Fix You

Chapter Three

He presses me into the bed. My nightdress is pulled up. It is bunched at my neck.

I am sweating. This is uncomfortable.

He spreads my legs. I squirm. "Hold still."

I listen. His hands are rough. They're hot. I want to tell him to stop. But, I have to win the game.

His body hovers over me. He's heavy.

What's he doing? His hand moves down. I want him to stop. Why won't he stop? I don't like this game.

Pain. I'm burning. I give up on winning. I am desperate, saying, "Stop."

If he hears me, he doesn't acknowledge it. I scream. His hand covers my mouth. I still scream. It stings.

I'm crying. It hurts. He's too heavy.

I want the game to end.

But, he keeps going. He ignores my screams of pain.

  

We arrived at my house around fifteen minutes later. It was a small building, since I lived alone, but still a decent size considering my profession came with a very handsome salary. As Carter pulled into the driveway, his eyes scanned over my house. "Not bad," he finally commented after a pause. Since his face didn't move in the slightest and his eyes gave away nothing, I couldn't decide if he was lying or not.

We got out of the car, he immediately striding up to the house and me quickly following him. He moved so fast, I had to take large strides to keep up. His moves were still calculated, I mentally noted. Even walking he's strategic?

I pulled my house key out of my purse once we were on the porch, my fingers trembling slightly. This man had so much money, he could burn half of it and it wouldn't make a difference. However, I only had a somewhat-higher-than-average amount; I was comfortable as a member of the richer part of the middle class, but I was nowhere close to his financial status. He'd probably take one look at the inside of my house and laugh.

After reluctantly turning the key in the lock, I pulled my front door open and walked inside. I took in the comforting smell of home, instantly relaxing after having been so tense for the past few hours. I was home, and in my mind that meant I was safe.

He closed the door, and I turned to face him. "Wait down here while I go pack my things. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

I ran up the stairs, eager to be alone for a few moments. However, I was also eager to get Carter out of my house, so the second I stepped into my room, I pulled my suitcase out from under my bed and began throwing clothes inside. My house was my safe place, an escape from the dangers of reality, and having anyone in my personal haven where I went to deliberately avoid others put me on edge.

Am I really ready to do this? I asked myself yet again. I'd never formed a bond with anyone besides my parents and some friends, which were all female and only surface-level. This whole endeavor was completely uncharted territory. Can I handle this?

I focused only on the small, tedious task of packing, tuning out my mind and the obsessive worrying consuming it. I knew if I thought about everything for too long, I'd change my mind out of fear. And, I didn't want that to happen because deep down, a part of me really wanted to start healing from him. I didn't deserve to live the rest of my life alone... right?

I packed everything in about fifteen minutes, fitting all of my items into two suitcases and a carryon. I didn't know how long I was going to be there for his treatment—we had both agreed on two months, but his therapy very likely could require more time, depending on our progress—so I needed to be prepared, and had thus packed more than was probably necessary. If the two months ended and we still wanted to continue revised Schema Therapy, I could always return home and continue the rest from there, but something about the idea of asking Carter for a favor unnerved me.