Maya (Book #3)

Chapter 45

"Did I ever tell the story of why I became a therapist?" she asked, starting on a light note. I shook my head no, holding my breath eagerly.

She leaned back and looked up at the lights on the ceiling as she began her clearly rehearsed story.

"I had just gotten out of a long, trying relationship," she said, lips pressed tightly together. "It had taken the best of me, and it wasn't the safest, either. It made me skeptical of people, afraid of men, and... I no longer recognized myself when I looked in the mirror."

The words she said resonated with different feelings I had faced, and I wondered how similar our two stories were. Had she been injured in her childhood too?

"What happened?" I asked softly, wishing the love I felt for her could radiate off me and encourage her to speak. She took a deep breath and looked at the bookshelf behind me as she began.

"I grew up in a great neighborhood with excellent parents, but they couldn't prepare me for my first relationship. He seemed so sweet and thoughtful I would never have guessed the way he could've been when people weren't looking. They didn't believe it either," she murmured, staring off into space before facing me again with a smile. It was too forced like she was smiling at the irony of smiling after saying a statement like that. 

I felt a flush of disappointment that our stories weren't the same before gratitude overwhelmed me. At least she had a good childhood; she deserved that much. What did she mean the way he could've been, though? What had he done?

"What was he like when people weren't looking?" I asked, afraid of the answer. I imagined the worst-case scenarios and I wasn't too far off the mark.

"He hit me, he lied to me, and he made me believe terrible things about my friends and myself. He manipulated me into spending time with him alone and he tried to convince me that I would never find someone better," she explained with anger burning in her voice. I was glad that she was feeling anger. She deserved to be angry. I grew broken-hearted picturing this strong woman ever experiencing something so evil.

"Did your parents know?" I asked, desperate for a happy ending to her relationship although I knew most abusive situations didn't contain one.

"They didn't believe that he was hurting me when I told them. And after we... well, they decided after some time to kick me out. It was years before my mom apologized and entered my life again." She replied honestly, giving me a sad look. She seemed like she had made peace with the idea, but I couldn't. The thought of a parent hearing of abuse and ignoring it seemed like a betrayal more painful than death.

"So, he and I moved in together. When my parents abandoned me, his threats became true. I couldn't survive without him... financially, at least. But the pain got to be too much. I didn't want to walk on eggshells forever, and I couldn't have... a-anyone see what he was doing to me," she stuttered like she was trying to get her story straight. I wondered if it was the time that caused her confusion, or the abuse. I was no stranger to imprecise memories.

"And then, I made a mistake- in his eyes. I tried to leave him. We lived together so this wasn't an easy feat. I told him I couldn't take it anymore and that I was leaving."

"What did he do?" I demanded in a low voice as I watched her suck in her lower lip and train her eyes on the ceiling. I knew that trick. She was looking up so the tears couldn't fall. I wanted more than anything to be able to protect her. She focused on my eyes once more as she continued.

"He hurt me that morning, worse than I'd been hurt before." She said, pain obvious in her eyes. Her voice was strained like she was feeling the pain as she spoke. My eyes teared up as I tried not to cry. Agony filled my chest, and it became hard to breathe. How could I protect her or help when it had happened so many years ago?

"That only cemented the fact that I was right. I had to get out of there, hopefully alive. I told him I wasn't scared, and I began packing to leave." she said, without a hint of pride in her voice. How had this man distorted her vision so much that she couldn't recognize her own strength in this story?

I curled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them tightly, hanging on to every word she uttered. I was ashamed to find myself scared, worried about what was coming next, and reminded of my own experiences with such pain. I could picture the hit coming to strike her as I could picture my own punches and slaps. I saw her bruises developing on her pale body as they bloomed across my slightly tanner skin. The bruises were the same color; it was the same pain.

"He flew into a rage and injured me beyond recognition but a kind lady who lived next door overheard the fighting and came over to help me. You know her as Kathy," she said with a slight smile. I gasped at that as I learned where the two best friends had met. How could something so beautiful come from such a painful experience?

"Eventually, I was taken to the hospital where I found a nurse in dark blue scrubs with a long sleeve Harley Davidson shirt on underneath." She said with a radiant expression on her face. The way her eyes lit up juxtaposed the fearful and lost expression she had worn just moments before.

"We talked about motorcycles as he fought to stitch me back up. He told me about other patients he had that weren't quite as friendly, and his son, who he was taking care of alone. I was in the hospital for days, but he came to check me on every single one of them. We told stories and ate meals together and laughed for hours. I didn't trust men the moment I met him, but suddenly, I was willing to try again." She explained as I relaxed my posture and recognized a happy ending.

"I became a therapist because I wanted to love others and show them that it was worth fighting. Life is worth fighting for, and it shouldn't have to be quite so hard. We had our problems, of course, but our love was so much stronger than the adversity that faced us. We got married, began adopting kids, and the rest is history." She finished fondly, waiting for me to speak now.

"Wow," I breathed out, unable to describe what I was feeling. "Thank you so much for telling me that story. I feel like I know you so much better now. I'm sorry you had to experience that." I moved the blanket off me and crawled over to her, sitting up against her side. She placed her arm over my shoulders and brushed the hair off my face.

"If it helped me get to this year and this moment, if it helped me love you anymore, or protect you any better, it will have been worth it." She announced in a large gesture of affection that overwhelmed me.

"You've been that for me, you know," I said with an eloquence that surprised me. "You've been my light and shown me overwhelming love. I know that life is worth fighting for because of you."

She smiled at that, and tears came to her eyes as she pulled me close. I thought about her story, and she seemed to be thinking about it too. We sat in silence until another question popped into my mind.

"Whatever happened to your boyfriend?" I asked. I prayed that her answer would be prison or worse, and then cursed that part of myself for being so harsh.

"He took off in a rush when Kathy confronted him. Not even a month later, a police officer came to my door to tell me he had passed away in some sort of drunk driving accident. It was devastating." I couldn't imagine what was devastating about losing an abuser. I prayed for that daily.

"I'm glad he's gone," I said, trying to sound convincing. It wasn't a lie; I just wasn't sure it was one hundred percent true. Did anyone deserve to suffer, or did we all deserve a chance to change and improve? On the other hand, I wanted Charlotte to be and feel safe, every second of every day.

"I'm not. He took a part of me with him," she said, tears dripping down her cheeks. I wiped them off gently and hugged her, wishing I could take away her pain. I didn't know what she was feeling, and I hoped I'd never have to.

"I'm here," I whispered, as we rested there together. We began breathing in sync as the pain from her story seeped out of the room and we were left with something significantly more beautiful; two survivors who were okay.