Learning to Move Forward: Novella #3.5 Page 4

  “I need you to focus and continue with your story, Grace.”

  I let my mind wander back to that time. “My parents kept threatening to find me a therapist if I didn’t snap out of the foul mood I was in.” I turned to look at her. “I copped a good one, too. I was hurt by the rejection of my friends. I’d decided to take control of my life, pull myself out of my depression, and reject others before they could refuse me. The only people I let get close were Laurel and her brother Donny. Eventually, I learned to trust their friend, Freddie. But I kept most people at a distance.”

  Just the idea of Freddie made me laugh. “I don’t think Freddie would’ve cared if I’d been purple with pink polka dots. He seemed to see people for who they were deep down and ran with it. I was free to be me around all of them, except with—”

  I stood up and walked to the other side of the room, looking out her windows down onto the park. Jocelyn came up behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders in a show of support. “Remember that no one will judge you here. Say whatever is on your mind.”

  I couldn’t look at her when I said it. The weight of my words made my shoulders sag and my heart feel heavy. “I think I might have let my parents down. They always seemed so sad after the accident, and even now, I see them trying to smile and keep up appearances that all is well in the world. But I often catch the worried expressions on their faces. It makes me feel that I didn’t live up to their standards. They can no longer claim that I’m the perfect child and have bragging rights.”

  Wait a minute. Why am I beating myself up over this? Shouldn’t they love me for just being their daughter, not for being perfect? I suddenly felt angry and turned to address Jocelyn. “Why do I suddenly feel angry all of a sudden?” I pumped my fists at my side, feeling the anxiety rolling off of me in waves.

  Of course I didn’t get the answer I’d hoped. Instead I’d received a question. “Why do you think you’re angry?”

  It didn’t even take a second for my mouth to rattle off. “Because my parents couldn’t just love me for the person I became.”

  Oh, shit. Did I just say that out loud? Is that why I feel so tense whenever I’m around them?

  There was a loud knock on the door. I watched as Jocelyn went to check and see who was there. “Hello, Jonathan.”

  “Hi, Jocelyn. Is Grace done for the day?” His face instantly sought out mine and didn’t smile until our eyes met. He saw my tears and anger and was at my side in an instant.

  “We’re about to wrap things up for today. She’s done well with opening up and realizing some triggers from her past. We haven’t hit the ultimate “A-ha” moment, but we’re getting there.”

  His hands cradled my face as his thumbs wiped away my tears. A gentle kiss to the forehead and I was already melting into him. “Are you going to be okay, darling?”

  I forced a smile. “I think so. Now that you’re here, it’s better.”

  Jocelyn returned my notebook. “We’ll stop with what we discussed today. I’d like you to write about all the events that happened the day of the accident. What your feelings were at the time, versus now. How the accident changed your life and whether you feel it’s for the better, along with any regrets on what might have been. I’d also like to see, in more detail, how your relationships changed with everyone and why? In short, feel free to write whatever comes into your mind and run with it. If you want to move past that timeline, then by all means, do so. We can analyze things together in a few days.”

  I gave her a hug and thanked her for today.

  ***

  Jonathan pressed the button for the third level of the parking garage before his arm circled around my waist and pulled me into his side. His lips nuzzled the side of my neck. “Are you going to be all right, love?”

  I nodded, feeling emotionally exhausted for all that I’d had to relive today. Who knew that therapy could be this taxing to the brain and body?

  “I hate to ask this of you, but do you mind us having dinner at the restaurant tonight? Normally, Tommy can handle the place, but there’s a show going on at the new theater center and the people are flocking to the Bistro for appetizers, drinks, and food. I need to help him get through the rush and then we can go home and enjoy ourselves.” His eyebrows did a suggestive wiggle, meaning he wanted to play tonight.

  “I guess it’s okay, depending on the special and dessert you’re offering tonight.” I couldn’t help pressing my body against the front of his and looking up at him through my lashes in a seductive manner.

  My head began to spin and my body began to burn with desire as I found myself pressed up against the wall of the elevator with his erection grinding into my crotch. “The special’s chicken piccata.” His teeth were biting my bottom lip, begging for entrance into my mouth. “As for the dessert…that’s you, love.” I gasped in surprise and his tongue pushed forward, brushing up against mine as our bodies ground against one another.

  It was hard tearing away from each other when the elevator stopped at the parking garage, but the quicker he got back to the restaurant, the faster we could get home and quench our insatiable needs.

  He wasn’t kidding about the restaurant, it was packed. Tommy was running around the kitchen with the rest of the staff, trying to keep up with orders. Jonathan guided me to his small little office, which consisted of a desk and a few chairs, and brought me a plate of food. “Aren’t you eating with me?” I could tell my face reflected the hurt I was feeling.

  He bent down and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I want to, but it’s a mad house out there. I’ll grab a bite when I can. In the meantime, make yourself at home.

  I’d originally left the office door open, but the noise and trying to watch what everyone was doing was beginning to give me a headache, so I closed it. I ate half my food before feeling the urge to pull out my notebook and write.

