Knight (An Impossible Novel)

by Sykes, Julia

“The relationship you formed with him must be confusing, and I think it’s something we should revisit after we deal with your trauma,” Dr. Stanger said gently. “Do you want to pick a different memory for your safe memory?”

  I considered for a moment. Yes, the memory of Master – of Smith – was upsetting in its own way. But now it was bittersweet rather than disturbing. And despite the pang that shot through my chest at the loss of him, no other memory came close to the bliss I had felt in his arms that day.

  “No. I don’t want to choose another memory.”

  Dr. Stanger nodded her agreement. If she thought my decision a poor one, she made no sign.

  “I’m going to ask you to access a memory of your trauma now,” she told me. “What we’re going to do is called bilateral stimulation. I want you to pick a memory, and for thirty seconds, you’ll focus on the negative thoughts, associations, and body sensations that memory elicits. During that time, you’re going to follow the movements of my finger with your eyes. We’ll repeat the process until the memory no longer causes those negative feelings. If you get upset, I want you to go to your positive memory.”

  I fixed the image of Master’s face in my mind, focused on the feel of his heated, sweat-slicked body against mine. I savored the recollection of the pure joy that had flooded my system at the knowledge that we were inextricably bound.

  The idea of facing the horrific things that had been done to me was terrifying, but – as he had done for me so many times before – Master would help me through it.

  “Is there a recurring memory from your trauma that bothers you most often?”

  I glanced down at the purple rings around my wrists and shuddered.

  The day I was broken.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, Lydia. I want you to focus on that memory completely, every aspect of it. While you do, I want you to follow my finger with your eyes. This will only last for thirty seconds. Are you ready?”

  I pictured Master’s silver eyes one last time before I nodded.

  Dr. Stanger began to move her finger from side to side, and my eyes followed it obediently as I forced myself to become immersed in my most horrifying memory.

  The crack of the whip. The coppery smell of my own blood. The agony of my skin being sliced repeatedly, mercilessly.

  Alone. Helpless. Hopeless.

  I was gasping for air by the time Dr. Stanger’s finger stopped its steady movements.

  “Focus on your good memory, Lydia.”

  Ecstasy. Beauty. Completion. Joy.

  Safe.

  I didn’t even realize that my fingers were locked around the silver chain that encircled my neck.

  “Okay, Lydia. That was good. We’re going to do it again. Are you ready?”

  We repeated the process over and over again, until I lost count of the number of times I had been forced to relive what had happened to me. It was horrible, and several times I thought I was going to be sick.

  But every time I thought I was about to be overwhelmed, Master calmed me.

  I’m not sure how much time passed before Dr. Stanger broke our pattern.

  “How did you feel that time?” She asked after she lowered her finger. “How do you feel when you think of that memory now?”

  My mind instantly accessed it, but it didn’t elicit the horror, the panic, that it once had. What had been done to me was still heinous, but now I controlled the memory rather than allowing it to control me.

  “I feel… Well, not entirely okay. But I don’t want to throw up, either.”

  Dr. Stanger gave me a small smile.

  “That’s good. Now, we’re going to apply a positive belief to the memory. Can you think of something good that came of it?”

  I almost laughed.

  Something good?

  That Bastard and the Mentor had taken everything from me that day. They had taken my defiance, my free will, my soul. I had died that day.

  No. That wasn’t right. I still existed. Lydia Chase was still alive.

  They hadn’t broken me, after all.

  I had saved myself. I had put Lydia Chase away somewhere out of their reach. They hadn’t shattered my soul; I had protected it from them.

  I was stronger than them. Stronger than their chains, their whips, their wills.

  I nodded definitively, my back straightening as a new confidence and pride fortified my being. “Yes. There is something good: I survived.”

  We resumed the same therapeutic process, but this time I focused on the positive belief as I replayed the images of their torment in my mind.

  By the time I walked out of Dr. Stanger’s office, I felt more centered, more at peace, more powerful than I had in longer than I could recall.

  And I had achieved that because of Master. Without the beautiful memory of our perfect night together, I wasn’t at all sure if I could have overcome the terror of the day I thought I had been broken.

  I toyed with my pendant as Officer Santino drove me back to Tucker’s house.

  Master.

  Throughout the session, I had thought of him as “Master.” That was the comforting memory, the safe memory. When I was in his care, nothing could hurt me.

  But now he was “Smith” as well. And that imperfect man was every bit as wonderful as Master. In truth, one bled into the other; they were indivisibly intertwined.

  I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  My soul screamed in protest of the idea that I would never see him again. I ached to return to him, to tell him that I didn’t hold anything he had done against him. That he hadn’t done anything wrong by me.

  But I couldn’t do that. I had committed to Tucker. I couldn’t abandon him now, not when he was so relieved to have me back. Not when he so earnestly professed his love for me.

  I was exhausted by the time I stepped up onto Tucker’s front stoop. I paused for a moment before putting the key in the lock. Becs would be inside, waiting to have coffee with me. All I wanted to do was go to my bed and pass out, but I owed it to her to spend some time with her.

