch me because I was afraid. It's a fair enough excuse, so I rolled with it at the time.

When we got home, it was different. I needed him to touch me. I needed to know that he was here, he's safe. 
I need safe.
I remember the first time I laid my head on his chest since I got home. It's the first time I felt comfortable enough to let my body touch anyone else that closely. Before, it was hand holding and hand holding only. Maybe the occasional arms touching as we sat closely together, and I never minded him getting close to me as he slept. After all, he went through a trauma too, and I recognize that. He slept for so long without me. It's so unfair to him. I should've done better. I should've listened to him. I should've deactivated my account long before I even got close to the situation I was put in. I was stupid. 
I fucked up.
I didn't deserve it, not at all, but because of my choices, I'm not the only one who suffered. 
Anyway, back to daydreaming about the first time I felt comfortable enough to be really close to my Jack again.

I laid my head on his chest, I was tense. My muscles ached, I was so damn tense, but I wanted to be held.
I felt the very light taps against the side of my head where it rested on his chest, right where his heart is. I remember closing my eyes and fixating on that feeling.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I zeroed in on the sound.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
So I counted.
At first I hadn't realized I was counting out loud until he asked about it, so I was honest.

I've counted his heartbeat each night since then and every time we cuddle during the day.
It's almost an obsession at this point.
I'm not sure what it is about hearing it, but it's safe. It's one of the safest sounds I've heard in a long, long time.
Sirens from ambulances or police cars scare me, even when I can hardly hear them. The sounds of horns honking from the daily traffic are headache inducing. The bus that drives by our house every day for the bus stop at the end of the street is too loud. 
I got used to no sound except for the sounds that he made and the sound of the TV when he let me hear it. 
Maybe I'm just going crazy. I don't know anymore.


I have my appointment today with the psychiatrist. Jack told me that talking to this woman is for me. At first my psychiatrists was a man, but I demanded a woman. I can't handle any other man right now, telling me how I feel or what I should feel. My abuser did that enough.
I know it's different, but I can't wrap my head around allowing another man near me.
This psychiatrist has been in the field for fifteen years, so I'd imagine she has some clue as to what she's talking about. It's me with the communication issue.
I told the police everything that happened. In great detail. More than I ever want to share ever again. I talked about it enough. Why do I need to talk about it again?
Jack says it's so I can personally heal, but what is opening up these wounds going to do other than hurt me all over again?
The nightmares are bad enough. I don't need to relive them while I'm awake too.


I'm sitting here silently on the couch while she's on the opposite end, her writing things down intimidates me, yet it's comforting at the same time. I like the sound of the pen scratching on the paper. 
She asks me how I feel about things, not as commonly as you see on TV with the stereotypical therapy sessions on drama shows, but enough to annoy me.
I feel angry. I feel upset. I feel sad. I feel completely alone. I feel depressed. I feel like I want to be anywhere but alive, yet I feel like I want to live again.
I try to word that to her, knowing it'll make Jack happy if I talk.
I know that I shouldn't base my own therapy on Jack's happiness, but his happiness is all I have.
It's all that I crave. He's sad like I am. Whenever I can make him smile, I cherish it.
He smiles a lot at me, but they're not always genuine. I think he smiles for my sake, as much as I'm trying to talk to this psychiatrist for his sake.
I pay attention to him though. The genuine smiles come when I ask for help. They come when I get close to him without asking or waiting for him to ask. When it comes naturally.
He smiles when I talk to him.
I don't talk to him much. I know that I should, but what is there to say?
I wrecked you while I wrecked myself?
I try to make up for my lack of communication with the fact that I'm trying harder to be physical with him. He needs something from me. Maybe he needs therapy too.

The appointment wasn't all bad.
She didn't ask me about things that happened directly. She asked me very open ended questions that I had the chance to fill in with whatever I chose. 
I couldn't bring myself to talk about the situation itself.
I talked about the things leading up to it. Things I wish that I did differently. Things I would change in a heartbeat.
Honestly, she didn't try to make me realize that I can't go back and change things, which I appreciated, but she did give me some corny shit about changing my future.
As if I don't already know that. What the fuck else am I going to do? Lay down and die without trying to move on with my life?
What else can I even do apart from killing myself?
Those are the only two options I have.
Try or die.


