I haven’t been in your office in a long time. Nothing has changed. Well, except those. Your two plants are looking better. They’re finally getting some attention. It’s clinical in here, not because of your choice of furnishings, it’s the architecture. This is a very typical 1990s style cheaply built, boring as fuck building built in the conservative style loved by this part of the city. Yellow brick face, columns that serve no purpose other than to try to appear a class above their station, nothing about the building has to do with beauty, softness on the eye or trying to be sensitive to the environment. Too many of these were put up during the ’80s and ’90s. They’re depressing as fuck. It must be cheap, why else would you come here? Why would you choose this place to act as a safe space for people to bare their souls to you in?
“How are you doing today?” You ask me. You could probably see that I was a mile away.
“I’m fine,” I say. I don’t feel like having this conversation. I don’t want to be here right now. I have to get back to work after this and this conversation drains me of everything that I currently have holding me together.
You smile that knowing, sympathetic smile. You don’t say anything else. You do this all the time. You have been trained to sit there in silence and wait for me to become so uncomfortable with the silence that I begin to talk.
“I’m surviving.”
I look down at my hands, anxiously twisting the ring around on my finger.
“On the phone, you said something happened on the weekend? Do you want to talk about it?”
I do, but also, I don’t. I swallow, it sounds so loud in my head. I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest.
“Um,” I readjust my position in the chair, “I saw him again. I saw him on Saturday.”
My breathing picks up.
I see your shoulders tense up and your eyes widen.
“Tell me”, you say. You’re trying to hide your surprise.
“At the mall. I was doing grocery shopping and he was there.”
“Do you think he was following you?” You ask me.
“No”, I shake my head. “He has kids in the area, he was probably visiting them.”
“Did he see you?”
I take in a deep, shaky breath. I actually feel like I may pee myself, I clench up those muscles.
“Yes. He was in the parking garage. He was waiting for me.”
You don’t say anything. You’re trying not to interrupt me, you want to let me talk.
“He acted like it was a coincidence. But it looked like he’d been waiting for me.”
My eyes are burning, I try slowing my breathing down and desperately try to keep the tears from breaking free. Please don’t, please don’t fucking cry. I’ve cried enough.
“What happened?” You prompt me to continue.
“I’m really disappointed in my response. What the actual fuck?”
You don’t speak.
“He followed me to my car, said it was nice to see me again. He tried to take my parking ticket from me, said he’d pay for me. I wouldn’t let him. Said I can pay for myself. He owes me way more than fucking parking.”
You still don’t say anything but your expression is telling me a lot. You look genuinely concerned.
“He took my bags from me, I tried to hang on to them but he grabbed them, he’s stronger than me. I don’t like the way I reacted. Why was I so timid?”
“What do you mean?” You ask me.
“I didn’t slap him, I didn’t hit him, I didn’t scream and run away. I felt frozen. Completely frozen. I was polite, I smiled, said thank you and just let him walk with me, let him take my bags.”
“You didn’t let him,” you tell me. “This is a very common reaction for victims. It is your survival instinct kicking in. It’s the fight-or-flight thing. This is a man that has a history of physically controlling you to get what he wants. He’s the aggressor, it is perfectly natural for you to react this way. With your history, this makes sense. Keep him calm, don’t upset him. You are not the first person to react this way. Carry on, what happened then?”
“He walked with me to the car. I put the bags on the back seat and then tried to walk round to the driver’s side. He blocked me and put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him.”
You don’t make a sound but your mouth opens.
“I pulled myself away, smiled, and told him I need to go. He stepped forward and pushed me against the car and stood so close that I couldn’t move, he was using his body to pin me there. I said no, I can’t do this, I need to go, I’m going to be late. He smiled that snakey reptilian smile. I never noticed that before.”
“Before he was someone that was courting you, he was being charming. Now you can see the truth. This is a man that doesn’t understand the word no. He didn’t listen when you said no before, he wasn’t listening to you again now.”
“I looked around to see if there were any cameras but I didn’t see any. I didn’t see anyone else around either, there was nobody. I was alone with him. He’s stronger than me. I did nothing.”
“Again, you didn’t do nothing, you were doing what you had to to survive. As you said, you were alone. This man has forced himself on you before, you fought then but he was too strong for you. This is your survival instinct kicking in. Stay sweet, calm, and polite, don’t anger him to the point that he does it again. It’s a smart move.”
My eyes are burning too much, I try to keep the tears from coming but I lose and they start rolling down my cheek.
“Okay,” you coax me to continue.
“He leaned his body against me, pinning me to the car. He said I should come round to his house and we can watch a movie, have dinner. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his hot breath against my skin. I thought he was going to kiss me. I said okay. I actually said okay. I said I needed to drop my stuff off at home and do some work but I could go there that evening.”
“Smart. And then?”
“He stepped back, he stepped back and I was free and could walk round the car to get in. He told me to WhatsApp him when I was coming round. Then I left. I drove home and freaked out completely when I got home. I collapsed on my kitchen floor, curled up like a fucking baby, and wailed and wailed. How could I be a victim again? Why wasn’t I strong enough to fight back, to make sure that that didn’t happen?”
Tears are pouring down my cheeks, I’m losing total control of myself.
“Why would he do that to me? Why doesn’t he hear me when I say no? I clearly said no that night, how could he possibly think that what he was doing to me now was okay too? Has he done this his whole life? If he doesn’t get what he wants, does everyone just allow him to just take it?”
“Would you consider going to the police now?” You ask me, but you know my answer.
No fucking way. This man is a local television celebrity. One whiff of it and the press will pounce and who do you think they’ll believe, the beloved public figure who charms his way around a daytime soapie or the girl who he dated and “dumped”? I would be vilified. All this is hard enough to deal with as it is, I don’t have the strength or mental capability to deal with the absolute cruelty and judgment of social media.
I just shake my head and you don’t push it. You understand.
“Besides, there’s no proof. It’s a he-said-she-said. What can the police do? What can anyone do? He’s stronger than me, he’s got a better public image, he gets to do what he wants.”