Screwed

By Heather Mace

Neglected and abused as a child, Karen Griffin suffers from anger management issues, self-loathing, and social anxiety. Only her sense of humor has helped maintain her sanity as an adult. Numbing herself with alcohol, and meaningless flings, she convinces herself she has escaped her troubled past, until her tormentor reappears in her life. Can Karen rise above the pain and anger to find true happiness, or will she succumb to the familiarity of the emotional isolation that has always made her feel safe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Mace
• Release date: May 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310118289

Heather Mace

I started writing in my early teens because I had already read all of the YA fiction that interested me. (This was way back in the dark ages before the likes of Harry Potter.) I wrote not about the things I had done, but about the things I wanted to do. I got older, experienced more life, and discovered a world of fiction written for adults. Even though my desire to read was being fulfilled, I never lost the desire to write. I eventually went to college and got a Bachelors degree in psychology. I have always been fascinated by human behavior and was pleased to be able to indulge that fascination until it resulted in a degree. No matter what I have learned, what I have done, or where life has taken me, I have always returned to writing. As I looked back on this decades long hobby, I asked myself why I was still waiting to publish my work. So, here I am. I hope you find something in my stories that you enjoy!

Book preview

Screwed

By Heather Mace

Copyright 2016 Heather Mace

Smashwords Edition

Licensing Notes

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this ebook.

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction.

Characters, places, and events in this story are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

Thank you Kathryn Coe for trying to help me keep the medical stuff correct.

Important Disclaimer

When I read a story where the main character fears, dislikes, is abused by, or deeply irritated by his/her mother, I always worry and wonder at the author’s relationship with his/her own mother. As you read this story, please don’t worry and wonder. I have a great relationship with my mother. Not only is she a wonderful person, but I owe my life to her (no, not because she gave birth to me, but because she didn’t strangle me when I was fifteen.) Thank you for all of your love and support, Mama.

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

About the Author

Other Titles by Heather Mace

Connect with Heather Mace

For Jeanette

a most excellent aunt

1

It was a dark and stormy night, Karen said dramatically.

The therapist stared at her, expressionless.

No really, it was, Karen assured him. And I can’t say that there was any rhyme or reason to it, but I knew it was coming. The memory of lashing out flashed through her head. She remembered that her hands had seemed like they belonged to someone else.

Dr. Rodgers nodded and said nothing.

She paused to look at him for a few moments, waiting for some encouragement, some movement, a sign of life, anything to make it seem worth one hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour. She shrugged and continued. Okay, then... I tried to hide. I tried to hide? She shook her head. In her mind, she had mixed up the memory of her own hands with the other hands whose violence was burned into her brain.

She remembered curling up under her blanket, thinking, like all children do, that the blanket would protect her from all monsters. She needed to go to the bathroom so badly that it hurt to hold it in. Last time she had made the mistake of letting it out. That was a mistake she would not make again. She winced at the memory of what came next, I wasn’t very adept at choosing my hiding places. Startled to hear herself speaking again, she looked up sharply.

Dr. Rodgers crossed his legs.

Karen looked at her watch. She wondered if they would pro-rate her fee if she left now. Probably not. She didn’t want to talk to this guy about anything. And it didn’t seem that he was listening anyway. Should you be writing this down or something?

Would that make you feel more comfortable? He asked.

It might make you appear more competent.

He nodded and stayed motionless.

I’m not sure what I’m going to get out of this.

He took a deep breath. What do you wish to get out of this?

The frustration and rage collided in her throat, rendering her momentarily speechless. She doubted that Dr. Rodgers was the right therapist to see for anger management issues. After less than ten minutes with him, she wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and slam his head into the wall. But, she had a feeling that throttling the therapist would not be the best way to prove that she could change. She sat back, folded her hands in her lap and crossed her legs, mimicking his pose. Perhaps I should go.

Perhaps you should, he responded.

Maybe you aren’t the Doctor I’m looking for.

Maybe I’m not.

Hey, I have an idea. I could get a parrot. She stood up.

He remained seated.

These are not the ‘droids you’re looking for, she waved her hand in front of his face. When her Jedi mind trick failed, she wiggled her fingers and waved goodbye. Thanks for nothing.

