Memories & Scars

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to sex abuse, domestic violence, self-harm and suicidal ideation as detailed during therapy. Reader discretion is advised.

It wasn't the way my mother's voice trailed off or the ferocity of her wiggling pinky finger that had me wasting my Tuesday afternoon at an office on the North side of Chico. No, it was the thought of strangers parading around my wedding wearing Klingon full make up and costumes that prodded me into making an appointment as soon as possible. My wedding would not be an excuse for a Star Trek convention or an Esbat bathed in moonlight. During the forty-five minute ride, I blared some tunes to get me in the right mindset. Nothing like a little Bauhaus to cheer one up.

Neilsinhaur's office exceeded my expectations, not that I had much going in the way of assumptions. Figured a hole in the wall sort of place, being that Willow frequented the establishment. Upon entry from the plate-glass door a small oak topped-counter with a matching computer desk set at a right angle behind it resided. To the right of the door, a ceiling-to-floor waterfall spilled into a built-in pond. Koi of white and orange swam above a pebble-speckled bottom, amidst aquatic plants and grottoes. Seemed posh, too posh for my mother's taste. I enjoyed the sound of tinkling water making its way into the rock-edged pool. Black marble tile floor, ecru walls with white crown molding and a shelved skylight with ivy trailing down met my critical eye.

A small three-legged table topped with tidy stacks of magazines sat between two benches lining the wall across from the receptionist desk. A deep sigh was heaved before I stood at the receptionist's counter, awaiting my fate. Maybe I should have brought condoms for the mindfuck I was sure to receive. My hand hovered over the little bell when a petite blonde woman made her way from an alcove to behind the counter and addressed me, front and center.

"Welcome! How can I assist you today?" The receptionist wore a pigeon-blood red Mandarin tunic over black leggings. Her ebony hair was styled in two buns high at the back of her head, secured by chopsticks with dangling white flowers. The flowers swayed to touch her ears as she spoke in a very animated way. Her hands fluttered like hummingbirds; they paused in a gesture, then zoom to another hand posture for a brief moment before changing once again.

"I have a two o'clock appointment with Dr. Neilsinhaur." It was an epic failure on my part trying to keep the dejected tone out of my voice.

She sat at the computer, flew over the keyboard and said, "Ah yes...Kaylis Woods?" I nodded, and she continued, "It's your first visit. I've got some paperwork for you to fill out." She handed me a clipboard loaded with a half-dozen sheets of paper and an old ballpoint pen.

I made my way to a bench and filled out the required information as fast as possible. The sooner this was over the sooner I could bail, and get a blended Chai from the kiosk down the road. Whether it was due to thwarting Willow and her Roddenberry worship or due to nervousness at being thoroughly out of my element and in my mother's realm, I wasn't sure. This was her turf. God knows what the hell I was in for with this particular adventure.

Writing as fast and legibly as I could, the paperwork was soon ready to go. So was I. Hypnosis held no attraction to me. It never had. I'm a life-long skeptic of hocusy-pokusy crap-–my only concession to the paranormal is the Tarot deck Willow gave me when I was sixteen, which I still use. But conjuring up a lifetime while under the guidance of someone paid to create head trips seemed bullshit to me. This was up there with bending spoons, faked pictures of fairies, Victorian ghosts spewing ectoplasm, channeling long dead relatives and group sex with incubi. I'm wasting my time. Apparently an astounding amount of people who frequent Past Life Regression Therapists believe in past lives themselves whereas I'm agnostic on the topic.

A deep breath and Jet's words of wisdom echoing through my mind, "...cents a day to keep your mom from hippiefying the whole shindig..." bolstered my resolution. I can do this. I will do this!

I'm sure Jet would be proud to know I wore my big girl underoos and handed the completed paperwork back to the receptionist with semblance of a smile upon my face.

She removed the papers from the clipboard and looked up at me. "It'll be a few minutes. He's finishing up with his current client."

"Okay." I beat a retreat to my seat and noticed the ambient music wafting through the air. Vivaldi. Exquisite. Maybe this won't be so terrible... ah, the cell phone. I fished it out of my purse and put it on silent mode. Interruptions wouldn't be appreciated, I'm sure. A glance to the stacks of magazines displayed National Geographic, Popular Science and Modern Psychology. Nah. Music would suffice for now. My head leaned back against the wall and I shut out the world with closed eyes to enjoy the music. It was during "Autumn", when I heard that voice talking in the distance. Oh God no. Again, impeccable timing for the win.

