Pride
Therapy? God I hate therapy, this has got to be the worst experience in the world. My heart is beating so fast I fear it may explode. Actually, I hope it will explode: then I won’t have to go through this.
‘Explode then’ I whisper silently to myself but of course it doesn’t. That would be far too easy. I can hear the voices as they go round the circle, the different pitches and tones and I know that soon it will be my turn. The adrenalin pumps through every aching muscle like I’m just about to run a marathon. And maybe I am. Maybe I’m going to run away from all these faces of strangers staring at me: judging me. I want to, more than anything I want to escape this but then I remember why I am here, why I’m doing this. Patrick. It’s all for him, my only friend who stuck by me through this through it all.
He said it would help me get over it. He said I needed therapy. But he said it in such a kind way that it didn’t make me want to hit him or feel hurt like I would with anyone else. It was something that I had never considered, never wanted to consider before. But as soon as the words escaped his mouth and he gave me that all-knowing smile it all seemed to make sense, something clicked. Therapy? Yeh, I need therapy.
Someone coughs and brings me spinning out of my thoughts. I look around sheepishly to see everyone else staring right back at me. Oh my god, this is it: my turn. Nobody moves, no one speaks but I can see them all, ever eye in the room on me. Every middle aged divorced eye, every teenage anorexic, every recovering alcoholic. All staring at me. Slowly and steadily I felt the fibres in my jelly-like legs pulling me up. Nervously I clear my throat and rub my hands together.
“Hi.” My voice quakes, what am I doing? “My name is Holly and I was…” I falter again, I can’t do this: I’m not strong enough. “I was stalked.” The words slip out of my mouth without my knowledge; without my approval. I didn’t feel better like everyone said I would, I just felt sick. Sick to my very bones. Now everyone knew. Now they all knew how weak I was. Sympathetically they all nod, smiling smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. To my amazement they all burst into applause. Why were they clapping me? Being stalked was nothing to be proud of and certainly nothing to clap at.
“I’m afraid.” My mouth carries on before my brain can kick into gear. “I know that he’s gone now and that he can never hurt me again but I can’t help but look over my shoulder every few yards. I can still hear his whispered words down the phone, still feel his eyes on me and still feel his hands on me. No matter where I go or who I’m with it still haunts me and I know I’ll never be able to get away from it. Away from him.” I take a deep breath as I try to slow my heartbeat and stop my hands shaking. I look at them all, still smiling those false smiles as they began to clap again.
“Stop it!” I cry as I break my way through the circle of chairs, tears like boulders rolling freely down my rough cheeks. I run and run until I reach the car park where I finally let myself go and crash to the floor in a shaking heap. I didn’t want their applause or their smiles or their sympathy. I just want my life back. Is that so much to ask?
Through my tears and clouded vision I saw Patrick walk towards me. My knight in shining armour. He held open his arms as I collapsed on his shoulder. I can feel my frail body shuddering with the effort it takes to keep the sobs inside me.
“How did it go?” He asks gently as he begins to walk me towards the car.
“It was awful. I hated every second of it.” I spit.“But you did it.” He reminds me, his soft voice flowing soothingly over me.
“I did huh? I did it.” I smiled broadly. I’d really done it.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”