***

A week later she received a bill from San Antonio Psychiatric Care, for one hundred and twenty-five dollars, along with a note that said: I will be here when you wish to get serious about your therapy. Karen placed it carefully between two small logs in the fireplace and struck a match. She dialed Tracey’s work number while she watched the invoice burn.

I assume you have been getting help, Tracey said upon answering. I told you not to call until you did.

I went to therapy, Karen confirmed.

You did? She sounded pleasantly surprised. And how did that go?

Tracey, She turned away from the dwindling flame and rested her elbows on the breakfast bar, it was such a waste of time. Can’t we just talk?

No. What did you do, spend one hour there and decide it wouldn’t work?

No! I spent ten minutes there and decided it wouldn’t work.

Goodbye, Karen, she hung up.

Karen pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. She put the receiver back to her ear and listened to the dial tone to make sure she had just been hung up on. Finding that she had, she smashed the phone repeatedly against the counter until it cracked in half. You bitch, she screamed at the handful of plastic and wires. Bitch! She threw the phone at the wall and watched as a piece of the plastic case broke away and spiraled into the kitchen.

She dropped to the floor and covered her eyes to try to block the violent images, unable to stop from remembering why Tracey had left. She was no longer certain what had started the whole thing. It could have been a fit of unsubstantiated jealousy, an imagined infraction, or just a run of the mill lover’s quarrel. But whatever the trigger, it had escalated into something that seemed beyond her control. It was as if she had awakened from a horrible dream to find herself slapping Tracey repeatedly across the face.

When she’d realized what she was doing, she had let go of Tracey, and looked at her hand as if it belonged to someone else. Someone else? She knew perfectly well who that someone else was. No! She shook her head vigorously, but could not shake out the image of Tracey looking hurt and betrayed, while holding her own hand gently against her stinging, red cheek.

Karen had apologized profusely. She had apologized while Tracey cried. She had apologized while Tracey packed. She sent flowers to the office with a written apology in the card. But Tracey had walked away and not looked back. When she had come for the rest of her things, she brought two friends with her to help her move. Karen had not been alone with her again.

***

Karen chose an overstuffed beanbag chair and settled into it. This office stood in stark contrast to the stuffy office where Dr. Rodgers worked his supposed magic. His place had been spotless, generic, and decorated with pieces of art that obviously had no meaning to anyone. It was bland, boring, and unwelcoming.

This place, was colorful, inviting, and a bit strange.

Hello, Karen, a middle-aged woman floated into the room and bent to shake her hand. I’m Phoebe McNeil. Her voice and mannerisms along with the playful décor made Phoebe seem like a young woman. But the lines in her face indicated that she was at least twice Karen’s age.

Nice to meet you.

Thank you. Can I get you some herbal tea?

Uh... I think... not.

Okay, there’s no pressure here. Phoebe folded her legs under her and sat on the floor in front of Karen. Are you comfortable with this arrangement?

I am if you are, Karen shrugged.

Great, she patted Karen on the knee. Tell me why you are here.

Why am I here? Why are any of us here? A question for the ages.

Phoebe smiled warmly and waited for her to continue.

Okay, I’ve come to see you about anger management.

Good, good. Was there a specific incident or a series of behaviors that led you to this place in your life?

Well, Karen thought, at least this one talks. I hurt someone I cared about. In fact, I hit someone I cared about?

Phoebe looked very concerned, very sympathetic. Was this the first time it happened?

Uh, yeah. I’m not all that easy to live with. But I never hit this person before, and now I can’t seem to get forgiven.

From whom are you seeking forgiveness? This person or yourself?

Karen sat for a long time, trying to figure out the answer to the question. Who needed forgiveness? And why couldn’t she refer to Tracey as she instead of this person? Surely her therapist wouldn’t judge her for being with a woman. More importantly, why was Phoebe letting her get away with it?

Karen decided that it wasn’t going to work. Phoebe would never even crack the surface. She could tell Phoebe anything she wanted to. She could make up imaginary problems, and pretend to work really hard on curing them, and Phoebe would never know the difference.

