James coughed, “Anyway, let’s begin. As ya’ll know, I have PTSD, just like everyone else in this room. What is different about me is that it seems as though my traumatic incident is different tan everyone else’s. I don’t have trauma for domestic abuse or war of any kind. My trauma is spiritual,” he sniffled and gripped the podium. A few gasps of confusion littered the audience. Trish was intrigued. She picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip.
“It all started when I was fifteen years old, a teenage boy going through puberty. One day, after school, my mom didn’t come home from her work as a nurse. She normally got home around six at night, but she never came home. My dad was worried, and we called the police, but they couldn’t find her. The hospital said that she had left her job at the normal time and they hadn’t seen her since. For days and days, we searched.
“One night, two months after she disappeared, she showed up at home. We were all so relieved, and my dad cried. That was the first time that I had ever seen him cry in my entire life. It was such a surreal experience,” he paused and sniffled. Trish sat her coffee cup back down and leaned forward in her chair; her ankle in the boot whimpered so she crossed her legs to relieve the pressure. “But something ain’t right with her. She looked the same, dirty, but the same momma I always knew. But the way that she acted, the way she carried herself, and the things that she would say… I knew she wasn’t momma. She had started to stay up all night, but she didn’t sleep during the day. She quit her job. My dad would do the grocery shopping, even though it was usually her job to do it,” he wiped a tear from his cheek with the collar of his shirt.
“Every time my dad would buy steak or ground beef or chicken, pretty much any raw meat we had, she would eat before we had the chance to cook it. My dad had enough. He wasn’t a spiritual man by any means, but one of his friends from when he was growing up became a priest at the Catholic church in the next town over. So, he gave him a call and told him about mom. He said she sounded possessed… he came straight over. When he arrived, my mom went crazy. She started throwing anything that she could get her hands on. She lifted up her dress and took a shit, flinging it at the priest…she was saying these terrible things…things that I will not repeat here in the house of the Lord…but met me tell you, it keeps me up at night,” he sobbed.
“Anyway, the priest started what I think was an exorcism, but my mom wasn’t having it. She tried to get my dad to fight the priest but he wouldn’t. She threatened to kill me if the priest didn’t leave…I was so terrified. I couldn’t believe something like this was happening with my own momma,” he took a deep breath and looked right at Trish. She looked away and down at the nub of her arm. “That was the last night we saw her alive. The priest was yelling things in Latin that I didn’t understand. My mom was jumping on walls, crawling on the ceiling, and kept attacking my dad. She bit a chunk out of his neck. He was bleeding all over the place. He survived, but still, it was wild. Anyway, to cut a long story short, she wasn’t having anything to do with this exorcism, grabbed a steak neck from the kitchen, and sliced her own throat in the middle of the living room. Her blood coated everything in the room, including me. I was in so much shock,” he said, his hands trembling.
“The police came and took me away for a while. I was placed in foster care while the investigation happened, and luckily within the year, I was able to live with my dad again. That happened down in Texas, so my dad decided to cut ties with everyone, and we moved up here. That traumatized me, and I’ve been in therapy ever since. Thank God I don’t have to be medicated as I don’t believe in taking pills to find happiness, but ya know, I’m glad I’m in therapy, and I’m glad I’m here. Ya’ll’s stories have been a source of inspiration for me, and I will forever be thankful. Thank you for listening,” he said. He walked back to the seat he had been sitting at before, and the room clapped.
“Thanks for sharing, James. That was insightful. It took a lot of bravery,” Joaquin said as the next person came up and took the stand. James looked back at Trish and stared at her. She tried to look away but found herself staring back. She finished up her coffee and waited for the rest of the speakers to finish their stories before she got up to throw it away.
Maybe I have a place to share my story here? She thought to herself. James walked up behind her when she got up to throw her cup away.
“You’re new here, right?” he asked.
“Yup,” she responded.
“That’s cool. We rarely get new faces around here. A lot of people don’t believe in group therapy,” he said.
“Yeah, I get it. When I was forced to start therapy, I didn’t want to either, so I can’t really blame them,” she remarked while she walked toward the exit. James followed.
“Do you think you’ll be up to sharing your story sometime?” he asked.
“Maybe. I’m not one-hundred percent sure yet. We’ll see,” she answered.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is holding you back from sharing? What held me back was the belief that no one would believe me. After a few months of coming here, I finally got the courage to share.”
“Same reason as you. I don’t want to be judged, and I want to be believed.”
“Was it something unexplainable?”
“Yes,” she said. She pushed the door open. The cool air felt nice against her face. James followed her out.
“Is it something like my mom?”
“You could say that,” she answered.
“See, I knew there was something about you. When I first saw you, I knew that we would become fast friends,” he said. James smiled down at her. “Oh shit, I’m stupid. I never asked what your name is,”
He hasn’t even glanced at my arm, nor has he asked about it. Maybe this could be the beginnings of an actual friendship? Trish thought to herself. “You can call me Trish,” she smiled up at him. “Listen, I’ve got to call my dad to have him come and pick me up, so I’ll see you next week, then?”
