Truly Yours Page 10

  “You two children need to be separated?” I intervene.

  Liam grabs the remote and starts flipping through the channels before settling on some crime TV show.

  “Do we have to watch this?” I complain. “I see enough of this shit every day.”

  “That’s why you should love it,” he says. “Better than watching bounty hunter shows. It’s all fake.”

  “And you think this shit isn’t?” I argue. “They glamorize it.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t walk into a crime scene in slow motion with a badass song playing in the background?” Serena mocks, her eyes widening as she pokes fun at me.

  We get through one episode and two pizzas before the front door swings open and Sophie walks in. She hadn’t texted me all day, and I didn’t want to bother her, so I managed to restrain myself from checking on her.

  “Hey.” I smile and stand to greet her.

  “Hey,” she says weakly. I watch as her eyes catch on Serena. She looks back and forth between us before pulling away. “What are you guys doing?” She shifts her gaze to Liam.

  “It’s pizza and beer night. You missed out,” he says.

  “I can see that. My sisters and I grabbed dinner anyway.”

  “Hey,” Serena chimes in.

  “Hi,” Sophie returns. “I’m just gonna grab a bottle of water, then head to bed. I’m worn out.” She gives a little wave to Serena, and I follow her into the kitchen.

  “So how’d things go?” I reach for her elbow, then drop my hand. She digs into the fridge before shutting it and turning to face me.

  “Pretty good. She specializes in emotional trauma and grief, which is perfect. Only time will tell, though.” She shrugs, then takes a drink of her water.

  “That’s great to hear. How was it with your sisters?”

  “It was fine, Mason,” she says sharply, then walks around me.

  Scrubbing my hands over my face, I remember what Serena said and try not to take her edginess personal. When I walk back into the living room, Sophie is gone, which means she already went to her room for the night.

  “I’m gonna get going.” Serena stands, grabbing her bag. “Text me if you need to talk, okay?” She flashes a sad smile. I nod and give her a hug goodbye.

  “Bye, Liam,” she singsongs. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Never,” he retorts.

  Once Serena’s gone, Liam comes and sits next to me. “What’s up, dude?”

  “God, not you too.” I roll my eyes, not having the strength to talk about it again.

  “I can sense some tension,” he continues.

  “Wow, you must be a psychic.”

  He pierces me with his eyes, not taking my shit. “What happened?”

  “Weston. Dalton. My father. Emma. Need more?” I deadpan.

  “You two break up?” he asks seriously.

  “No, but she wants space, so that’s what I’m giving her,” I explain, keeping it short.

  “Yeah, you did that too after Emma.” He nods. “Sophie is strong. One of the strongest women I know, and for some reason, she’s crazy about you, so I have no doubt when the time is right, she’ll be ready to move forward with you again.”

  I glare, not appreciating his half-ass dig.

  “She’ll be okay,” he reassures me.

  “I know,” I say. “Doesn’t keep me from being terrified of losing her.”

  “You’re strong, too. I have no doubt you two will figure this out.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “And that’s my TED talk for the night.” He waggles his brows. “I’m off to bed.”

  “You’re annoying.” I roll my eyes.

  After sitting in the living room for a half hour by myself, I decide to take a shower. I’m so goddamn tense, and my head is a fucking mess. Standing under the hot stream, I jerk my dick until it’s hard. My strokes are punishing and fast; images of Sophie flood my mind as my head falls back on a moan. As I hold myself up with one hand against the shower wall, I picture her cheeks hollowing when I slide my cock between her perfect lips and how sexy she’d look on her knees in front of me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fantasized about her, but the timing is all wrong. Yet I’m desperate for her touch.

  I squeeze my eyes closed as I imagine her hands on me. My fingers tighten as I pick up my pace, harder and faster, and soon, I’m unraveling, releasing into my palm and moaning Sophie’s name.

  With my body soaked, I stand and try to catch my breath. Fuck me.

  I love her so damn much, yet I still feel like it’s not enough. I can’t lose her after everything, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. If that means keeping my distance and giving her space, I’ll do it. But I’m not letting her walk away from me—from us.

  Chapter Ten

  Sophie

  It’s been a week since my first therapy appointment, and I’ve been trying to implement breathing techniques when I feel anxious or stressed. After my gut reaction to Serena sitting close to Mason was that she wanted him, I went to my room frustrated as hell. The rational part of me knows I’m overreacting, but the overly sensitive and emotional part of me wonders if she’d be better for him after all. I know the thoughts are dangerous and toxic, and I’m not usually the jealous type, but my insecurities definitely got the best of me.

  Today’s the day of my second appointment, and I wake up in cold sweats, my body trembling as I try to push away the thoughts of the nightmare that woke me. Before it used to only be Weston who’d visit me in my sleep, but now Dalton has started showing up too.

  Sitting up, I put my feet on the edge of the bed and look at my violin case. I haven’t had any desire to play since the incident. I squeeze my eyes tight and count to ten just as Mary taught me. Sadness washes over me when I think about playing. Music used to be my escape, but now I can’t seem to find the strength to lose myself in it. There’s still so much I need to work out in my head and process. However, I’m growing more concerned that feeling like this is my new normal.

