Creative | Ambrose

one

WARNING: FEATURES A SCENE OF PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL ASSAULT. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

. . .

"Well would you look at the time!" I said, looking at the clock. 2:30: session over. "I feel that we made a lot of progress today." I stood up and stretched.

"Thanks Doc, I feel a lot better." I placed a hand on his shoulder making him sigh heavily.

"Dean," he started. "You need to start attending sessions on a more regular basis or I will send you back to the hospital." He warned.

"Alright. Well I'll see you on Thursday, yes?" I smiled and walked out of his office and found Roman, my best friend and roommate waiting for me.

"So, what'd he say?" Roman asked, standing up and stretching.

"If I don't start coming to my sessions on a more regular basis, he'll note it in his report and have me sent back to the hospital, where they'll put me in solitary for possibly the rest of my life." I said, laughing.

Roman's face went from one of blankness, then to shock, then to completely pissed off.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke?!" He yelled, causing everyone in the waiting room to look at us. "They're fucking talking about pulling a damn Hannibal Lecter with the straitjacket and face mask, and you're laughing."

"I don't think it'll be that drastic, and Jesus you need to stop watching movies."

"You need to stop thinking everything's a damn joke and get serious. Now go get your ass in the fucking car." He growled, shoving me toward the elevator, knocking me into someone and making their stuff go everywhere.

"Hey! Watch where the fuck you're going!" A voice–a female voice–yelled.

"I'm sorry, my friend was shoving me." I glared at Roman who was scrambling to pick up the girl's stuff. She glared at both of us and put her stuff back into her bag. I noticed a worn brown leather book and picked it up and started flipping through the pages. The pages were lined with drawings, some of them in color, most of them in black with red accents.

From things I've heard from people over the years, I knew that drawings like this represented pain and trauma.

I just didn't know what kind.

"Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer. And hasn't anyone ever told you that it's not okay to look through other people's stuff?!" She yelled, snatching the book from my hands.

With my hands up in surrender, I backed up. "I'm sorry."

"Save it." She spat and walked off. Roman and I looked at each other and walked into the elevator.

. . .

I knocked on the door three times and waited. A soft "Come in." was heard from the other side. I opened the door and saw the therapist, smiling softly at me. A shiver went down my spine. I know that he's not here to hurt me, but it's kind of hard to believe that when you've been used and abused by the opposite sex for most of your teenage years...

I scrubbed and scrubbed every counter in the kitchen until my fingers literally bled. I looked around the house, which looked the best it had ever did since we moved in; he'd damn make sure that I would know if I made a mistake.

I spot cleaned the whole house while he was gone, out drinking with his friends, praying that this would be one of those nights that he would be so drunk he passed out on the couch.

But of course, life wouldn't work out in my favor.

He stumbled inside, completely ignoring the sparkling clean living room and got to the kitchen where I was waiting for him with a glass of water and two Advil, like the good girl I was.

He drunkenly smirked at me. "You look so sexy." He slurred and walked in my direction. I tried to move away but he pinned me against the refrigerator.

"You need to rest...we can do whatever you want once you get over your hangover." I tried to plead, but to no avail.

"I want you now, princess." He started to kiss my neck.

"Please, stop." I cried. It fell on deaf, drunken ears as his hands went down my shorts and grabbed my ass. I pushed him off, making his hip hit the corner of the island in the kitchen.

Soon, he wasn't drunk anymore. His drunkenness was replaced with alcoholic rage and fury. I started to run, but he caught me. Mounting on top of me, he started punching me in my face, stomach, limbs, anywhere he could.

I was completely numb after the beating, which made me unable to react to him pulling down his pants, along with my shorts and giving the most painful sex I've ever felt in my life...

"So, how are things going Nina?" The therapist asked, scribbling in his notebook.

"They're fine, I guess." I said, shrugging.

"His trial is coming up soon, correct?" A shiver went down my spine as I nodded.

"Now you know that this will be a major trigger for your PTSD, so I want you to come in as frequently as you possibly can, especially after the trial. My door is always open."

I mustered a smile. "Thank you, Doc."

He gave me a warm smile and scribbled in his notepad again.

. . .

an: if anyone understood that Thursday reference ilysm. and I included a photo of what Roman meant by they were going to pull a "Hannibal Lecter" on Dean. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I know I'm making it very mysterious lmao. but you'll start to understand it soon.

- taiyah / lasskcker