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LEXIE SAT IN ONE OF the plush, cream, chairs in Dr. Heart’s office. This time she had no unpleasant run-ins with Carly, or anyone else from her past.
Dr. Heart moved to the sofa across from her with a cup of coffee in hand. Once again, Lexie’s nerves were responsible for her refusal of a beverage, despite her dry throat. She stared at the kind doctor, anxiously awaiting the start of their session. A sudden rise in her body heat had her fanning her face with her hand, while she picked at the corner of the upholstery on her chair with the other. The last few days, her body’s thermostat seemed to have malfunctioned. Unprecedented hot flashes tended to hit without notice, leaving her flushed and perspiring, despite the cool whirl of the air-conditioning.
Dr. Heart took a sip of her coffee, eyeing Lexie over the rim of her mug, leaving her to wonder what she saw. Was her anxiety obvious?
She glanced down, briefly examining the hand she used to fan herself and stopped, then laid them on her lap where she began cracking her knuckles. When Dr. Heart’s gaze fell to her hands, Lexie pressed them flat against her thighs. She was fidgeting, when all she wanted to do was remain calm. She smiled, trying her best to seem at ease.
“How have things been since we last met?” Dr. Heart asked.
Lexie shrugged. “Okay, I suppose. I still haven’t felt the baby move. My OBGYN and my mother think I’m in denial.”
Dr. Heart tilted her head to the side, her gold-green eyes penetrating. “What do you think?”
“Maybe I am. I recognize it though, so doesn’t that mean I’m really not? It’s not that I don’t believe I’m really pregnant. I’m not that ridiculous. I just wish things were different. Ignoring it seems easier.”
“Coming to terms with the kind of hate and violence you suffered is not easy. If I’m being honest, it takes years. It takes work and doesn’t just happen on its own. But little by little, you’ll learn to cope and find yourself again. You need to believe that. Dealing with a resulting pregnancy on top of everything is even harder. It’s normal for your mind to shut down, to try to comfort itself by simply not thinking of what you’re dealing with, what you’re facing. Unfortunately, though, you do need to accept the trauma your rape has caused. Even if you don’t deal with it now and you keep yourself numb to the feelings and issues surrounding your pregnancy, sooner or later, those feelings, everything you hadn’t coped with will come rushing back, possibly years after you’ve had your child. Facing the demons in your life is inevitable.”
The heat on Lexie’s arms, face, and neck dissipated. Chilled and damp from perspiration, Lexie crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I know. I know this, but it’s so hard...At night, when I shower, I’m on autopilot. I wash as quickly as I can and get out, drying off while somehow managing to ignore my growing midsection. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore. I’ve already had so much in my life, in me, change. I can’t bear to acknowledge the changes in my body too.”
Dr. Heart took another sip of her coffee and asked. “Have you decided what you’re going to do after the baby’s born?”
“I’m giving her up for adoption.”
“Have you arranged it yet? Spoken to anyone?”
Lexie bit her lip. Fearing her reprimand, she shook her head and said nothing.
“You need to call an agency. I’ll get you the information for a great place here in Ohio. For your homework, I want you to call them between now and our next session.” She leaned forward, placing a hand on Lexie’s forearm. “I know you don’t want to deal with this, but you have to. Call them and set up a meeting. Maybe you’ll feel some relief. You might be surprised.”
Dr. Heart leaned back into the sofa once again. “Have you thought about naming the baby?”
Lexie’s features shifted, contorting with her confusion. “Naming her? No. I’m not keeping her.”
“Maybe you should. Name her, I mean,” she said.
Lexie’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Look, just think about it. You don’t have to, but naming her may help you form a separate identity for the baby. You may be able to think of her, not only in the terms of your rape and as the result of what happened to you, but instead, a separate entity.”
“Okay,” Lexie said, unconvinced. Naming the baby was out of the question.
Dr. Heart leaned back in her chair. Her eyes shifted to the papers in front of her. “Now, I’m only going to ask you to do this once. There’s a form of Cognitive therapy, where after a traumatic event or experience, the patient verbally retells the story, the series of events, repeatedly. What happens is they become desensitized to the events over time, they become less frightening, less traumatic with each retelling.”
