Unspoken Words (Unspoken #1) (30 page)

She draws back to look at me. “I also have a few other things I would like to discuss while I am here. For starters, I want you to think long and hard on this one. I don’t need an answer until January. There is an opening at the New York office. I am offering you the position. I know you love LA, but I think with everything that has happened, being close to your family will be good for you.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” My heart sings with delight. I get to come home. I get to be closer to Jamie and my family. I could not ask for anything more.

She laughs. “No, I am not kidding you. The position is yours if you want it. It’s actually a promotion with a salary increase. You will still have your column, but they are looking to add a few more reviewers to highlight more bands in each edition. Your column is hugely reviewed, and brings a lot of buzz to the magazine. All of the pieces would be submitted directly to you. You will have control on what bands to highlight. Well, that is, if you take the position.” Shelby smiles at me.

I squeal and throw my arms around her neck. “Oh, my goodness, Shelby. My first thought when I saw you standing in my room was that you came to fire me. Now you’re offering me a position here in New York . . . with a promotion.”

“I don’t want your answer today. I gave you a lot to process.”

Shelby stands, and I do the same. She hugs me again and pulls out a business card from her handbag. “Here is Gayle’s card.” She places it in my hand and closes my fingers around it.

“I spoke to her the other day, I told her that I was coming to see you. I didn’t tell her much, just that you were someone special to me, and you needed someone to talk to. What you tell her is completely up to you, Camryn. I am just a phone call away, as well. Anytime you want to talk, feel free to call me. Whether it is to discuss business, the promotion, or how you are feeling, or coping with everything.”

Walking Shelby over to my door, I hesitate. Turning to look around my room, I walk out into the hallway with Shelby. This is the first time I have left my room during the day since I came home from the hospital.

With Shelby by my side, a sense of relief washes over me as I walk down the stairs. I know that I have someone who understands my feelings. Someone who knows exactly what I am going through. I have someone to talk to now when I feel panic squeezing the air from my lungs. I think I can make it like Shelby did. She is a survivor and I will be too one day.

My hand touches the card that Shelby gave me in the pocket of my sweatshirt. A smile appears on my face as I flip the card around in my pocket. The card is more than just a name and a phone number, it’s the road to healing myself. A way that I can let go of this pain. A way that I can begin to move forward. I need to find myself again and regain my life back.

I am surprised to see my three girlfriends, my mom, and Jamie sitting in the living when I come down the steps. They all turn to find me standing there with Shelby. A huge grin lights up Jamie’s face. A warmness fills my heart seeing my friends here today.

Yes, Jamie has entertained me, helping keep my mind off of things when he visits, letting me open up at my pace, but the smile on my face today is the first genuine one I have had in a long time. Knowing that I am not alone and that Shelby can relate to what I am going through lifts a huge weight off of my chest. I only hope that one day I feel like myself again. That I will be able to laugh uncontrollably rather than cry. In time, my emotional wounds will heal like my physical ones have.

And they’ll heal with my friends, my family, my Jamie to help me every step of the way.

After I see Shelby out, I head into the kitchen with my friends. There’s a spread of food on the island, courtesy of my mom. I think my mom is as excited as I am to have the girls over. She probably sees this as a step to my recovery. It may be a small step, but it’s a step in the right direction.

“Gwen, thanks for putting this together. We could have just ordered something from Tony’s. Sort of like old times when we all hung out here on Friday nights,” Morgan says.

We all grab a stool around the island while my mom shuffles around the kitchen getting everyone a cup filled with ice.

“I’m not going to ask you how’re doing. I don’t want to upset you today. I think I can speak for everyone, we just wanted to come hang out and laugh like usual. Just know we are here for you if you ever need us,” Lindsey speaks first.

Smiling at Lindsey, I nod my head. I understand where Lindsey is coming from. I don’t want to talk about how I am feeling, and I certainly do not want to talk about what happened.

“So, fill me in on what I’ve been missing?”

Morgan quickly responds. “I saw that guy from the band, you know the one you worked with before. I ran into him at Starbucks the other day. He was asking about you and gave me his card. He asked for me to give it to you. He said something about getting together with you for drinks.”

Morgan slides the card across the counter. Jamie’s eyes lock on the card. I notice he wrote ‘call me’ across the top.

Jamie walks over and reads the card over my shoulder. He picks the card up and rips it up into several pieces, then walks over to throw it in the trash.

When he returns by my side, he raises his eyebrows at me, as if inviting me to say something. The smile that emerges on Jamie’s face does not go unnoticed. I lean up and kiss him softly on his lips and whisper, “I’m yours and only yours.”

We all sit around enjoying the lunch my mom prepared for us. Listening to the girls talk about regular day-to-day things makes me realize how much I missed my friends. They love me. I know they would never judge me if I would have allowed them to visit sooner. But I love them even more for respecting my wishes and waiting for me to be comfortable with visitors. I am one lucky girl to have the friends I have and the family that God blessed me with.