“I could give you a ride. It’s no trouble at all,” James said.
Trish paused. “I think I’m okay. I’m sorry, but I just need to call my dad,” she said.
James nodded. “Hey, I get it. You just met me, and I could be a serial killer for all you know,” James laughed loudly. Trish didn’t. “Would you like my number?”
Trish sighed. “I’m not into…people like you,” she said.
“Hold up, I’m not hitting on you, I swear! And what do you mean not into people like me? What the fuck?” James took a deep breath as the realization spread across his face. “Oh…I see. Thanks for the heads up,” he doubled over laughing. “I’m so thick sometimes. You have to spell out everything for me.”
“Yup, haha. Well, I hope you have a good night,” Trish said.
“You too here’s my number in case you want to have someone to talk to that isn’t your parents,” he handed her a small business card. His name was typed at the top, and it was for a glass installation business.
“Thank you. I’ll reach out,” Trish said. James smiled and walked over to his small blue two-door compact car. Trish watched as he drove away, hoping beyond hope that she may find a friend within him.
~~~
“Tell me what happened the other night,” Dr. Hughes ordered.
“I’m not sure,” Trish responded as she dug her nails into the leather seat, the imprints of her nails now permanent.
“You know I offer no judgment here, Trish. But in order for you to take back control of your life, you need to be honest first and foremost. It was very brave of you to open up a little about your ordeal, but let’s focus on the present,” Dr. Hughes said as she took off her circular black glasses and sat them on the desk in front of her.
“Fine,” she mumbled. “I woke up in the kitchen covered in blood with a broken nose and a gash on my stomach.”
Dr. Hughes's eyes widened. “Do you know how that happened?”
“Yes.”
“Did someone do this to you?”
“No.”
Dr. Hughes sighed. “Was it the same thing that attacked you?” Trish nodded.
“I see. How did you feel when you came to?”
“I was in pain, like I always am, nowadays.”
“That’s completely understandable. What about your mental health? How were you feeling?”
Trish took a deep breathed. “Dazed and hazy, I guess. Every time it takes control of my body, my mind shuts off. It’s hard to describe. Like I know what’s going on as it is happening, and I can feel the pain in every fiber of my being, but I can’t do anything to stop it, and I can’t seem to switch my mind on,” Trish said, her nails digging even deeper into the chair and her head dizzy.
Dr. Hughes nodded, a strand of grey hair falling into her face. “I can understand how weird that must feel, how strangling that must feel. Do you do anything to practice self-care afterward?”
“Not really. I just generally pig out and eat whatever I want to. I also smoke sometimes,” she answered.
“Does the medication take the edge off during these episodes?”
Dr. Hughes leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk. “Are you taking the medication that you told me your psychiatrist prescribed?”
“Yes,” Trish answered.
“You don’t need to lie to me in here. You need to be honest if therapy is going to work for you,” Dr. Hughes said, her voice deepening.
The old broad needs to mind her own business. If she does not quit this nonsense, I will be forced to decapitate her and suck the juices out of her head. Xavier’s voice loomed in her head. Trish sighed.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve only taken one pill, and that was the night of the episode when my mom forced me to.”
Dr. Hughes sighed and rubbed the bridge of her old nose. “I see. Why don’t you want to take them?”
“It makes me feel…different. Like I’m shut off. Nothing around me feels real,” she answered.
“How would you know that if you’ve only taken one? Medicine like this takes time to show effects. And the way that you felt after the episode may have been because of the episode itself.”
“No, I used to take this medicine a long time ago,” Trish corrected.
“Why did you stop then?”
“I didn’t need it anymore,” she said.
Dr. Hughes pursed her lips and nodded. “Can you do me a favor? Now that you are an adult, can you start taking your pills for me? Maybe it will help to clear your mind during these episodes and enable you to fight back?”
Trish bit her lip and nodded. “I guess that could work.”
“Good, I’m glad,” Dr. Hughes let out a large breath and leaned back in her chair. “So, now that that is settled, why don’t you tell me about…James? Is it?”
Trish nodded as she exhaled. “Yes, his name is James. We met the other night at the group therapy you told me about.”
Dr. Hughes clapped. “I’m so glad that you went and found someone who has also been through a traumatic event.”
“He’s been through something like this before. His mom was possessed and killed herself,” she stated.
Dr. Hughes’s eyes went wide. “Do you think that’s what really happened?”
“What do you mean ‘do I think that happened?’ Of course, it did! He could possibly understand and believe my story,” her voice rose.
“Patricia, I’m not attacking you, nor do I think you’re crazy. I’m just trying to understand your feelings more, that’s all.”
“Alright, whatever, alright. Yes, I believe that his mom was possessed,” Trish said.
“Okay, good, thank you for telling me. Is the reason why you’re so intrigued with James’s story is that you believe yourself to be possessed?”
“I’m not sure if I’m being possessed as Xavier only visits at night and not every night. Isn’t possession an all day every day type of thing?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not an expert on possession. But what I do know is that if you believing in possession makes you feel more in control over your situation, then I’ll believe it too,” Dr. Hughes said.
