Chapter 011

The sun barely lit the sky that morning. A soft gray hue filtered into Dr. Lisa Voss's office, cloaking the room in a muted, reflective calm. Elena sat on the couch in a thick knit sweater, a journal in her lap, but her fingers played nervously with the hem instead of writing. Her eyes were darker than usual—tired, like someone who had spent too many nights wrestling memories.

Dr. Lisa, poised but gentle as always, set her notepad down. "Elena, I want to hold space today for the harder truths. The kind that don't feel clear-cut. You mentioned last time that Daniel's love was confusing—intimate in a punishing way. You called those moments the 'lows.' Would you be open to telling me about one?"

Elena nodded, slowly. Her voice came low and soft. "They weren't always the kind of moments you'd call abuse… but they didn't feel like love, either. And yet… I kept going back to them."

Lisa waited, saying nothing.

Elena swallowed. "There was one night I'll never forget. We'd just come back from a dinner party he threw for his company. I wore a black dress he picked out for me—tight, backless, elegant. I thought I looked beautiful. But he barely touched me all evening."

Her voice shook. "When we got home, I asked him why he was so distant. He didn't answer. He just… stared. Then he came closer and grabbed my arm. Not violently, but firm. Controlling."

In her mind, the scene played out clearly.

Daniel pushed her gently but purposefully against the bedroom wall. No words. His hand slid under her dress, fingers curling around the thin lace of her thong and tearing it without flinching. The sound—ripped fabric—sent a bolt through her chest.

"He said nothing. Just pressed his mouth to my neck and bit. Hard. Not out of lust, out of anger… but still, I moaned."

Lisa didn't flinch. Elena continued.

"He spun me around. Pushed me down on the bed. Didn't even take off his shirt. Just unzipped, pulled my hips up like I was something he bought and owned. I was wet—God, I hated that I was—but I was scared too. I didn't know which Daniel I'd get."

She paused, cheeks flushed. "And then he took me. Not gently. The kind of thrusts that made me forget where I was. My body was crying, but I didn't say no. I never said no."

She looked at Lisa. "That's what confuses me the most. I let him take me however he wanted. And sometimes… I wanted it. Even when it hurt."

Lisa leaned in. "That's the trauma bond, Elena. You associated pain with love. He blurred those lines so many times, your nervous system couldn't tell the difference anymore."

Elena's eyes grew glossy.

"Another night… it was raining. We'd just argued about me texting an old friend. He thought I was cheating. I tried to leave the apartment, but he blocked the door and said, 'You want to leave looking like this?' I was in just my sleep shirt—no bra, no underwear."

Lisa's face softened with concern.

"He pinned me to the front door and kissed me like he was trying to erase the fight. I kept saying, 'Daniel, please, I'm not doing this right now.' But my body betrayed me. His hands knew every part of me. He slid his fingers inside me while whispering, 'You're mine. Even when you hate me, you're wet for me.'"

She exhaled hard.

"And I hated that he was right. I clenched around his fingers, and it made me feel even more ashamed. Like I was broken."

Lisa's voice was gentle but unwavering. "You weren't broken. You were surviving. Your body's arousal wasn't consent—it was conditioned."

Elena buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to steady her breath. "I remember when he made me beg… not because he wanted to hear me ask, but because he knew I needed him to want me."

Lisa gave her space.

"We were at his parents' house for the weekend. Everyone had gone to bed. I was tipsy from wine, lying in bed, and he came in smelling like whiskey and control. He started touching me, but slow this time. Calculated."

She closed her eyes.

"He kissed every inch of me—slow, devouring kisses. My thighs, my stomach, my nipples. And he asked, 'Do you miss being mine?' I said nothing. He dipped his head between my legs, licked me once, and then stopped."

Elena shifted uncomfortably.

"Then he said, 'Say it. Say you miss being my good girl, or I stop right here.'"

She swallowed hard. "And I said it. I said everything. I told him I was his. That I missed his mouth, his cock, his hands. I let him degrade me just to feel him again. And when he finally entered me, it felt like falling into a fire I'd been freezing without."

The room was silent for a long moment.

Lisa finally said, "And afterward?"

"He didn't hold me," Elena whispered. "He lit a cigarette and turned on ESPN. I curled up on the side of the bed, my insides still throbbing from the way he'd stretched me, and he just said, 'Don't pretend you didn't love it.'"

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"And part of me did. That's what I can't forgive myself for."

Lisa's eyes held no judgment. "You were conditioned to associate that kind of sex with closeness. He weaponized your longing. That's not on you."

Elena exhaled shakily. "He never said 'I love you' during those moments. But I felt closer to him then than in any conversation we ever had."

Lisa offered a moment of reflection. "And now?"

Elena looked up. "Now I'm starting to realize it wasn't love. It was a storm. And I mistook drowning for depth."

Later that day, after the session, Elena sat in her car. She didn't cry this time. She just stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror and said, softly, "You're not his anymore."

Her phone buzzed. A message from Mara lit the screen:

Mara: "How did therapy go today? Want me to bring ice cream and dumb movies?"

Elena smiled and typed back:

Elena: "Not tonight. But thank you. I talked. Really talked. First time I didn't feel ashamed."

As the sky turned a soft evening blue, Elena rolled down the window, letting the wind hit her face. The lows had broken her once. But today, she'd taken them back. One word at a time.