  Once I returned from Utah, I called my director, and thankfully, he’s given me permission to take personal leave for as long as I need. He knows that creative people can’t be forced to create. I’m grateful he understands because I’m not sure I could play right now even if I tried. Just going out in public is hard, but being around people is too much. I’m more comfortable staying inside the house, where I’m safe and no one asks me shit about the incident. I’m not forced to talk about anything unless I want to. Mason and Liam both know that I bring it up it when I want to and don’t push me. Not even my sisters force conversation on me, which I’m more than grateful for. Since talking to a professional, it’s confirmation that maybe I’m more normal than I thought. Everyone works through their demons in different ways.

  I’m looking forward to talking with Mary again today, sharing how things have been since our last meeting. Not much has changed between Mason and me this past week. We talk, and I see him before and after work, but as far as progress goes, I’m still taking it one day at a time. At night, I cling to his shirt like it’s my lifeline. I miss him, and I know he misses me too, and it’s destroying me that I have to put this space between us right now.

  After I get ready for the day, I drive across town as I chat with my mother on the phone. My parents have been worried about me ever since I visited Utah, and I’ve promised to keep them updated with what’s going on with me. I’ve been added to every prayer list available, and while I appreciate it, I don’t want the attention.

  Pulling into the parking lot, I take a deep breath and walk inside the office. I sign in, and it doesn’t take long before Mary grabs me from the waiting room.

  “Hey, Sophie,” she greets with a warm smile. We exchange light conversation about the weather as I follow her into her office.

  Once we both take our seats, she crosses her legs and gives me all of her attention. “So how has this past week been? During your first session, you told me all about the trauma you�
�ve endured. What have been your biggest obstacles since the incident?”

  As easy as it would be to just gloss over my emotions and say I’m fine, I know that won’t do me any favors. I’m not fine.

  “Trust issues, the guilt I feel about Dacia’s death, the harsh reality that I put the people I love in danger. Knowing I should’ve been more guarded after Weston, but I allowed a stranger in my life and didn’t see the signs. I’m struggling with anxiety for the first time in my life and don’t know how to deal with it,” I admit.

  She studies me. “That’s very understandable. PTSD affects everyone differently, especially in harmful traumatic events such as yours. It triggers anxiety and stress and most definitely trust issues. When you think of those concerns, can you tell me what specific things come to mind that trigger anxiety?”

  I inhale a sharp breath, swallowing down my fears and reminding myself to be open. “Specifically, the knife he taunted me with. How he threatened to slice my throat and the way it felt when he cut me.” I glance down at the mark on my arm that’s nearly healed now, but it’s left a scar

  “How do you cope when you feel anxious? What do you do?”

  “Honestly, by usually crying or hiding in my room. Burying myself in bed or trying to drown out the external noise with TV or music.”

  “And does that help?”

  “Temporarily, but not usually that long before those thoughts flood back in,” I admit.

  “What does it feel like when they return?”

  “Like I have no control and may never get over this. I’m afraid this’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  She nods, leaning toward me. “One of the biggest obstacles that people endure from trauma is feeling out of control—of their feelings and the aftermath. You need to gain that back without the fear of what’s already happened, of what you can’t change.” She clears her throat and crosses her arms over her lap. “Alright, next time you find yourself feeling that way, I want you to try something. Visualize the scene in your head. Put yourself back to that night as best as you can. Right now, this is your biggest fear—that someone is going to hurt you again. In order to work through that aspect, I’d like you to try some imaginal exposure.”

  My breath hitches. This sounds insane. The last thing I want to do is force myself back into the nightmare that nearly killed me.

  “I’m going to guide you through this…” she informs. “Close your eyes and walk me through Dalton holding the knife in front of you.”

  Tears surface as I do what she asks. Starting slow, I describe what it was like to be taped to the chair and how helpless I felt. Being restrained, having no control, fearing for my life.

  Mary asks questions and navigates me through, encouraging me to continue and combat the fears that now overlap with my everyday life. I’ve actively tried to push the thoughts of that night out of my head, but in this scenario, I’m standing on the edge of a mountain, and she’s pushing me right over, falling fast into the darkness.

  With tears down my cheeks and my arms wrapped around me, holding me securely, I manage to get through the exercise. Once I’ve opened my eyes and wiped my face, I inhale a deep breath. The anxiety I had before feels a little less heavy on my chest.

  “You did really well, Sophie,” she tells me. “I can tell how hard that was for you, but I can reassure you this type of behavior therapy has been very successful for many of my clients. I think it can help you too, if we continue to practice. Taking control of your emotions and fears inevitably gives you back the power.”

  I nod, proud that I got through it too. I’m so grateful for her and being able to take this time to work on myself.

  “We still have some time left, Sophie, so why don’t you tell me how things are going with Mason. You told me that you’ve asked him for some relationship space. Is that still the case?”