"Kaylis?"

I opened my eyes to see my maternal unit standing next to a portly fellow garbed in a hunter-green dress shirt with black slacks and loafers. Willow wore her usual broomstick skirt and tunic top; this time in tropical colors of teal, aquamarine and yellow. Her hippie ensemble completed by the old Birkenstocks upon her feet. "Hiya Willow. Guess what you won't be doing?" I smiled wide, cheered by the thought of not passing out phasers as wedding favors. Here, proof that I am fulfilling the obligations for my side of The Agreement.

"Ah, no wedding planning for me I suppose. Let's get a late lunch after your appointment to discuss my surrender, okay honey? Oh! Jack! This is my daughter, Kaylis Prudence."

I mentally grimaced at her use of my middle name during an introduction but smiled as my mother continued.

"Kaylis, this is Dr. Jack Neilsinhaur."

Ah, finally. The man behind my mother's claims towards Tudor Royalty.

Neilsinhaur shook my hand in a firm grip. A serene feeling emanated from him like the sensation of sunshine touching bared skin on a spring day. It was like a warm magnetic field started in his chocolate-brown eyes and spread to those closest around him. The recessed lighting glinted red upon his closely cropped black hair.

"Kaylis, it's a pleasure."

"Dr. Neilsinhaur. Willow has told me so much about you."

His eyebrows quirked. "Really? I'm sure you are equally interesting."

Willow stepped towards me and pecked a kiss on my cheek. "It's not so bad, Kaylis," she whispered into my ear. "Remember, the Klingon God of War fears not a challenge. Channel your inner Klingon, sweetie. You'll thank me for this... wait and see."

Meh.

Dr. Neilsinhaur and Willow bid their goodbyes to each other before he whisked me off down the same hallway that echoed my mother's voice minutes earlier.

He led me into a room bereft of the psychoanalysis couch that I envisioned on my way over to Chico. Two fluffy armchairs sat near each other, across from a sofa upholstered in tan, green and navy stripes. A desk and computer chair in one corner, faced outward towards the center of the room, and juxtaposed from that, an aquarium of middling size. He beckoned toward a chair for me to sit in, while he took position in the computer chair. Neilsinhaur leaned forward and spoke.

"I'm going to explain what I do, then we'll start diving into why you find yourself here.

"The premise of my practice is that everyone possesses a soul that gets recycled. The body may die and decay, but the essence of our being is an electrical impulse that goes into what is called the Collective Unconsciousness. That's sort of a super-highway that links everyone's mind on a deep, primal level. Everyone is connected, some closer than others. People you know in this life were most likely souls you knew in a past life; that's why some people leave more lasting impressions than others. Sometimes the soul houses scars from a past life. Those traumas from a past life can carry over to a current life, impacting the subject. Patterns can reemerge and cause havoc for one, especially if they aren't aware of said pattern. The goal here is to identify the trauma or event that left the scar tissue which is affecting your quality of life in this lifetime. Heal, and the scar tissue will fade away."

I really didn't care what he was saying. I wanted my hour over and done with so I could get out of here. It sounded nice and all, but I was familiar with the works of Carl Jung and his definition of the Collective Unconsciousness. I crossed my ankles and my top foot started a nervous twitching that caused me correct my position and sit with both feet on the floor.

"Tell me why you're here."

"Do you want the short or long answer?" I held his candid gaze as I queried him.

"Give me both answers."

"Short answer is that it's a part of a deal with my mother. I see you; she stays away from planning my wedding. If you're familiar with Gene Roddenberry's contribution to fringe society, you'll understand why that's a bad idea, given my first name. She told me to channel my 'inner Klingon' right before we came in here. I love my mother, but I know what I want for my wedding and any help she does contribute will be appreciated. But planning is strictly off limits."

I took a deep sigh and lined up my train of thought. "Long answer is that I had an embarrassing moment happen with someone, then a traumatic moment with somebody else. Both times, I felt the same feeling of dread. Don't know why I reacted the way I did. There was nothing to be scared of, nothing about the first incident that would give me a panic attack, unlike the second incident. I don't want to feel like that again. I don't want to associate my hunny with that beyond-crappy feeling."

He wrote in a notebook I didn't see him grab.

Oooh. My mother is good.

"I see... tell me about the embarrassing moment."