Lexie stiffened, sensing where Dr. Heart was headed.
“Rape is an altogether different breed of trauma, however. Maybe it’s because of the level of shame victims often feel, the feeling of degradation, or maybe because the victim’s own body, in a sense, is being used as a weapon against themselves. I’m not sure. But this form of desensitization therapy is ineffective for rape victims, at least in my professional opinion and experience. So, like I said, I’ll only ask this of you once, but I need you to tell me what happened, every bit of it, so I am aware of the particulars, and we can move forward.”
Lexie let out a shaky breath and stared straight ahead. She expected this, yet her stomach rolled in unsettling waves. The air around her thickened, and her lungs strained with the effort behind each breath. For a minute, she thought she would stop breathing. Her chest ached as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Her lungs clawed desperately at the air, searching.
Visions of the evening Brent raped her flashed through her mind, a montage of the worst horror film she had ever seen, with her starring in the leading role.
She concentrated on the present, on the feel of the soft chair beneath her, the nutty scent of Dr. Heart’s coffee just feet away. She listened to her breathing, the ragged puffs until they staggered and slowed into soft, steady, streams.
Several moments passed before she could open her eyes and speak. When she did, her voice was soft, nearly a whisper. Dr. Heart studied her as she did, the cup of coffee in her hands forgotten.
“It was a Friday night. It was cool and damp. We were sick of the Pittsburgh weather—the snow, the cold, the dark cover of clouds which seem to always loom until late spring. My best friend, Sienna, and I go out every Friday. This time though, her husband joined us.
“The three of us often shared lunch together throughout the work week since we all worked downtown, and he was nice enough, kind of arrogant though. Sometimes I got an uneasy vibe from him, and I often thought he didn’t treat Sienna good enough. But they seemed happy enough, so it wasn’t my place to judge. He showed up at the restaurant unexpectedly. He explained that he had a meeting which had run late. He wanted a drink, so he thought he’d join us.”
Lexie paused, the image of Brent’s face slashing through her thoughts, sharp and nasty. “We were at a little Italian place called Luciano’s. They have live bands that play on Friday nights. That particular Friday, a band called, Se La Vi, was playing. They were an odd combination of jazz and light rock. Usually Sienna and I ate and then continued our night with drinks, a movie, or even a play at the theater. But that night, we ate with a strain in conversation. Sienna spoke to Brent in clipped tones, the conversation terse. I ignored them, pretended I didn’t notice and instead gave all my attention to my Fettuccini.
“I imagine they had a fight of some sort, either that or Sienna was annoyed with him for crashing our Friday girl’s night. Nevertheless, Sienna cut the evening short. She said that she was tired and wanted to go home. We all left, each in our own vehicles. I wasn’t quite ready to retire for the night though, and I needed some things at the grocery store, so I stopped briefly before going back to my apartment.”
Lexie stared out the window of Dr. Heart’s office, half expecting the sky to match her mood, for it to be dark, for night to have fallen, leaving a chill in the air and the ominous glow of a full moon in the sky. Instead, the sun shined through the windows, and all the green grounded her for a moment, reminding her of time and place, and that it was not a cold evening in January.
Lexie turned to face Dr. Heart once again. When she spoke again, she trained her gaze on the spot where the doctor sat, but her mind was elsewhere. She didn’t see anything but her apartment—the gleaming, honey, floors, the white couches, and the dark granite in her kitchen...
“Once home, I put my things away and took a shower. Afterward, I dried off, put my robe on, and went into my bedroom. By this time, I was sleepy, so I simply slipped into bed with nothing but my robe on.”
Lexie closed her eyes. She clenched her fists. The skin over her knuckles turned pink, then white, pulling taut against the bone. A trickle of fear crept up her spine at the memory. She recalled his voice in the darkness of her room. She pictured his smiling face, victorious, as he approached her. The weight of each word as she spoke grew heavier.
“It was dark. Quiet. I was in that foggy stage between sleep and consciousness when I thought I heard something: a man’s voice, the shuffling of feet. It startled me awake, and when I opened my eyes, he was there. Brent. My best friend’s husband hovered over me.”