Karen, maybe this is too much, too soon. You need to get comfortable with me, with therapy, and with yourself. Let’s start with some relaxation techniques, Phoebe suggested.

Karen raised an eyebrow.

Lie back, get comfortable, uncross your arms and legs.

Karen complied.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath. You are safe here.

Karen opened her eyes to find Phoebe sitting in front of her with her own eyes closed. She was breathing deeply and speaking softly, following all of her own instructions for relaxation. Ma’am, Karen leaned forward, I hate to interrupt, but I don’t think this is going to work for me.

Very well, we can try something else.

Phoebe was so sweet that it was hard to walk out on her. I just don’t think I can do this. Maybe I’m not ready at all.

"Recognizing that, may be a step in the right direction." Phoebe patted her knee again.

Thank you. I’ll think about that. She stood up and gave the therapist a hand.

When you are ready, I will be here. Phoebe took her hand and pulled herself to her feet. She walked Karen to the front of the office and told the receptionist. No charge.

Karen thought about the bill from Dr. Rodgers and looked at her watch. Well, I did take fifteen minutes of your time. At eighty dollars an hour, that’s, she pulled out her wallet and drew out two tens, twenty dollars. I insist.

Thank you, Karen.

Strike Two, Karen thought as she slid into her car. She wondered if she even wanted to bother seeking out strike three. Why was therapy so popular? It seemed as useless to her as all the other trendy past times that people engaged in. She started the car. Do I really need therapy? She asked herself out loud. Well, I guess you do if you’re talking to yourself. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe an ongoing dialogue with herself was the way to handle this. After all, who knew her better?

A therapist would never know if she were lying. But Karen knew she’d edged the truth once already with Phoebe. While it was true that she had only ever hit Tracey once, it wasn’t the first time it had ever happened. Tracey wasn’t the first person she had lashed out at in anger. Karen had known she was lying while she was answering the question. She also knew that she had tried to work things out on her own before. The fact that Tracey had moved out and wouldn’t tell her where she was living, was proof that, for Karen, self-help was a failure.

***

Ms. Griffin, the receptionist rose from behind her desk, Dr. Ivy is ready for you. She led Karen into a room where she was greeted by Dr. Gayle Ivy. They shook hands and the therapist motioned to a conversational grouping of furniture.

Karen considered the variety of choices. Are you going to make a note of which one I choose?

Oh, yes, it’s a very important psychological test, Dr. Ivy told her.

Karen spun around and looked at her.

I was joking, Dr. Ivy smiled.

I know. I’m just surprised. Karen leaned down and tested the couch cushion with her hand. It felt as soft and comfortable as it looked. She perched at one end and took a deep breath, genuinely curious to see what came next.

Dr. Ivy sat in an adjacent chair. Let’s discuss one of the ground rules. Boundaries are very important. She held up a small alarm clock. This is a boundary. When the first alarm goes off, we have five minutes to wrap up the session. For most clients, it is important to learn to deal with difficult topics and emotions at an appropriate time in an appropriate way. I assure you that in time, this boundary will help in that regard. She put the clock down and picked up a note pad. I’m ready when you are.

Well, I’m on the couch and you’re in your chair with a note pad. Should I lie down like they do in the movies?

I don’t watch very many movies that involve people in therapy, Dr. Ivy shrugged.

Why, because you can see the flaws?

No, because I’m here all day, and watching a movie about it is like working overtime. Dr. Ivy smiled. Speaking of overtime, she pushed a button on her clock, you’re on the clock starting right now.

Alright, so, as I told the two previous quacks, I need help with anger management.

Why?

Karen laced her fingers tightly together in her lap. Because... I am almost always angry, she said in a matter of fact tone, and occasionally… physically violent.

Occasionally?

Yes, I hit my... my... my significant other about six weeks ago and I haven’t seen... she paused, struggling for a pronoun, wanting to back up and start over. Karen rolled her eyes and let out a breath, her! I have not seen her since then.

Dr. Ivy made a note.

Karen tried to peer over the top of the page. What does that say? Homophobic?

Do you think you are?

She started rocking back and forth, sometimes.

That’s not an easy thing to be if you are in a same sex relationship.

No kidding.

How, Dr. Ivy closed her notebook and set in on the table next to her, does that figure into your violent episodes?