"I puked on my boyfriend while he proposed to me--in public." Relief swept over me that he didn't laugh or otherwise make an issue of that particular bout of nausea.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I take it you accepted?"

"Yep. Out in the parking lot."

"Congratulations. Now tell me about the traumatic moment."

"My ex-boyfriend came unannounced to my home. He and I didn't part on the best of terms."

All the while, he scribbled in that notebook.

"Tell me about your ex-boyfriend... we'll get to your fiancé eventually."

I didn't know where to begin and Neilsinhaur tried to guide my path. "How did you meet the ex?"

"Went out of state to art school, dropped out. Moved back home, got depressed. Started getting involved with internet forums. Joined an astronomy one. Met a guy on there. Mike seemed interesting. He wasn't into sports, cars or hunting. A change of pace, personality wise, for me.. Anyway, we begun an instant message and email correspondence since he lived in Berkeley. I had a friend who moved to Livermore, and she offered me a room. I took it up in a heartbeat. Got the hell out of Dodge and he and I were only an hour apart. We dated, ended up moving in together. And uh, that was probably one of the dumbest things I have ever done."

I didn't like talking about Mike. Talking about it is almost as bad as reliving it. I shy away from feeling those emotions and remembering things best left forgotten. It's the past, and I wanted nothing more than to put it behind me, out of mind, and never go back to those dark places that rot the soul. Voicing the atrocities Mike subjected me to made them real again, gave him power, if only in my mind.

"Why is that?" I startled at the sound of Neilsinhaur's voice shredding the cloth of silence.

I looked up at the ceiling of acoustic tile and gritted my teeth. It's not nice to talk about someone when they aren't around, but it's damn hard not to be biased. After a deep cleansing sigh, I spoke. "Mike is an actor. A good one. In fact, I'd call him the King of Bullshit-- which he had referred to himself as more than once. For three years he presented a façade because he thought I wouldn't like the real him. He was right. The real Mike was a bitter, hateful, cruel person who didn't care about others. I mean, I know I am no saint, but never could I do to another what he did to me. There was a time I wish he had died before his mask came off, so I could mourn the nicer side I thought he possessed."

Neilsinhaur wrote more, asking "Can you tell me what he did?"

"Yeah."

Yeah I can.. Do I want to tell you, Dr. None of your business? Not really. But since you asked, fine. Jot this shit down, Dr. Gonna Ask Uncomfortable Questions.

I took a deep breath with my eyes closed. Then the rushing river of hurt came pouring from the mountains of my soul. There was no way to stem the flow – thoughts blended into other thoughts, seasoned by the hurt I felt then, and the desire to not recall it all now. But it was too late. The floodgates were wide open and unchecked. "He cheated on me indiscriminately which resulted in me getting an STD, albeit a treatable one. Tried screwing my best friend behind my back, and the second worst thing he ever did was get me drunk to be raped by the boyfriend of the chick he was screwing and was trying to get me in a foursome with. I wanted nothing to do with them or that situation."

Why did I start talking about this? I didn't want to tell anyone this, of a shame that was, but wasn't mine. Just thinking of that particular incident still made me ill. Dammit. Why the hell did I mention it? If I don't acknowledge it, it never happened. I can pretend it's a horrible nightmare that has yet to fade from my mind. Reason Number One not to drink vodka; not the hangover, but the insanity which taints the blood and mind.

The moment washed over me and I remembered. Everything I wish never happened so I never had to think of ever again hit me with the force of a thousand bricks to the head.

Mike played host and was pouring drinks. I had gone outside a bit earlier to get air and escape the situation. I was pissed off that Mike had brought his fling and her boyfriend home and that I was expected to participate in the bacchanal frenzy. I tried to sit inside Mike's El Camino and wear off my drunken stupor, but he locked it. Instead, I stood off to the side of the house, in the shadow of a moonlit lemon tree. I could smell the citrus scent and the prickle of the foliage from when I tried to hide myself among the lower branches. The guy Mike invited over followed me out and tried kissing me. I went inside and puked.

"I don't handle vodka well, and Mike kept pouring the drinks and egging me to finish them. He took the bottle of water I was drinking from and chugged it, refilled it with vodka and gave it back to me. I went to lie down because I was feeling shitty and the guy followed me. The vodka had made me so drunk that I couldn't focus on anything other than not retching again. He had lain next to me and asked me what I wanted. I said I didn't know, that I couldn't think. I don't remember anything past that until I woke up the next morning."