Lexie told Dr. Heart every detail, down to the feel of the hands that gripped her, the dead weight that pinned her down, and the smell of his expensive cologne—sandalwood, leather, and spice—burning her nostrils, seeping into her skin. Hot breath covered her face as he brutalized her.
Everything played out in her mind while she spoke, as clearly as if she relived the experience. There no longer seemed a present or a future, just a continuous past, one that looped and wrapped itself back around like an old film strip, replaying her nightmare over and over.
She told Dr. Heart of her useless pleas, of his taunting laughter, his accusations. You know you’ve wanted this for years. You’re a whore. And whore is going to get what she wants. You may as well enjoy it. If you scream, I’ll kill you. If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you. Don’t even think of telling Sienna; she won’t believe you. She’ll see you for what you really are, nothing but a liar, a slut.
“I continued to plea, but he ignored me. He started to rape me. I screamed, out of terror, instinct, desperation. He clamped his clammy hands over my mouth, drowning out the sounds, muffling them, so I bit down as hard as I could. My teeth must have cut into his flesh because he pulled his hand away and roared. His face contorted in rage. Spittle flew into my face as he screamed, You do that again, and I’ll kill you.
“I tasted his blood, which coated my mouth. Disgusted he was inside me, I began to spit and choke. It was then that he strangled me.” Lexie’s hand reflexively reached up to her throat. She felt the cold grip on her neck, each finger squeezing, his thumbs on her trachea. The pain was sharp and deep.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Her neck and lungs burned. She had the sensation of floating, and for a moment, she wondered if she was dying. Maybe she was already dead. But seconds later, the pressure vanished, leaving her neck throbbing and her gasping for air. That’s when she gave up the fight. She saw herself from above, as if her spirit had left her body—and watched Brent rape her.
Tears streamed down her face, and Lexie choked on a sob, as the warmth of someone’s arms wrapped around her securely, bringing her back to present. Her eyes focused and her vision cleared to see Dr. Heart crouched on the floor in front of her, holding a box of tissues. Lexie’s body shuddered, her voice thick when she said, “He was my best friend’s husband. How could this happen? How could he do this? I never once did anything to give him the idea...” She hiccupped, her sobbing uncontrollable.
Dr. Heart put a hand under Lexie’s chin, forcing her to look into her eyes, the strength of her grip, a comfort. Maybe she could be strong enough for the both of them, Lexie mused.
“You did not do this, Alexis. Don’t put this on yourself. Rape is a societal problem. It’s disgustingly common and was all him. Rape is about control, nothing else. It is violent and brutal and terrible. Nothing you could do would have stopped him.”
Lexie struggled with her voice as she said, “But he didn’t have a weapon. I could’ve done something else, fought harder.”
“Look at me,” Dr. Heart said, her hand still beneath Lexie’s face. She pressed on Lexie’s chin lightly until she met her eyes. “You did everything you could. He went to your apartment, knowing you were alone and unsuspecting. He knew what he was going to do. You couldn’t stop him. You did what you had to in order to survive. Had you fought harder, you may not be alive, and don’t ever think that he didn’t use a weapon on you. He used his hands and his body, weapons no less brutal than a blade or bullet.”
Dr. Heart got up and sat back down in her chair, letting Lexie think about the things she said. But after a moment, she asked, “Do you hate him?”
Lexie hesitated. She thought of how she felt immediately after the rape, then how she had begun to feel recently. “At first, I think I just hated myself. Now, I hate him. I hate what happened, and I hate the consequences,” she said glancing down at her stomach.
Dr. Heart nodded. “Good. For now, hate is good. Let yourself feel it. Anger is a positive thing at this point, an integral part of the process.”
Five minutes later, Lexie left Dr. Heart’s office drained. Never before had she relayed in exquisite detail her rape, nor would she again. She wanted her bed, she wanted solace, to forget the reality of her story.
She thought about Dr. Heart’s comment that anger was a good thing, but Lexie knew the anger she felt was only just the beginning. She wondered, as she got into her car and started the engine, just how ugly she would be when all the anger came seeping out, like a weeping wound.