  August 7,

  The session with Jocelyn was both eye opening and heartbreaking today. I understand now that I’ve been stuck on the idea of perfection for as long as I can remember. I know I’m not perfect, far from it, but I’ve tried to live up to the ideals of my parents, or at least what I thought they wanted. It all seems to stem back to the day of the accident.

  I can remember the day so well. I was sixteen, had only had my driver’s license for a couple of months. My dad had an errand to run and I wanted to tag along, because there was a store close by that had the perfect dress for the homecoming dance that was coming up in a couple of weeks. I was going to the dance with the quarterback of the football team and I needed to look perfect for him. There I go again with the word “perfect.”

  Dad needed to pick up an item at the hardware store and I’d called the dress shop to have them reserve the one I’d tried on a few days earlier. The color was a deep blue, dotted with a few sparkles. The skirt was shorter in the front than the back, and it was a one shoulder number to flash a little skin. It would pair wonderfully with the suit and tie Mark planned to wear.

  The drive over had been uneventful, with the exception of Dad pressuring me to pick a college. When I told him I’d look into his and Mom’s alma maters, he dropped the push for which school.

  When the errands were done and our packages placed safely in the back of the car, we headed toward home, while discussing possible majors of study. I’d been fuming at the traffic light, wondering why I kept getting pushed to decide my life now, when everyone else just lived it and worried about all the fine details later.

  I’d waited for the light to change, when I heard screeching and a collision that inched closer to us. The next thing I knew, the car jolted, my father called out my name, and everything went black.

  I don’t remember much about the accident scene, only the sound of a collision headed toward us. I woke up in severe pain almost a week later. My mother was on one side of me holding my hand, while she asked Laurel to go get my father and the nurse. I couldn’t understand where I was, why I was in pain, and why they had such urgency in their voice
s.

  “Lay still, Grace,” my mother told me, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me from moving as tears poured down her face. “You need to wait for the doctor.”

  I couldn’t understand why she and everyone around me were crying so much and why they didn’t want me to move. I’d asked for some pain medication because my left hand was killing me. It felt like a two ton elephant had been sitting on it.

  A doctor entered and began checking my eyes with a pin light, listening to my chest, and then testing my leg reflexes. He pricked my right hand and arm with a stretched out paper clip, asking me if I felt the sensations. Then he repeated the motion with my left arm, but I lost the ability to feel when he got below my elbow.

  I remember panicking, but he’d assured me that the feeling would come back in time, that I’d probably experienced some nerve damage and they needed time to heal.

  The expressions on everyone’s faces made me question. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  I was asked if I knew why I was in the hospital and the memory came rushing back that we were in an accident. I looked more closely at my father and saw that he had cuts and bruises on his face and arms and was walking with a bit of a limp.

  Everyone kept looking at me and then each other. Finally, my mother nodded toward the doctor and I was given the news that my left hand and wrist had been crushed in the accident and was beyond repair. They’d attempted several hours of surgery to put them back together, but the tissues were already starting to die and the decision was made to amputate.

  I remember thinking my world had stopped. I must have been so shocked by the news that I passed out and came to sometime later. The doctor explained that it was my body’s way of dealing with things and was not uncommon.

  My parents tried to reassure me that they’d do everything in their power to get me any kind of therapy I needed and the best available prosthetic they could afford, but for some reason the way they looked at me had changed. Before the accident they held their heads high and shoulders back and talked about me with pride. Afterwards, their expressions were almost unemotional. It made me feel like I had failed them.

  I’d only been awake a couple of days when a few of my friends dropped by while Laurel was visiting. I refused to ask her to leave, just because she didn’t fit the clique’s standards, but I did ask them to leave when they started telling me how I was now “sub-par” in their ideals.

  To say I was furious at my so-called “friends” was an understatement. I asked them to leave and never come back if they couldn’t treat me with respect. Their parting comment was, “Respect is given to those with perfection. You aren’t even a whole person now, so how can we admire someone disabled?”

  Laurel was usually quiet and reserved, but she took them by the arms, led them to the door, and told them to never come back unless they could talk to me with compassion. I was so proud of her actions, but despite them I fell into a deep depression.

  I began to wonder what purpose my life served. Why was I left alive? I felt inferior to everyone.

  A week later, my vitals were stable enough, despite my mood, that I was moved to a rehabilitation facility to try and regain strength in my body, particularly my left arm. All the muscles from the accident had atrophied and needed to be worked on.

  Laurel had to return to school, but she came back on weekends and pushed me to talk with some of the other patients who’d lost an appendage. I was shocked to learn that we all felt unworthy of living and wondered how we could manage in life with a piece of us missing.

  My parents coddled my every whim and need. They made sure I had my pajamas, my favorite foods, and pretty much anything else I asked for, but it still hurt that I couldn’t get them to look at me the way they’d done prior to the accident.

  I was shocked to hear Laurel giving her aunt and uncle the riot act about the way they were treating me. She pulled out all the punches, even going to the extremes of getting a couple of the EMTs and firemen to come in and show me the pictures from the accident, showing me just how severe everything was. Her words were, “There’s a reason why you’re still alive. I know I need you in my life. You’re one of the few people who understand me.”