  Since when had all of my cherished relationships become obligations?

  Movement inside the townhouse caught my eye. I peered through one of the small windows that framed either side of the front door.

  My mind temporarily went blank with shock.

  Becs was waiting for me, all right. But she appeared to have decided to pass the time waiting by shoving her tongue down Tucker’s throat. Her arms were twined around his neck, her body molded to his as she kissed him fiercely.

  And he was kissing her back. Kissing her with a passion I hadn’t seen in him in years.

  Betrayal coiled in my gut, and my hand flew to the doorknob as I prepared to burst in on them and tell them just what shitty human beings they were.

  Then they shifted, and I could see the tears that were streaming from Becs’ closed eyes. Tucker’s brows were drawn, the lines of his face strained as he hungrily, desperately, devoured her mouth.

  I recalled how Tucker had leapt up from the couch when I had arrived home the night before, how Becs had blushed. How the touch of Tuck’s hand on her arm as she left seemed to cause her physical pain.

  Tuck had meant it when he said he loved me. And Becs had meant it when she said how much she had missed me, how glad she was to have me back.

  But something had obviously happened between them in my absence. The raw need evident in the way they clung to each other was something I recognized: love.

  My best friend and my husband had fallen in love with one another while I was being tortured and raped.

  A strange mixture of conflicting emotions swirled within me. Before I could even begin to sort through them, Officer Santino’s voice cut through my turmoil.

  “Mrs. Chase?” He said my name questioningly. “You really should go inside. It’s not safe for you to stay out here.”

  “Right,” I said shakily. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He tipped his hat at me and headed back to his patrol car that w
ould remain stationed outside of the townhouse for the night.

  I was careful to make a lot of noise while I unlocked the door, jiggling my key in the lock as though I was having difficulty with it.

  Seconds later, Tucker opened the door for me. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining.

  I pretended not to notice.

  “Thanks,” I said, as casually as I could manage. “The lock was sticking.”

  I stepped past him to find Becs in a similar state. She had managed to dry her cheeks, but her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. And her lips were swollen from the ferocity of Tucker’s kiss.

  That ugly, unpleasant sensation curled in my gut again, but I ruthlessly tamped it down. I had been through too much today; I had already gone through enough emotional turmoil to last a lifetime.

  I plastered on my best attempt at a smile and tucked the upsetting situation away.

  I would deal with it later.

  Chapter 20

  Nearly four weeks had passed since I had witnessed Tucker and Becs’ betrayal, and I hadn’t said a word about it to anyone. Becs might have suspected that something was up; I had ben dodging her at every opportunity. Once, she had come to the townhouse to hang out with me. And Tucker. The longing glances they shot each other from time to time set off that sick churning in my stomach again. I couldn’t help feeling jealous and angry at what they had done, but I also felt terrible for making them unhappy. They had already suffered so much because of me. Causing them further anguish only doubled the illness that gripped me when I was in their presence.

  I had settled into a routine over that time. Routines were reassuring, providing a stability that I craved. Every morning, I worked with Dr. Stanger to overcome the horror associated with my memories of imprisonment. I would spend the afternoon with my parents – usually baking with my mom – and then I would go back to Tucker in the evening.

  The atmosphere between us was awkward, our conversations stilted, but we both made an effort to communicate. Mostly, we talked about the past; we never touched on what had happened to me or what I had been doing in the months before I was abducted. Instead, we reminisced about the early years of our relationship, when we were still in love and the world had seemed so full of opportunity. It was as though we felt if we could just cling on to those memories tightly enough, we could re-create the love we had once known.

  The futility of our efforts made me profoundly sad. But if we just kept at it, if we just tried hard enough, maybe we could come to accept our life together without bitterness.

  Still, we slept separately every night – Tucker in his room and me in mine – and Tuck didn’t try to kiss me again.

  When the tension between us became too much to bear, I would retreat into my room and draw.

  Dr. Stanger had recommended I focus on my art every day. She told me the familiar habit that had once brought me such joy would help to calm me after our difficult sessions. Creating would also give me a sense of accomplishment and self-sufficiency.

  While drawing did empower me, it also caused me pain. Whenever I touched pencil to paper, I couldn’t help drawing him. When I flipped through my sketchbook, Smith’s eyes stared back at me from every page.

  And still there was something not quite right with the images; I never could manage to capture that elusive sense of power that emanated from him. All of my drawings were of Smith, and while he was beautiful, he didn’t embody that sense of “Master.”

  It made me anxious. If I couldn’t commit his image to paper, would I forget that side of him? Were my memories of him dulling already, slipping away from me?

  Sometimes, I told myself it was for the best. My life with Tucker would be so much easier if I could allow Master to fade away.

  But like the masochist I was, I couldn’t stop indulging in my self-inflicted torment.

  It took me twenty-six days, but I finally worked up the courage to talk to Dr. Stanger about it. I had tucked away the upsetting emotions elicited by the idea of Becs and Tucker together, had tried to suppress the painful thought of never seeing Master again, but they were insistently surfacing at every opportunity. Now that I had dulled the power that my memories of torture wielded over me, I recognized the need to also take control of the anguish-inducing memories I had formed since I had returned to my old life.