“Okay, good. Thank you. You’re the first person to believe me,” Trish said as tears welled up in her eyes. Dr. Hughes leaned over and passed Trish a box of tissues.
“I’m here to enable you to take charge in your life. Whatever gets you there, ethically, I’m all for.”
~~~
A few months passed, and slowly but surely, Trish got back on her feet. She reached out to James a couple of months back, and they developed a fast friendship. She still hadn’t one-hundred percent told him her story, but she felt as though she is was to opening up to him. Her ankle was completely healed and no longer confined to the boot.
Her parents let her drive her mother’s car after having it adjusted for her missing limb. She’s been using it to visit with James, go out for coffee or take out, and just drive around. She loved the feeling of riding in the car with the window rolled down, the wind smacking her in the face, and her hair flying around chaotically.
“What are your plans for tonight?” her father asked as he made himself a turkey and cheese sandwich on wheat bread in the kitchen. Trish opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a can of pop, the can cold to the touch.
“I’m going to go out for dinner with James. He’s thinking Mexican,” she responded, taking a sip of her cold carbonated drink.
“Don’t drink any alcohol tonight,” he commanded.
Trish smirked, “Cross my heart.”
“Do you think that this will go anywhere?” he asks, his mouth full of sandwich.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he seems like a nice guy. And ya’ll have a lot in common. I just think it’s time for you to move on from Katherine,” he swallowed his mouthful and then took another bite.
“I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship yet, dad. And for right now, we’re just friends,” she replied as she grabbed her pop and walked into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Her father’s words drummed around in her head like a bouncy ball, hitting every corner of her brain as if it were a wide and empty room. She pulled out her cell. Trish hadn’t heard from Katherine since she left her on the day her grandfather was buried. She assumed that Katherine would at least reach out after her accident, but she didn’t so much as send a text.
She played with her cell for a few moments, flipping it around in her hand. Trish sighed loudly and unlocked it. She scrolled in her contacts to Katherine’s name and clicked it. Trish paced around her bedroom while she listened to the monotone ring. After around ten rings, the phone call went straight to voicemail. Trish sighed and sat at the edge of her bed. She rocked back and forth, whimpering.
“I told you that you don’t need anyone but me,” Xavier said, a black cloud formed in the corner of her room.
“Stop it! I don’t need to deal with you right now,” Trish cried. She grabbed her purple blanket and wiped her face with it. Her head floated in the clouds, unable to form coherent thoughts.
“Patricia, Katherine does not care about you. James is only waiting for you to fail. Your parents believe that you are a disappointment and your therapist is a quack. You do not need any of them; you only need me. In time, I hope you realize that and come to me willingly. I love you dearly,” Xavier said, his deep voice echoed throughout the room.
“Can you please stop? I don’t need this right now,” Trish mumbled as she fell over onto her bed.
“You know what you need to do. Do it now,” Xavier barked.
Trish sat up and sniffled. She reached over to her nightstand and opened the drawer. She pulled out a small paring knife, the sliver glistened in the light. Trish bit her lip and lifted up her black sweater, placing it into her mouth for stability. She cut a small slice into her right side; the blood poured out like a rusted, broken water faucet. She was tired of cutting herself, but this was the only thing she knew she needed to do in order to keep Xavier off of her back. S
he laid back onto her bed as she bled out. Xavier’s voice in the distance laughed, and her head went blurry. Time stood still until the pressure was released from her body, and she knew that Xavier had gone.
She reached into her bedside table once more and grabbed some gauze. As she wrapped herself up, she wondered how much longer she could take this.
Chapter Eleven
J
ames stood up as Trish arrived at their table. “Sorry I’m late, I had lost track of time,” she commented as he hugged her.
“It’s really no problem. I gorged myself on chips and salsa while I was waiting. I also took the liberty to order you a blended strawberry Margherita,” James said as he sat down, the tray of chips near empty and the salsa dish wiped clean. Trish sat down across from him. The Mexican restaurant loud with various chatter, laughter, and dishes clanking. The smell enveloped her entire being; grilled meats, salsa, cheese, pure deliciousness that this restaurant had to offer.
“Ready to take your orders, or do you need a few more minutes?” A plump waitress asked, her dark hair and eyes complemented by her red uniform.
“I’d like the supreme nacho platter, please,” James commented as he closed the sticky menu.
Trish didn’t need to look at the menu to know what she wanted. “I’ll have the shrimp tacos,” she said.
“Great. Nachos and shrimp tacos. Do ya’ll need a refill on the chips and salsa?”
James nodded enthusiastically.
“Great! I’ll get right on that,” the waitress said. She sauntered off into the busy and crowded kitchen.
“How’s your day going so far?” James asked as he took a sip of his beer.
“Going, I guess,” Trish responded. She knew her father told her no alcohol, but she was a grown adult who can make her own decisions. Trish took a gulp of her Margherita.
“That’s good. So, you said you had something to speak with me about?” James asked, his fingers drumming on the table.
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