God, I hated this. I hated recalling the shame of Mike's gaze as he called me a whore and a slut. That I cheated on him. Never mind that he ended up taking off with what's-her-face in his car and fucked her. He threw it in my face right before he called me a whore. He came back, and according to him, took turns with the sleezeball, having sex with my passed out body. It didn't sink in for a while, what all Mike screeched at me. It was during my shower when I finally sobered up and the full realization hit. I sat down in the scalding hot water and puked, this time from shame. Only after the water turned ice cold did I get out, heartbroken and sobbing like a little girl with a skinned knee and sore soul.

"But I was young, dumb and naïve enough to believe that true love would conquer all, just like the Disney flicks teach."

I didn't take into account that the other half of the relationship needed to be interested in salvaging the tattered remains of trust and shreds of self-worth to actually make it work. But then, I got pregnant. When I went to the OB, I found out that it wasn't really a pregnancy, but a malignant growth of placenta tissue gone awry. A molar pregnancy-- no baby. I had the tissue removed, which sucked. Mike refused to go with me when I asked. He told me to go and get a friend to go with me. So I did. It hurt, physically and emotionally. I couldn't get pregnant for a year, in case there was any lingering tissue and had to go in for monthly blood tests because of the potential for it to become cancerous.

In a blink, the memory of that period in my life passed and I relaxed enough to take a deep-cleansing breath.

"He apologized to me, blamed the alcohol. Tried to start a new chapter with him, but that didn't last long. Things started sucking really bad with Mike. There were a couple of times I ended up crying during sex, and it didn't even make him slow down." I don't have to tell him all this, I reminded myself. I answered back, yes I do. I didn't have to tell Neilsinhaur about the damage incurred that got stitched up, however.

"I left him and moved in with my mother. Then the hands-down first place winner of the Ultimate Asshole award goes for this entry: found out I was pregnant soon after I moved out – but I was on the birth control ring, so it was a double whammy. Told Mike, felt he had a right to know. He ended up throwing a table fan at the wall and demanded I get an abortion. If I didn't, he'd take that baby away from me. Put it up for adoption. 'If you don't, I will'. That's exact verbatim." I heaved a deep sigh. It hurt to my toenails to remember. "I ended up having a miscarriage. That solved that."

I didn't mention the punch to the gut, nor when Mike slammed me against the wall for having the audacity to tell him he was a bastard for his fan-throwing temper tantrum. It had been the first time I raised my voice against Mike. Losing control of myself and that situation still bothers me. For being as intelligent as I thought I was, I felt stupid for putting myself in that position. I should have listened to Willow when she told me it wasn't the best course of action... I owed him nothing. He was worthy of Nothing From Me.

I didn't realize I was crying until Dr. Neilsinhaur leaned toward me, tissue box in hand. I took a couple and blotted away the waterworks. Crying in front of a stranger mortified me, more than vomiting on Dmitri. But I needed to finish, so I spoke again. "And the Best of Show Shittiest Thing To Say purple ribbon goes to Mike: he thanked me for 'cooperating,' by having the miscarriage."

I hiccuped a cry of agony, and held the tissues to my mouth, stemming any further sounds of hurt. Mike's brutality and callousness still ate at me, more so since I needed a hysterectomy from endometriosis gone wild a year after Dmitri and I renewed our acquaintance. Bearing children was totally out of the question for me. What chances I had were squandered on a man not worthy of 'fathering' a child.

It took a series of deep breaths to find my center and regain my composure.

"You are a strong person, Kaylis. Amazingly strong." He flipped to a blank page in his notebook and wrote something. His slender fingers tore the page out and handed it to me.

Curious, I read it.

There is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

Tears welled up again. It was sweet and touching. A balm for my chapped soul.

"Thank you."

"That's from Winnie the Pooh. It's one of my favorite quotes. I think many people can relate to it."

I certainly did. As I contemplated its meaning and how to apply it to my life, my fingertips slowly folded the scrap of paper into a square and tucked it in my pants pocket.

"Did you report the rape to authorities?"

He was greeted with a moment of silence before I answered. "No."

"Why?"