  I grin when I think about him, though I’ve been mostly distant and in my own head this past week. “Yes, and he’s been very understanding. I know he’s here for me, and he doesn’t push my boundaries, which I’m grateful for, but I feel bad for putting him through this. I still worry I’m too broken at this point to ever be what he deserves. After Weston’s emotional abuse, I still have to fight the thoughts he implanted in my head. It’s hard not to believe them even though the rational part of me knows they were all lies.”

  “Weston used emotional manipulation to break you down so you’d believe what he told you. Abusers like him make you truly believe that you’re unworthy of happiness or healthy relationships. He wanted you to think all the bad things he did were your fault. The only thing you’re guilty of is being a good person and trying to see the best in everyone. You are a good person.”

  I let out a sigh. “I am.”

  “Do you find doing your breathing exercises helps when you feel anxious?”

  “Yes, for the most part,” I tell her. It’s something the counselor taught me in Utah.

  “That’s great. Keep it up. I’d like to give you a project for the next time we meet. It can often be hard for a person to realize how far they’ve come or what part of their treatment has really helped, so I’d like you to start an anxiety journal. Every time you feel fear, out of control, or anxious, write down the moment. Then record what you did to cope with it and whether it helped. Keeping track can allow you to see any patterns or triggers. Even if it’s things you think are stupid, write it down so we can talk about it.” Her voice is soft and sweet, and I focus on it as I agree with her suggestion.

  When our session ends, we set an appointment for the same day next week. When I walk outside, I feel a sense of clarity. I need to take it one day at a time and focus on the right now.

  I walk to my car, and as soon as I get inside, I lock the door and pull my phone from my purse, and see I have a text from Maddie.

  Maddie: I got the dates for the fall ballet recital and wanted to send them over to you! Last Friday of Sept. You’re coming, right?

  I quickly open my calendar app and don’t see anything scheduled for work. Though I’m not actually playing now, every performance is penciled in for the year.

  Sophie: Definitely! Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  Maddie: Awesome. Wanna invite everyone for me too? ;)

  She has a way of making me laugh.

  Sophie: You mean invite Liam?

  Maddie: Thank you! He needs to see how flexible I really am and how many different positions I can put my body in, if you know what I mean.

  Sophie: You are so relentless. Which I actually find admirable.

  Maddie: He’ll crack eventually. It’s just a matter of time. Guaranteed!

  I snort. She’s had a thing for him since the first time she met him and refuses to give it up. Maybe eventually she will break through Liam’s thick shell, but I’m not so sure. He’s not the kinda guy who settles down with anyone, and if he hurt Maddie, I’d chop off his balls, then Lennon would feed them to him. Hunter considers Maddie and me his sisters, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d kick his ass on principle alone.

  Sophie: I’ll invite everyone. I’m sure they’ll come.

  Maddie: Thank you! I love you! Gotta go back to class.

  Sophie: Mmhmm. Love you too.

  I crank the car and drive home thinking about Maddie and how I hope she stays safe. I don’t want her to go through what I have, and I’ll do everything in my power to protect her from all the crazy assholes out in the world. Rushing into a relationship with anyone isn’t worth it, and though I know she has a thing for Liam, I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. She’s beautiful, sassy, and sometimes a little naïve, which makes me worry about her that much more.

  Soon, I’m pulling into the driveway, feeling relieved to be home. Before I get out, I look around, making sure nothing seems out of place or suspicious. It’s the paranoia, I know, but that doesn’t stop me from checking. I grab my purse and hurry inside, quickly locking the door behind me. That’s when I realize this is the kind of thing
Mary wanted me to write down—when I feel anxious. Once I’m in my room, I grab a notebook I’ve used for work stuff and go to an empty page and jot down what I felt and the thoughts that surfaced. Then I put how the anxiety had me rushing inside and double-checking locks. The paranoia reminds me that I need to take some slow, deep breaths and try to relax before I irrationalize the situation and have a full-on anxiety attack.

  Once I’m done writing, I place my notebook and pen on my nightstand since I’m sure there will be more times I’ll need it. Then I sit on my bed and go to my happy place, deep breaths in, slow breaths out. After a few moments, some of the anxiety melts away, and I’m content enough to stop for the time being.

  I remember I promised to give Lennon an update about therapy, so I quickly send her a text letting her know things went well. Then a text from Mason comes through.

  Mason: Whatcha want for dinner?

  He’s been a lifesaver in more ways than one, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay him for everything he’s done for me.

  Sophie: I don’t care. What do you want?

  Mason: I asked you first!

  I wonder if this is what real couples do, go back and forth about what’s for dinner. I realize I’m smiling, and it feels good, but Mason seems to do that to me. Always has.

  Sophie: Pasta?

  Mason: No, I’m not in the mood for that.

  Sophie: Pizza then.

  Mason: That’s too greasy.

  I groan and roll my eyes at his pickiness.

  Sophie: So tell me what you don’t want, and then I’ll decide!