Karen laughed, I’m an equal opportunity abuser. She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling, oh boy, and then back to the therapist. Just ask my ex-husband.

Dr. Ivy retrieved her notebook. Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.

2

The beginning.

Karen didn’t really want to discuss the beginning, the middle, or any other part of her history with Dr. Ivy, or anyone else. She didn’t really even want like to think about it. She had constructed a great deal of her personality around avoiding the topic.

The problem with her well-practiced avoidance tactics was that they were no longer sound. The structure was failing, and Karen knew that the monster contained inside of her was emerging. She took a calming breath, silently thanking Phoebe McNeil for that one useful piece of advice, and then mentally turned to the first page in her private history book.

Among her first memories were those of her mother holding her, holding her down, hurting her, hitting her, holding her tighter, demanding forgiveness, demanding obedience to an ever changing set of rules. Karen knew all too well where her violent tendencies had come from.

She remembered trying to hide. Her stomach was full of apprehension for the storm on the horizon. She had tucked herself up under her pillows and pulled a blanket over her feather fortress. She waited, hoping the thunderous footsteps would pass by. She didn’t know where her mother had been, or how many hours she had been out, but she had been startled awake by the familiar sound of the squeaky hinges at the front door.

She laid perfectly still, letting the darkness envelop her. And then the lightning flashed. In one violent motion, her bedroom door swung open and the light was switched on. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep. It had worked once or twice before.

But not this time.

Karen felt the blanket being jerked away from her. She opened her eyes and looked up into her mother’s bloodshot eyes. She was enraged and pumped up on alcohol and nicotine. She grabbed Karen by the leg and dragged her across the bed. You are far too young to be up this late.

I’m sleeping, Karen protested.

With your eyes open? Still holding her leg with one hand, she smacked at Karen’s bottom with the other. Irresponsible, and a liar. She smacked her again.

No, mom, please. I’ll be asleep in just a second, please, she squealed.

Her mother slid a hand beneath her and started feeling the sheets. At least you didn’t piss in the bed this time. No way an eight-year old kid should be pissin’ in the bed.

Karen was nine but she didn’t dare correct her, and she’d long since learned not to struggle. Her mother released her leg and grabbed her by the face. I kill myself trying to keep you alive and you are the most worthless, she seemed to be squeezing harder with every word, useless, disobedient little shit a woman was ever cursed with. She let go and slapped her face. Now go to sleep!

After the door slammed shut, Karen settled back against her pillows for a second. It hadn’t been too bad this time. Her mother had only hit her three times. Karen could hear her mother moving around in the room next to her. Without male company, she would pass out soon enough. Karen focused all of her concentration on not wetting the bed.

She waited until it was quiet and then went to the window. She couldn’t risk waking her mother by using the hall bathroom. That was another mistake she would not repeat. She slowly, carefully unlocked the window and slid it open. She draped one leg over the sill and stretched her toe toward the ground. Once outside, she squatted behind the neighbor’s bushes and relieved herself. She kept an eye on her mother’s bedroom window in case the light came on. She pulled up her pajama bottoms, climbed back through the window and went to sleep.

In the morning, her mother was there at her bedside again.

Karen’s eyes snapped open and she waited.

Your breakfast is ready, sleepy head.

Karen exhaled and smiled sleepily. She let her mother uncover her. Karen watched as her mother’s eyes danced across her body, looking, Karen knew, for bruises or marks that would keep her home from school. Karen silently prayed that there wouldn’t be any.

Hurry, or you’ll be late for school.

Yes, ma’am.

***

School was the best escape. Karen was a very well behaved student. Being sent home for disciplinary problems was not an option. She didn’t make the best grades academically, but she always had perfect marks in conduct. Cs and Ds never won her any points with her mother, but Karen doubted that straight As would have kept her out of trouble either.

She didn’t have too many friends among her peers, but she did everything she could to please her teachers, especially Miss Welsh. Her very presence was at times so overwhelming that Karen could scarcely utter yes ma’am and no ma’am when asked a question. Miss Welsh was her fifth grade math teacher. She had also been Karen’s PE teacher the year before. Karen had always hated PE until last year. It was the first A she had ever brought home on her report card. Karen was so thrilled, she ran in the house and showed her mother.