"Because after he saw what the drunken thing did to me, he got really apologetic and went out of his way to be nice to me for a little while. He loved me in his own way, I guess. And, although I know what he did was wrong, I didn't want to deal with all that hassle. I should have, I know, but people do stupid things when they think they are in love. But he didn't love me enough to know how that would hurt me. Mentally and emotionally. He didn't care until he got faced with it...and the ugly truth about himself. That he was a manwhore. He wasn't sorry it hurt me, he was sorry his idea backfired and I was an emotional wreck he had to deal with. And I faced the truth about myself... I was in love with love, not him."

"So tell me about your fiancé ." I appreciated Neilsinhaur changing the subject to a more pleasant one.

"Dmitri?"

He leaned back in his leather-bound computer throne, hands resting lightly upon the open notebook and ball point pen situated on his lap. "Tell me about Dmitri." It wasn't an order, but a pleasant request. His head cocked to the side and awaited my reply with quirked fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows and a smile.

Okay. Honestly, I thought that he would do the little swinging pocket watch routine and work his voodoo on the first visit, even though Willow said he'd want to 'get to know me'. I wasn't caring for his particular brand of getting to know one.

Flustered and like a dimwit I stuttered my retort. "Uhh, um.. okay then." I didn't know where to begin. I suppose back story would be good. "Umm, we first met in high school. We met through a mutual acquaintance, a friend of mine since 5th grade. She moved away sophomore year in high school to live with her biological mom in Sacramento, and he was her on again, off again boyfriend. She wanted to set us up for my junior year winter ball during one of their longer off periods. He was an exchange student from Croatia."

As I spoke, he started scribbling away. I continued my recitation. "Ended up going to the dance with a buddy. But Dmitri and I got to hanging out a lot that summer. He would drive up from Sac couple times a week to hang out with me. He asked me out three times before I said yes. Felt a little weird about dating a friend's ex, but I was smitten with him and didn't think he'd ask again. So I got the title of 'Girlfriend'. It was really cool. He and I just clicked personality-wise. He was and still is one of the people I'm most comfortable just being around. Right after he had asked me to be his girlfriend, my grampa was in an ATV accident. Broke his back and bruised his spinal cord. He wore a halo for six months, neck brace for another six months. Dmitri kept me grounded during that time right after the accident. Grampa is the closest thing I have to a father."

I paused and gathered my thoughts. He took it as an opportunity to ask, "So how did you and Dmitri reconnect?"

"After I left Mike, Dmitri found my email address on a dumb chain letter Lorryn sent him. I never thought I'd hear from him again. He and I got to talking. His timing was, as always, impeccable. He signed up for the Marines two weeks before 9/11, ended up being in the first wave sent to Iraq. Dmitri wanted to get a hold of me before he went overseas again to apologize for his role in breaking up. He told me what happened and asked my forgiveness. I was floored. We renewed our acquaintance over the phone and internet for a year before I ended up flying down to New Mexico to see him. We automatically clicked again, even though it was just a short visit. And the kicker was? We didn't even have sex." But we did make out on his couch and floor for a solid four-plus hours.

Neilsinhaur chuckled. "That is remarkable." He cleared his throat. "What was Mike to you? A boyfriend, husband...?"

"I had the displeasure of being his fiancée. Because of him, I promised myself I'd never settle for less than a good man."

"Why do you think you stayed with him so long?" Neilsinhaur's hands made a pyramid shape, and he reminded me for a moment of Smithers doing a Mr. Burns impression.

I had thought about that very question long before this man asked me the same thing. "I was afraid to be alone. I went from living with my mother to living in a roommate situation in college. I was never on my own. I was depressed when I moved home and looked for a way out, and grasped what seemed the first viable straw. I was desperate. You've met my mother. Try living with her and maintaining sanity sober. It's impossible, I tried."

"So you settled."

"At the time, yes. But that mistake was eventually corrected."

"And you said that Mike paid you a surprise visit recently?" Dr. Neilsinhaur looked at me with concern in his eyes.

"Yes."

"How did you feel when you saw him?" That pen was poised over the notebook, awaiting my answer.

"Scared. Panicked. Couldn't think straight. I didn't get a hold of myself until Dmitri came home and convinced Mike to leave. Mike was there only a few minutes, but it seemed like days."

"That's understandable, and I am glad for you that Dmitri protected you from him. Have you ever been treated for depression or any anxiety disorder?"

Gulp.

"Yes, depression. A few years back."

"What was prescribed?"

"First it was Wellbutrin. It wasn't a.... a good match."

"Why?"