  Dr. Stanger had moved on from employing EMDR as a treatment over a week ago, having determined that I was ready to talk about what had happened to me without curling into a ball and sobbing on her couch. Our conversations were still difficult, but I felt incredibly empowered by the realization that I could give voice to what had happened to me without succumbing to terror and despair. I felt more like myself than I had since my abduction, and yet I wasn’t my old self in so many ways. Everything was different now, and I needed to learn how to exist in this new version of my world.

  “Can I talk to you about something different today?” I asked Dr. Stanger as I settled down in my usual spot on the plush couch in her office.

  “Of course,” she said kindly. “You can talk to me about anything, Lydia.”

  I nodded my thanks. Dr. Stanger had already helped me so much. Surely she could help me with this, too.

  “What we’ve been doing… It’s made things so much better. I’m still having nightmares, but when I wake up I know that I’m okay. I don’t completely fall apart anymore every time I think of that Bastard.” I hesitated. “But now that I’m back, I feel like there isn’t a place for me in my old life anymore. Everyone I love is different now; my disappearance changed them. I don’t know how to erase that pain. I don’t know how to make things right.”

  “Of course losing you affected your loved ones deeply, Lydia, but the pain that they suffered isn’t your fault. The man who hurt you is also responsible for their hurt.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to let him take anything from them. I’m taking myself back from him. How can I make things go back to the way they were?”

  “You can’t, Lydia,” Dr. Stanger told me levelly. “And it’s not good for you to take on their problems as well as your own. Everyone will adapt in time. Your relationships will never be exactly the same as they were, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be healed.”

  “But what if their relationship with me is hurting them?” I asked quietly.

  “What do you mean, Lydia? Who do you think is hurting because of you?”

  “My parents… I know they’re happy to have me back. But thinking about what happened to me upsets them. Sometimes, my mom sees the scars around my wrists, and she looks like she’s going to be sick. I don’t want them to know everything I went through, but I can’t shield them from that when… When he marked my body.”

  I couldn’t suppress a shudder when my eyes riveted on the purple lines that ringed my wrists. I hated that the Bastard and the Mentor had done that to me. I could erase the debilitating scars they had left on my mind, but I could never remove the marks they had left on my skin. They would serve as a constant reminder of the pain of my disappearance every time my loved ones saw them.

  “If your parents would agree, I would like to have them come in with you for a joint session. It would be helpful for them if they understand how you’re healing mentally. You won’t have to tell them details of what happened to you, but they need to know that you want them to heal as well.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I would like that.”

  “And what about your husband? Are the scars upsetting him as well? We could do a joint session with him.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “Yes. Yes, they upset him. But… It’s so much more complicated than that with Tuck. We were separated at the time I was abducted. We had been essentially living separate lives for two years before that. We were like very good friends who happened to live together. I wanted a divorce; I knew that being tied to me was holding him back. Neither of us was happy with what our lives had become, and I wanted him to be free just as much as I wanted freedom for myse
lf. But Tucker doesn’t believe in divorce, and there was a lot of pressure from our families to stick it out.”

  “So now that you’re back, you don’t know if it’s right for you to abandon him again,” Dr. Stanger concluded perceptively.

  “Yes.” I traced the curve of my wedding ring with my thumb. “I decided I owed it to him, to my parents, to make things work with him. But then I found out… I saw him kissing my best friend. And I can tell they’re in love.”

  I paused, staring at Dr. Stanger beseechingly. I needed her to help me sort through the myriad emotions that wracked me at the memory of their passionate kiss.

  “It’s not uncommon for people to come together over a loss,” she said gently.

  “But now I’m keeping them apart. I’m making them unhappy,” I said anxiously. “But it’s not right for me to leave Tucker. Not when he doesn’t want a divorce. Not when a part of him still loves me.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I always will. He’s been a huge part of my life, and he’s never done anything wrong towards me. We just grew up and we grew apart. I feel like being tied to me, having to provide for us, has kept him from being the person he was supposed to be. It kept both of us from the lives we wanted.”

  I drew in a shaky breath before making my next admission.

  “And… And I can’t stop thinking about Smith. I know it’s wrong, and what I thought was love was actually obsession. But the idea of never seeing him again is tearing me apart. How can I commit to Tucker when I’ll always want someone else? When I know he’ll always want someone else?”

  “You just referred to Agent James as ‘Smith,’ not ‘Master,’” Dr. Stanger pointed out. “It’s undeniable that your relationship with him stemmed from a very unhealthy place. But you’ve recognized that you’re not his slave, and that he’s a man rather than an infallible entity to be blindly obeyed.”

  “So you think it would be okay for me to go back to him?” I asked disbelievingly, hopefully.

  “I think you need to deal with your feelings for him if you’re going to heal fully. I think you should be happy, and you can’t do that until you confront what happened between the two of you.”