At first, her mother had been delighted, but her face fell when Karen told her that someday she wanted to be a PE teacher just like Miss Welsh. Her mother scrawled her signature across the report card and thrust it back at her. You’re not gonna be any damn PE teaching dyke as long as I’ve got a breath in my body.

Karen only understood half of what her mother was saying, but she understood that getting an A in PE was not something she wanted to do again. Miss Welsh had been very disappointed and confused when Karen suddenly started slacking off in class and Karen really wanted to tell her why. She wanted to ask her what was so bad about being all those things her mother said and what it all meant. But it could only lead to more trouble.

In the fifth grade, she dedicated herself to math and to her delight, and her mother’s surprise, she got high marks almost all of the time. Karen neglected to mention to her mother that her former PE teacher was now her math teacher. She had redeemed herself in the eyes of her beloved teacher, minimized her punishments at report card time and found something she was good at. Things were looking up.

And then she graduated to Junior High.

***

Tracey, please don’t hang up.

How did you get this number?

You’re listed. I assume if you’re listed that you aren’t all that terrified of me.

Karen, the strain crept into her voice.

No wait, I’m sorry. Please listen for just one minute.

She consented with obvious irritation. One minute.

Karen wasted a few seconds on a long deep breath. She knew if she was going to win Tracey back, she would have to be calm about absolutely everything, even good news. I am really seeing a therapist now. She is wonderful. I sat in her office today and told her things I had never told anyone. And I realize that may be part of the problem. I’ve kept so much bottled up inside for so long and it isn’t fair to anyone. I want to tell you everything so you know where I am, so you know I’m getting help. Please, just meet me somewhere for dinner.

I don’t think so.

Karen felt the anger clutching at her throat. She fanned her face with her hand and took another deep breath. Please.

I don’t see the point in sticking my neck out for someone who’s had… What? An hour of therapy?

See how much you know? Between the three people I’ve seen it’s been an hour and twenty-five minutes. Karen laughed.

I can see you’re taking this seriously, just like everything else in your life. I just can’t take the risk, Karen.

What risk? We were together over a year and I hit you once. Don’t I get some consideration for the other three hundred and seventy some odd days?

Tracey was silent for a while. Karen was afraid to interrupt her thoughts in case they were going in her favor. No, she finally said, I can’t do it. I just can’t. I have to go now.

Karen squeezed her fist around the telephone and heard it crack. She released the pressure immediately and hung up. I’m sorry, she said and kissed the earpiece. I should never have hurt you. She ran her finger gently over the masking tape wound around the broken plastic, and smoothed it back into place. I promise I’ll fix things as soon as I get some super glue. You’ve been a good phone and none of this is your fault.

In the morning, the first thing she did when she got to work was call Dr. Ivy’s office. She told the receptionist that she couldn’t wait a whole week and really hoped Dr. Ivy could see her sooner. They set up a schedule for Mondays and Thursdays. Dr. Ivy agreed to see Karen twice a week for three months and then evaluate Karen’s progress at that time.

***

In the sixth grade Karen learned what a dyke was. She learned a lot of things. She learned about sex, and pot, and why people drank. She learned about menstruation, masturbation, and oral gratification. Tommy Wilkes was a wealth of information. He had taken to her the moment he had seen her, and had taken it upon himself to tell her everything he knew.

Lunch was never dull again.

Karen was fascinated by everything Tommy said, and she even believed him most of the time. She always had questions for him, and he never answered with the words I don’t know. Karen came to understand a great deal more about the world during her lunches with Tommy, but what she failed to understand, was why anyone would want to do any of the things he told her about.

For years, Karen had preferred for her mother to bring a man home with her after she had been out. Those were the times when she was left alone. Those were the nights that she could sleep, knowing that her mother would never hit her in front of one of her male friends. But thanks to Tommy, she now knew, in graphic detail, what her mother was up to in the next room with her male friends. And Karen found it revolting.

My mom does that stuff, she told Tommy.

Duh. Everyone’s mother does that stuff. How do you think you got here? He helped himself to a handful of her chips.

