Delicate Hearts | Completed

9 || Replacing Memories

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also... i really did do as much research as possible. i wouldn't know since i haven't been through something as horrific as this. i researched all types of trauma responses, but I'm not exactly sure how it... occurs? Please don't judge me too hard for this. it's probably poorly written. idk. 
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Two weeks later...

The therapist's office is bright, warm, and welcoming. I would like it, apart from the fact that this is an office for fucked up kids. With trauma because that's who this person was. A trauma therapist. It was my first official session. The one that was two weeks ago was just introductory. Apparently, they wanted to give me some time to process. Or some shit.

It's funny because the people in my life suddenly labeled something I still haven't understood as "traumatic," and now I'm at a fucking therapist for no fucking reason.

"Nice to meet you, dear. My name is Jenna West. You can call me Jenna. Dr. West. Whatever suits you. What's your name?"

"Madison Snow," I reply, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

"So, let's make sure we're clear on why you're here," She begins. I feel my heart start to race against my will. This is why I didn't want to be here.

"My parents want me to be here," I quickly say.

"Why?"

"How should I know?"

"Okay, let's start with something else." She puts her notepad away and leans forward as if she actually wants to have a conversation with me. "How old are you, Madison?"

"Seventeen."

"So, you're starting your college applications? Or do you have other plans?"

"I'm applying to college," I tell her.

"Any ones you're interested in?"

"Harvard. Princeton. Columbia. Stuff like that."

"That's good," She nods. "I'm glad you have strong aspirations. I'm sure you can get in."

"Yeah, I know," I shrug. "You don't really have to tell me." I don't feel bad for being rude. Maybe she'll stop wanting to see me if I'm rude enough.

"So how about recommendation letters? Have you asked your teachers?"

"Yeah. I have. Since sophomore year."

"Any teachers you particularly want a letter from?"

"My math teacher. My english teacher and-" The other one was... him. My mind flashes back to small snippets from two weeks ago. His body pressed against me, and mine pressed against the cold whiteboard. "It's cold...." I mutter.

"It's cold?"

"Yes! What the fuck is wrong with this room?! If you can't keep your patients warm, then what's the fucking use?!" I hug the jacket I was wearing closer to my body and try to stop myself from shivering. Dr. West gets up and grabs a warm blanket from a cabinet. They really had everything, huh? She hands it to me, and I wrap it around myself, almost immediately calming down.

"Since when did you hate the cold?" She asks. I shrug, even if I knew the exact answer.

"I dunno. Since... that day, or whatever."

"I see. Well, I'm glad you shared that with me. We'll take things slow. That should be enough for today. Thank you for coming in."

"Yeah, whatever," I shrug. "Can I leave now?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you tomorrow," She waves. "You can take the blanket." I'm thankful for that because I wasn't ready for anything more. That was surprisingly short for a therapy session, I assumed it would be much longer, but I like it better this way.

I'm met with a warm waiting room when I leave the room. There were a few more offices here for therapy as well. So this building is pretty warm and welcoming, kind of annoying if you ask me. At the same time I exit my room, someone else leaves the room next to mine.

Okay, that's a lie; I do notice him. He is noticeable, mainly because he looks pretty preppy. He's wearing glasses, a sweater over a collared shirt, navy blue jeans, and white shoes. When he gets closer, I start to walk faster toward the exit. I didn't realize that it was raining in my attempt to walk a good distance from him. When I feel the cold droplets on my face, I back up immediately and straight into the person behind me.

"My bad," I hear his voice apologize. For some reason, his voice calms me down. "You good?"

"Yeah..." I start. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say again more firmly, turning to face him.

"If you say so," He shrugs. Now that I look at him more closely, he's actually quite handsome. Is it normal to feel like this two weeks after something that is supposed to have traumatized you? "Are you waiting for someone?" He asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"My mom."

"Are you cold?" I was shivering uncontrollably. So it's pretty obvious I was cold. But pointing it out made me notice it more, and I flinch back, realizing how cold it is. "Shit, hold on, do you wanna go back inside?"

I don't answer him. Instead, I push past him and back into the building, where it's much warmer. He follows after me, which I find annoying. "Stop following me," I hiss through my chattering teeth.

"Sorry, I was just trying to make sure you're fine. You're hyperventilating."

"Of course, I'm fine. I'm in a fucking therapy office," I snap, taking a seat on a nearby couch and wrapping the blanket my therapist gave me around my body. He was right, though. I was shivering, hyperventilating, and panicking.

I'm at a point where my throat feels like it's at the point where I can no longer breathe. I close my eyes. The cold metal shelf on the whiteboard pressed against my bare skin.

"Trust me, it's going to be worth it."

"Hey, just take a deep breath." I try to, but I feel like it's impossible. I feel like someone is holding me by the neck, forcing me to stop breathing. "Count to ten. Focus on counting."

His hands were cold as ice, grabbing my neck and forcing me to stop fighting him.

One... Two...

I find the strength to open my eyes to see him in front of me still. I take a deep breath. "Can I kiss you?" I ask.

"What? Yeah... I guess."

Without waiting for a second, I grab his face and pull it onto my lips. I can still kiss people... Right? I'm not dying doing this. His kiss is deep, and it makes me think... I don't fucking need therapy to get over this. I can forget about it by replacing it with other memories. 

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a/n: hypersexualing urself is a valid trauma response, only i just don't know how someone would hypersexualize themselves. i did my best... pls don't come at me. 

anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 or thought it was well written. idk, i thought it wasn't the best, but eh, you can't win em all. 

please vote and show support <3 thank you so much! love you!