"Apparently, Wellbutrin and undiagnosed anxiety don't make for good bedfellows. This was after the drunken thing, about three weeks before I had the molar pregnancy. Mike told me couples therapy wasn't an option. I wasn't worth it. So I scratched myself." Well, etched words into my thigh with a safety pin, really.

He killed you inside!

He hates you.

Die.

"I quit taking that poison after the third time I got the urge to disfigure myself. I figured the comedown couldn't be worse than having to feel physical pain to cope with the emotional pain." I had carved He Wants you to DIE into my upper thigh after Mike had seen the previous scabbed-over words. It looked like something a cat had done, and Mike told me I should 'have cut it deeper on my wrist and fucking finish something for once.'

Neilsinhaur wore a sympathetic expression and asked, "How did Mike handle you acting out?"

"Not well. It was pretty much the catalyst for me to get away from him for good."

Mike wanted me to die.

That bastard wanted me to die. I spent two days in a tizzy before anger kicked in. Fuck him, his noise and the bloody fucking horse he rode in on. No one should ever be told to kill themselves. Who the hell did he think he was? I wasn't the lowlife piece of shit who did fucked up things to others.

Depression makes people do things they normally wouldn't ever think of doing. Anyone who aims for the nuts of someone in a major depression is an automatic piece of shit. Even in that medicated fog, I knew the Wellbutrin was the reason I mutilated myself – never before in my life had I ever reacted to emotional turmoil with violence. I'd usually crawl into my head and plot a story or write something to escape.

I'll be honest. I feared for myself... only a few nights before, he and I watched Sin City. The scene with the tar pits invoked an 'If I ever wanted to make you disappear, I know where I'd hide your body,' comment that sent ice careening down my spine, helping to incite the aforementioned tizzy.

My biting reply of "I wouldn't need a hiding place, just a deep-freeze, wood chipper and the Sacramento river," made his mouth snap shut and got his undivided attention back on the movie. I felt audacious for saying such a thing, but I couldn't blow off his comment as a ha-ha funny because it wasn't amusing in the least. In fact, all the resentment I bottled up in my delusion of being in love with such a cretin began a slow eruption like a Hawaiian volcano deep in the depths of my mind.

I had enough. The medication that was supposed to help me made me want to off myself, and with the comments towards my death... well, I knew something horrible would happen if I stayed with Mike. He didn't care. I could have OD'd on Draino, and he'd probably step over my corpse to get to the pint of Chunky Monkey waiting for him in the freezer.

He didn't want a wife.

He wanted a housekeeper and occasional cringing bedwarmer.

"I figured I had endured enough bullshit at his expense. I was done with him. I wanted my mother. While Mike was out at the bar with his work buddies, I packed my backpack, a suitcase and my laptop. Taped the engagement ring to the TV remote. Fled one-hundred-sixty-three miles north to my spawning ground. I moved back in with my mother, prescribed Lexapro, got my textile business off the ground and a place of my own. Dmitri and I rekindled the magic and here we are today."

"Here we are today, indeed." He sat up straight and looked deep into my eyes. "You've had quite the roller coaster ride with Mike. Why did you stick it out for so long, aside from fear of being alone? Surely you realized that there are some things a person shouldn't tolerate."

"Because 'working on your relationship' generally means nose to grindstone and trying to make things work. I nursed hopes that he'd go back to being the guy I fell for, but that didn't happen. In a somewhat perfect world, I should have walked out long before he told me I wasn't worth it." I gave a short-lived frown. "That's hindsight bias for you."

"Do you think Mike's reappearance in your life could be him wanting to start up with you again?"

"Without a doubt. He asked for my number." I wrinkled my nose in distaste of the thought.

"If Dmitri got him to leave, then I'm assuming that Mike didn't get your number?"

"That's correct. He's a pattern I have no intention of repeating."

"That's an excellent way to put it." Neilsinhaur offered me a small smile. "I understand why you would have a panic attack when Mike showed up. What I can't put my finger on is why Dmitri proposing would elicit a similar reaction. Has Dmitri ever reminded you of Mike?"

"No. He raised his voice once in my presence– he was pissed at the situation, not me-- but since then, he leaves so we both can cool off before the decibel level gets cranked up. For him to be likened to Mike in any way, shape, or form, is an insult. When I told him how I felt when he popped the question, it sucked. No one deserves to be likened to a despicable choad." Didn't mention the wedding-induced unease, either. The Pity-Me sundae does not need a cold-feet cherry on top.

