12. White lies
" I ... I , can't sleep at ni - night".I pause a lonely tear tracks down my eye I reach for the kleenex on the table. I blow my nose and sniff into the tissue looking thoroughly distraught. The therapist makes those understanding noises you make to people at funerals or victims. I can see her pity and I can't stand it. I'm having violent fantasies lately. If she knew what I would do to those animals if I had a weapon with me. I don't tell her all this I don't want to get sent into an asylum or anything. I have plans.
I continue with the questions. Then she asks me what I remember when I was taken. " Its all a blur really all i could think about was staying alive" When she asks me what I mean I stammer "I've seen the movies about kidnappers and all even on the news you have to stay on their good side so you don't get killed" Did you stay on their good side then she asks typing on her ipad. "I had too, I mean I tried I had to get back to my mom, she has no one" I start crying in earnest now and the therapist end the session promising to talk next week. I thank her through my tears.
I hate crying its pathetic and weak.
I have to be ruthless that's what she tells me and i have too make them believe I'm traumatised. I start spending more time than ever in my bedroom, to get away from my mom's questioning stare, her unanswered questions. I don't want to lie to her but I have too. It's us or them, now that's what she tells me.
I cannot stand the pity, the way everyone looks at me when I step out the door, like I'm broken, dirty, shameful for letting this happen... most of all I hate absolutely loathe the way everyone's eyes slide past me, like if they come near me something will happen to them or their kids, like i'm a bad omen.
I cannot wait for this to be over, but I have a bad feeling it's only the beginning...