Dinner is quiet as usual and I hate it. For once, I hate the silence. My head is filled with everything  I hate the most, and I don't want to talk about it but I don't want to sit here and dwell on it either.
Still, I don't say a word and Jack doesn't either. I think he's given up on trying without wanting to admit that he's given up. He didn't want to give up, but what is there for him to say that he hasn't already tried saying? It's not like casual dinner conversation can just happen anymore. 
Still, I have to try right? He's miserable too. I hate that the most. I should hate what happened to me the most, but I don't. I hate that he got wrecked in the process of my mistakes. 
"Dinner was really good." I'm blushing, my cheeks are hot. I forgot how to truly just make conversation with my boyfriend. How embarrassing for me.
I look up and Jack is looking at me with a half smile playing on his lips, "Thank you. I got the recipe from a magazine your mom brought over. I took out some of the spices though, it sounded way too spicy for me to actually feel comfortable eating it." He's awkward and it makes me sad. We're strangers who share a trauma, basically.
I offer him a small smile back, "I liked it." 
Jack gives a little hum as a response as he cleans up our dishes, so I get up and try to help by putting the leftovers in some Tupperware, awkwardly leaning against the counter and crutch.
"Oh you don't have to do that." Jack smiles at me, but I shake my head.
"I can do this much." 
I feel like I shouldn't have said that though, because Jack just gives me a nod and goes on with loading the dishwasher.
"Can we watch a movie?" I ask, bending uncomfortably to get into the bottom cupboard for a lid.
Jack bends down and gets the lid for me with ease. It's almost annoying, actually. Not the act of him helping, but the fact that he can bend at all. Plus the fact that he can use both of his hands when one of mine is still trapped in a brace. I get the leftovers lidded, watching him take it to the fridge.
"What movie do you want to watch?" He asks as he closes the refrigerator.
I lean against the counter, everything hurts.
"I don't know." I sigh, feeling pathetic as he helps me into the bedroom. 


We get comfortable next to each other, I'm under the blanket, he's above it. 
I've got the remote, scrolling through the family and kids section of Netflix.
"A Cinderella Story?" I ask, hating myself over the fact that any other time, I'd never pick this movie. Ever. Everything else scares me though, and I do have to admit how much I appreciate Jennifer Coolidge. Her roles are always hilarious to me. 
Jack nods, and I know he's not going to be into it at all. He's agreeing for me.
"Sure." He gives me that almost but not quite genuine smile again.
"You could pick one..." I'm afraid of what he might pick, though.
"No, this is good." His response is quick, like he doesn't want to think too long about it. If he does, he might take me up on my offer.
I sigh, feeling a little bit frustrated.
"Look Jack, I know you don't want to watch it. It's okay. Please, pick something that you want to watch. I've been choosing everything, and I appreciate it, but honestly, nothing is going to go back to normal or anything close to normal if you're constantly tiptoeing around me. It feels a little but humiliating. I feel like I'm not a person anymore, but some fragile thing that's going to shatter if it's even looked at wrong." I don't mean to sound upset, and I don't think that I do, but I hope I don't come across as rude to him.
Jack nods and takes the remote from me, "I don't mean to make you feel that way...I just don't know what to say to you. I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing, I'm afraid of trying to talk to you the way that I used to and I'm afraid of you shutting down completely. I just let you make the decisions because I know that you didn't get to...For months...And I'm not going into it, I know you don't want to and I'm not going to ask you to, but I know that you had zero choices for months on end...I'm just trying to make you feel like you're in charge of something." He sits up a little bit, and I know that I made him upset.
I sit up to match his height. I don't want to feel beneath anyone.
"I appreciate that Jack, I really do. Please believe me when I say that, but I also feel like you're not my boyfriend anymore. You're just someone I share a trauma with. Somebody that I used to know. I see who you used to be like I'm looking through a frosted glass window. I really just want that window to not exist at all. I want to break the metaphorical window." I look up at him, trying to gauge his expression.
He really just looks confused, so I keep going. I'm on a roll.
"Jack, can you just kiss me?"
Jack raises his eyebrows "Kiss you?"
I roll my eyes, put my hands on his cheeks, lean in and press my lips to his.