"Which is why you find yourself here." He cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at me. I felt like a deer in headlights-- pinned and unable to look away. "Have you ever experienced déjà vu? Recurring dreams?"

Finally. I was beginning to wonder when he'd get to the bread and butter. After listening to Willow drone on time and time again about her magical adventure as an English political pawn, I was very curious as to what lay ahead.

"I've experienced déjà vu before. Recurring dreams too. I've had more of those than déjà vu." I spent most of my childhood nights in restless sleep with one of two recurring dreams. The first one was always the same. A blackened chasm housed a mile-high pillar of stone in a narrow oval. I lay atop the pillar. If I moved or tried to roll over, the pillar would crumble and I'd fall to the bottom of the abyss. I always woke up when the pillar would begin its demise and take me down into the depths with a scream locked in my throat.

I hated that dream.

"Did any of the recurring dreams involve people? Or places?"

"People. Can't see their faces. Like... shadow people." That dream had a huge creep out factor, too. A blurry room, three indistinct people milling around in anger. Such hateful anger and rage. I couldn't move from where I was and one of the shadows would come over to lean down into my face. The sensation of menace and power emanating from it would without fail wake me up in terror.

I hated that dream more.

Neilsinhaur nodded. "It's a promising beginning. Shadow People in recurring dreams is fairly common. More often than not in my experience, that is, Shadow People represent persons in a past life. If they are, your dream will take on a new relevance to you as the truth behind it is revealed. The scientific community tends to view moments of déjà vu as a mini-epileptic seizure. In the same family as the jolt people get when they are falling asleep and inadvertently kick their foot. It's referred to as 'hypnagogic epilepsy'. A misfire of the electrical impulses surging through the brain basically.

"Those electrical impulses are what connects us all to the Collective Unconsciousness, where we can access our past lives and experiences. Through regression, we access the pathway to past lives by guided meditation techniques that allow us to relax and fully immerse ourselves in the proper state of mind. Now the question I have for you is whether you think that past life regression therapy would be of benefit? There is potential that you faced a situation in a past incarnation which may have triggered your reaction to your fiancé 's proposal. Do you think it's worth exploring?"

I didn't know. Admitting my ignorance was something I was comfortable doing at this point in time. In fact, the past hour was so different from my preconceived notion of what would happen. I was in a state of psychological shock. Bawling like a baby in front of a stranger was something that never crossed my mind when I agreed to Willow's idea. Baring the scars on my soul to a perfect stranger, drained me into a hollow shell of a former smartass. I felt somewhat lost.

"Honestly, I don't know if I'd benefit from it or not, but I'm willing to try. If only to keep my mother from the wedding. Best case is I actually get something out of it." And I meant that. Nothing would please me more than to find out why I'd desecrate Dmitri, so I could explain and apologize for the true reason. I have yet to forgive myself.

"If you are truly open to the idea, then there's some homework for you to accomplish before our next session."

Homework? That was straight out of left field. "Okay..."

"Every night before you go to sleep, I want you to work on a meditation. This mental exercise will help you focus your energy towards your goal past life. This will help you internalize your thoughts into the subconscious where the past life dwells. This is how we will make our way to that memory that haunts you.

"I want you to close your eyes and picture yourself in the woods. In front of you is a staircase leading into the ground. There are thirteen steps down to a landing with a door. That door is the entryway into the past life that is impacting you now. Your goal each night is to walk down two steps and then back up. First is two steps, second night, four steps down and back and so forth. I want you to notice all the details. The feel of the walls down into the earth, the smell of the woods, the feel of the breeze. Is it daytime, nighttime, morning? Immerse yourself. On your next visit, we will open that door at the bottom together. We will see what we can discover to help you move past your anxieties and address what lesson in this life you need to learn to succeed. Everyone has these life-lessons. Once we achieve what we couldn't in a past life, our souls are free to enjoy this life as it is meant to be celebrated. You have much to celebrate, with your wedding and all. Don't you think it's best to start with a clean slate, Kaylis?"

Well, yes. Assuming that this wasn't bullshit. But like a parachute, a mind only works when open... and though I might be biased due to association with my mother, I think I'm open minded enough to explore this option. I am the daughter of Willow Miranda Quincey Oshton Woods Carlow Hemingson... being special was a part of my biological make-up. Nature or nurture, I could conquer this, even if I had to imagine a faux world of wonder to tame the Beast of Terror that lurked inside the cave of my mind.

Bring it on.