  I remember one of the firemen shaking his head in disbelief. “When we came across the accident, we all thought the driver of your vehicle had to be dead. The side of the car was completely crushed and the frame was bent in half. Had your dad not grabbed hold of you, trying to pull you to his side, you wouldn’t have survived.”

  They’d all told me about how they had to use the Jaws of Life to cut me out of the car, because my legs, while intact and only scratched up, had been pinned under the dash and steering wheel. They’d all cringed remembering how my hand and wrist had looked. “We’ put a tourniquet just under your elbow to stop the bleeding and tried to bandage your hand, hoping they could save it, but…”

  I’d been offered the chance to see the photos of my hand and wrist, but declined. The sight of blood always made me nauseous. Just hearing how my bones were sticking through the skin was enough to make me sick to my stomach.

  I enjoyed talking with the team who saved me and asked about the other vehicles involved. It turned out that one of the drivers had a heart attack and crashed through the intersection, hitting another vehicle, which turned it toward our car. The man with the heart attack died, but the woman in the other vehicle was alive, but paralyzed from the waist down, having suffered a spinal injury.

  Laurel’s plan had worked. I felt better and knew that my life had been spared and somehow had meaning. I still sought the attention of my parents, but soon realized that I may never have them look at me the same again, so, I opted to live for myself and figure out what I could do with my life and get it back on track.

  When I returned to high school, my boyfriend was already dating someone else, the clique had a new leader, and I was kicked off the cheerleading squad. They’d cited some garbage about being unable to function in the capacity they needed. I almost returned to my hole of despair when a few girls and guys, very similar to Laurel’s temperament, extended the hand of friendship and I took it.

  To my surprise, the kind of people she hung out with were easy to talk to and really listened to what you had to say. They didn’t treat me any different than they acted toward each other. They accepted me as is, flaws and all.

  I had new friends and let my guard down some. I was still testing the waters to see who were genuine and who weren’t. My parents were a lost cause. I felt loved, but not as I had before.

  Over the next year, I had to undergo another surgery and more physical therapy, before being fitted with a prosthetic. The hand looked real, but I could only hide what I looked like by wearing long sleeves. I was torn between who I had been and accepting who I had become.

  I’d given up hope of ever being “Miss Popular” again when one of the seniors, who graduated last year, returned from college and saw me out and about and asked me for a date. I was hesitant at first, but felt the need to belong to the “in-crowd” again.

  Barry and I hit it off on a date to the movies. He didn’t seem repulsed by my missing hand and I was getting attention from some of my former friends. The feeling was a euphoric high. He had a couple weeks off, so we went out a few times and ended up sleeping together.

  I’d been fearful of a sexual relationship with anyone. A guy friend and I used each other to lose our virginity. He’d shown me that I was still a woman, no matter what, and that he found me attractive. We tried dating for a while, but there was a lack of chemistry beyond the lust.

  Barry was gentle with me, trying to take into account my prosthetic. The sex was amazing, making me feel treasured. Just too bad things weren’t as they appeared.

  I felt on cloud nine the following day, only to stumble across Barry talking with some of our mutual friends, or in my case, former ones. He was bragging. “Grace is one hot bitch in heat. She may be maimed, but give her the smallest bit of attention and she
’ll roll over on her back and spread her legs for you.”

  One guy I didn’t know stated, “Maybe when you go back to school, I can tap that piece of ass. She’s not good for much else. It’s not like she can give me a good hand job.”

  Laughter filled the area. That’s when I moved away from them quietly, until I was able to run and get further down the road. They all laughed at me. He was using me to get his kicks. I was nothing more than a sick joke.

  I walked home crying, trying to figure out what my course of action would be. I thought about just never talking to him again, but I wanted to teach him a lesson. I decided to go out on one more date with him, to let him think he could get some more, only to turn him down and walk away…

  I felt warm lips place a gentle kiss upon my neck. I tipped my head, offering Jonathan more of my neck, when his arms slid around me and held me tight. “You’re lost in thought, darling. I called your name from the door twice to get your attention and you didn’t answer, so I stepped up to see you scribbling away in your journal.” He stepped back and turned the chair around, while squatting down to my eye level. “Is everything all right? You’ve hardly eaten.”

  I glanced over at my half eaten plate of cold chicken piccata. I took a deep breath in and just shook my head. His hands came up to hold my face and wipe a couple of tears that managed to escape.

  “You look exhausted. Are you ready to go home and maybe take a nice warm bath and jump into bed?” I looked into his eyes and saw the same exhaustion reflected in him.

  He’s one to talk. He looks like he’s barely functioning. “What happened to wanting dessert?”

  “An unexpected crowd, a couple of emergencies with the staff, and working a full shift at work and then a full one here…that’s what happened.” He gave the tip of my nose a kiss. “I want to be buried deep inside you and let today melt away, but it’s late and all I need to be content is to hold you close to me.”

  He always knew the right words to say. I half smiled at him as I turned toward the clock in his office. “When the hell did it get to be 1 a.m.?”