He's frozen for a minute. Soon but not soon enough, his hands are on my waist and I feel like I'm finally home.
I tilt my head a little, trying to subtly let him know that it's okay for him to kiss me deeper. 
He gets the hint, like this is the only thing that comes naturally to us anymore.
I want to fucking scream, jump for joy and cry all at once the second I feel his lips part against mine.
I take my chance like he's given me the gift of a lifetime, parting my lips with his, our tongues slowly meeting, dancing a very slow waltz with one another.
I can feel him hesitating, and I understand, but I want more from him.
I don't want him to be careful. I don't want him to get aggressive, and I definitely don't want more than kissing, but I want him to kiss me like he means it.
I initiate again, scooting closer to him, my arms finding their way around his shoulders, pulling him closer against me.
I move my tongue faster against his and he follows my lead, arms tightening around my waist.
Finally.

I want to kiss him like this forever, but I don't want to get carried away.
I pull back just slightly to look at him, wondering how he'll react.
"I love you." He whispers, looking at me like he's about to cry.
"I love you." I hope my tone conveys just how damn much I mean it.
Maybe I need to let him know.
"The whole time I thought of you."
I don't expect a response, and I'm glad that I don't get one apart from the slight raise of his eyebrows.
"The entire time I was gone...It was you I thought of. Every second of every day. I kept you alive in my mind, and I didn't let myself forget. I didn't let myself get lost or give up. I thought of you and you alone. I know I've said this before, but I saw you on TV and it felt more like a sign than torture. At least I knew you were still there, that you're real and you were looking for me and thinking of me too. That's all I needed to keep going. Jack, even if I died there, I would've died knowing that you love me, and that I love you. So please...Drop the guard. I won't break. I went through the worst thing I think I'll ever go through in my life, but I'm home now. I'm home and I want you to treat me like I'm home. Treat me like I'm me. Treat me like you love me, not like you have to babysit me." I'm pleading and I'm the one who wants to cry now.
Maybe I need to. I can't stop myself as the word vomit keeps spewing.
"I want you to hold me and not have to ask, and kiss me like you used to, for no reason at all. I don't want you to hesitate for a hug, I don't want you to be afraid to put your arm around me or hold my hand...Please. I'm home Jack. I came home. Let me be home. Please." Those last few words I choked on, the tears streaming down my cheeks are embarrassing but necessary.

Jack doesn't say a word to me, but he hugs me tightly and I gratefully return the hug as I cry against his shoulder. It's then that I hear shaky breaths from him and I know that he's crying too.
I'm not even sure that I want him to verbally respond to everything that I said. His physical reaction is all that I need.
I know that he understands what I'm asking of him now, and that's all that matters.

He pulls back first and I follow his lead.
It makes me smile, the way he presses soft kisses to my cheeks where the tears stained them. 
"You're home." He says softly, like it's finally fully registered in his mind.
"I am." 
"Don't go again." Now he's the one with the pleading tone and all I want to do is make him better.
"Jack, I'm not going anywhere. Honestly, it'll be a miracle if I leave this house again." Not to ruin the moment, but it's true.
"I'll keep you safe no matter where we go. I won't let anyone or anything ever hurt you again. Okay?" He sounds so desperate and it's breaking my heart.
"Okay." I don't know how else to respond.
I'm glad that my 'okay' seems to be enough for him, as his arms find their way securely around me again, pulling me close against him.
He's so warm and he's so safe. He is home. Not this building. He.

I fall asleep tonight counting his heartbeat, I feel okay.