Yeah, but I can hear her sometimes.

With your dad?

With whoever. I don’t have a dad.

Oh, your mom is lucky then, Tommy assured her.

Why’s that?

‘Cause my brother says that you should do it a lot when you’re young ‘cause once you get married you have to do it with the same person forever. I guess it gets boring.

Karen pushed her food away. I think it’s just gross.

Without missing a beat, Tommy started eating her sandwich. Well, if you ever want to try it, just tell me.

She shrugged.

***

Karen eventually learned to sleep through the sounds emanating from the next room. They had become a near constant presence since her mother had met Jack Brody. He had come home with her one night, and had almost never left again.

Karen liked having him around. Outside of the benefit of her mother leaving her alone, Brody was also handy to have around the house. He had fixed the broken garage door, and the dripping faucet in the bathroom, and he regularly cut the grass. Karen hated cutting the grass, and it had been her chore until he showed up. She hadn’t had to do it in over two months.

The week before Halloween, she came home from school, ready to tackle her math homework, and found Brody sitting on the front porch drinking a beer. The lawn mower was sitting out, and he was covered in sweat and little pieces of cut grass. Pretty warm for October, he said as she approached the front door.

I’m sure glad you like to cut the grass Mr. Brody, because I really don’t.

Yeah. Was that your chore before I came along?

That and everything else.

He motioned her over. I tell you what. When your mom gets home from work we’ll tell her we both did it. That’ll make her real happy. He took a long swallow from his beer bottle. I’d give you some of this, but she’s gonna be here real soon and I don’t want to get you in trouble.

Karen didn’t really want any of the foul smelling liquid but she was pleased that he was looking out for her. Thanks anyway, she said.

What are you gonna be for Halloween?

What do you mean?

Don’t you dress up and go trick or treat?

No, she shook her head, mom and me stay home and hide out so no one takes our candy.

Oh that’s too bad. You got long arms and legs, he ran a finger from her shoulder to her wrist. You should be as cat or a spider or something.

She shifted, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. I don’t know about that. I’ll just do what mom wants.

He laughed and patted her on the back. You and me both, kid.

She smiled at him and went inside to do her homework. She wondered if she had finally found an ally.

***

Oh, Dr. Ivy, I don’t think I want to talk about this right now. Karen rubbed her eyes and clenched her teeth.

That’s fine. You can tell me about it when you’re ready. Just remember that not talking about it doesn’t mean you’re not remembering it.

She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. But she couldn’t prove Dr. Ivy wrong. She felt angry and helpless as the images flashed behind her eyelids and the words tumbled out of her mouth.

On Halloween her mother had to work late. Karen wandered in and out of her room, repeatedly looking out the front window for her mother. Normally, she was happy to have her mother out of the house, but hiding out with a big bowl of candy was one of the few rituals with her mother that she looked forward to, and it only happened once a year.

You’re drivin’ me nuts, kid, Brody told her. She won’t be here until after nine.

I know, she shrugged.

Why don’t you come here and help me eat this candy.

She dropped onto the couch and thrust her hand into the bowl.

You want a beer? I think it’s safe.

She shook her head and stuck a tootsie roll between her teeth. I don’t think I’d like it anyway.

I think you might. He held it close to her.

The smell served only to remind her of the wild-eyed anger that poured out of her mother when she had been drinking beer. Karen pulled back. No, she said adamantly.

Hey, Brody sat forward. You don’t have to be a brat about it.

I’m not. She felt upset and helpless as she mentally relived her last drunken beating. And now her only possible ally was mad at her, too. She started to cry.

Now don’t cry. I can’t deal with that. He stared at her for a long time and then reached out and put his arm around her. Beer would take away those tears, but if you don’t want any it’s just more for me.

She was shocked at his touch. She uttered a small sound somewhere between a chuckle and a tear and then smiled. She put her arms around his neck to hug him. He set his beer down and put his hand on her back. He squeezed her and ran his hand down and wrapped it around her narrow bottom.

She was trapped and she had never seen it coming.

He moved closer to the edge of the couch and pulled her in between his legs and pressed her body against him. He was hard and she could feel it. Thanks to Tommy, she knew what it meant and what he intended to do. She struggled but he only tightened his grasp, reaching up to put his other hand on her as well.