My knee bounces and my eyes scan the room. I’ve picked the skin on my thumb so much, there’s a pinhole of blood dropping. My stomach clenches tight and my heart races. I’m nervous as I sit in the reception area waiting for my name to be called. My appointment is for three-thirty, and, of course, I arrived early. I was uneasy when I called to schedule my appointment earlier this week, but I know I need to do this. I need to be able to talk to someone. I need to be able to find an outlet for the emotions that I am feeling. Shelby told me that Gayle worked wonders for her, so I am praying that I will be able to find a way to move forward with my life—and with Jamie. My fear of being able to be intimate with Jamie cripples me.

Jamie squeezes my hand and brings my mind back from my wandering thoughts. He’s been my rock through this. I’ve been able to talk to him and he’s never pushed me. He won’t meet the therapist with me, but having him here with me is the support I need. The door to the reception area opens and an older woman, probably in her sixties, steps out from the doorway. “Camryn Townsend,” she calls.

My legs feel wobbly as I stand. I follow the woman down a hall as she directs me to an office with a few leather chairs and a leather sofa with a couple of dark wood tables scattered around the room. The one wall is lined with bookcases filled with books. The other wall displays framed diplomas, which I assume are Gayle’s.

After a few minutes of me observing my surroundings, a woman enters the room, shutting the door behind her. She is very attractive for being an older woman. I’d have to say she is in her late fifties, possibly early sixties. Her short, salt and peppered hair is styled very elegantly. She extends her hand to me introducing herself, “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Gayle Cummings. Welcome.”

I shake her hand, “Hi, I’m Camryn Townsend. Shelby Kemper referred me.”

Gayle sits across from me in a chair, while I sit on the sofa. “Nice to meet you. Today we’ll take things slow.

“Um . . . I’m not sure if you know the reasons why I’m here. But . . .” My voice catches in my dry throat. I cough to clear my throat, but it only makes it worse.

Gayle stands from her chair, walking over to the table where a pitcher of water sits. She pours a cup, returning to where I am sitting, still coughing. She hands me the glass. I slowly take a sip. Once I am able to speak again, I tell her, “I was attacked at a club about a month ago. I’m sure you can figure out the rest.” Gayle doesn’t speak at first. She reaches for her pad and pen on the coffee table, placing it on her lap. “I am sorry to hear what you endured.” The room is filled with so many unspoken questions. Will she want the sordid details? Will she put the pieces together? I don’t want to talk about what he did to me. I want to talk about what I need to do to get past this.

I’ve told the detectives exactly what he did to me. I told Christian and Jamie what they need to know. They saw me that night, they don’t need the vivid details of what that monster did to me ingrained in their head.

Gayle watches me, waits for me to speak. When I don’t, she asks, “How are you doing?”

I shrug, not knowing what to say. Do I tell her the truth or lie? Do I tell her at times I feel like I’m drowning? Do I tell her that during the attack, I wish he would have killed me? I’m supposed to be completely open with Gayle.

I take a deep breath. “I’m . . .” I pause a moment. “There are days that I feel like I’m dying inside, broken and devastated. I’m tired of crying. I’m trying to get back to normal.”

“It will take some time for you to get back to normal. You suffered a tragic event. What you are feeling is quite normal for rape victims.”

“I don’t want to be a victim. I want to be strong, not feel weak. There are days that I am so angry, that I want to punch something.”

“Having anger about the personal violation is probably the healthiest reaction, because you turn the pain outward instead of inward.” Her tone solemn.

Lifting my head, I study her. “I have nightmares. I’m usually back in that room, where I can smell him. I can feel his breath against my neck. I’m alone, wishing someone would come.”

I press my lips together, my eyes watering. I look at the ceiling willing the tears to stay at bay. I will not cry. I will not let that bastard make me cry anymore.

“You survived, obviously you did the right thing,” Gayle says matter-of-factly.

“I blame myself for wearing that promiscuous outfit that I did for the masquerade. I blame myself for going to the restroom by myself. I knew better. We always do the buddy system, never go anywhere without a friend. But I was at my best friend’s nightclub. Of all places, I thought I was safe.

“Camryn, this was not your fault,” she says firmly.

This is not your fault.
Everyone tells me this. I’ve even told others that it wasn’t their fault. Sometimes it’s harder to convince ourselves than others.

Gayle and I talk for the entire hour-long session. I like how she puts me at ease. She would ask a question, and allow me time to process my feelings and figure out how to express them regardless of how long it takes me to gather a response, formulate my feelings. Basically, figure out how to get through this so one day I can get past this.

My mood seems suddenly buoyant. I feel good as I walk back to the reception area where Jamie waits for me. I feel like there is hope at the end of the dark tunnel. This is not going to be my only session. I walk up to the counter and schedule my appointments for the next month. Knowing I have sessions with Gayle scheduled, I leave the office with a small smile on my face.