Let me go, she whined. The instinct to yell had been beaten out of her long ago. She looked up into dark, almost angry eyes and pleaded, let me go. Stop it.

Shut up. Just shut up. He slipped his hand inside her shirt.

Karen leaned down and bit his other arm and held on with her teeth.

You little fucker, he screamed and lurched backward on the couch.

She twisted her head and tore open his flesh.

He flailed wildly and shoved her away. She fell against the coffee table, flipped over it and landed on her back. She scrambled to her feet. He scrambled to his feet clutching at the wounded arm. Karen didn’t think she had ever even seen her mother as angry as Brody was at that moment. She took a step toward the front door. He matched her movements to head her off before she could get there.

She turned and ran down the hall and slammed her door. She knew the push button lock wouldn’t hold him any longer than it held off her mother. She threw open the window, leapt out and ran. By the time he got into her room, she was nowhere in sight.

Karen watched the house from the side yard of a house down the street. Hours later she saw her mother’s car pull into the drive. She wanted to go to her and warn her that Brody had gone crazy, but she was as frightened of her mother as she was of Brody. She waited for a sign that it was okay to go home. There was nothing happening so she put her head back against the garage and closed her eyes, trying to block out the images and the feelings that were making her skin crawl.

This was a new set of feelings. For as long as she could recall, she had been able to slip into that place inside her head where she could block the pain and the fear of her mother’s abuse. But Brody’s advances had ignited a new sense of dread that she was unable to escape.

***

It was very early in the morning when she awoke. It took her a minute to realize that she was half a block away from her house, huddled next to a neighbor’s garage door. Looking down the street she could see that Brody’s truck was gone. She wondered how long it had been. She decided that she had to check on her mother before he came back.

The front door was unlocked. She opened it slowly and peered into the dark house. Mom, she said quietly. There was movement on the couch. She froze, afraid for a moment that it was Brody.

Karen. Where have you been?

Karen rushed in. Mom? Her mother sat up and turned on the light. It hit her like it always did, like a bolt of lightning. She knew she should have stayed gone. Her mother grabbed her and shook her violently.

You little fucking bitch.

Karen could smell the alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. No, she said weakly.

You ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. You drove him away.

He tried to... she started sobbing, he tried...

He did. He did try. He tried to make us a family. Her mother shoved her. For the second time in twelve hours, she sailed over the coffee table and landed on her back. Her mother was on her as soon as she hit the ground.

***

Karen could have sworn that Dr. Ivy was on the verge of tears. She looked away. I don’t remember anything else. She beat the shit out of me. I didn’t go to school for a week while my bruises faded. I was forced to stay in my room while she was home. And while she was at work I was expected to do chores. I was only allowed to eat one meal a day, and I was not allowed to speak. You see, I ruined her life.

Do you believe that?

My whole personality is based on believing that.

There must be some part of you that realizes that it was the other way around.

Karen shrugged. You know sometimes I used to wish that I had just let Brody do whatever he wanted to do to me, because everything changed after that. I longed for the days of an occasional beating, because at least back then, my mother didn’t hate me completely.

You realize that your mother hated herself.

It sounds good on paper Dr. Ivy, but that kind of concept never makes it past the scars. She tapped the side of her head.

Well, that’s one of the things we’re working on Karen. The alarm sounded on Dr. Ivy’s alarm clock. I guess we’ll have to work on them some more next week. Karen stood up. Dr. Ivy put a hand up to stop her, but stopped short of touching her. You are an adult now. And now that you have all this horror churning in your head, I want you to remember that she cannot hurt you anymore unless you let her. You’re going to work through this and you will not be alone.

3

Karen could not believe her eyes. She scooped the phone up and pushed the talk button. Tracey? She glanced once more at her caller ID to be sure.

Hello, Karen.

Is everything all right?

I’m fine. I was wondering if you’d still like to have dinner?

Karen beamed. Of course I would.

***

Karen kept taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly. She was trying to use one of the simple calming techniques that Dr. Ivy had told her about. Try as she might, her body was still wound almost as tightly as her mind. She was afraid of blowing her