A Good Woman

"You're right. Let's forget it. Come on, let's finish the trail."

I nodded and we walked on, hand in hand.

Despite the brief contretemps, our walk had felt restorative. But also tiring. I'd normally run three or four times as far and over rougher terrain, but clearly I wasn't myself. I let my head ease back into the soft leather of Amy's car and closed my eyes for the brief drive back.

At home, we sat on the couch. Again Amy instigated things. She kissed me. Then lay me down on my back, clambering over me on all fours. Kissing my neck and then my lips again. I felt familiar heat rise in me. My breathing deepening. My heart pumping. I pulled her face to mine and kissed her, both our mouths parted, closing lips on lips, touching tips of tongues. I knew what I wanted.

And then I didn't. And then I dissolved in tears and all I could do was to cling to Amy, sobbing.

"It's OK. I'm here, Emily. I'm here. Too much, I'm sorry. It's OK."

She sat back and patted her lap. I moved round and lay my head on her thighs, eyes closed, tears still escaping from my lids.

"Why not tell me about it? You're safe. Tell me what happened. What you are feeling. I'm not going anywhere. I took the week off and Monday you are calling in sick, understood? I'm not leaving until you are back on your feet. Got it?"

I nodded, turning to look up at Amy's eyes.

"Thank you, sis. I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have left. Shouldn't have left you."

"Don't be silly, I was heading to San Francisco. People move on after college. It's not like we were going to get married."

"I know. It would probably have been worse. All those memories and you not there."

"But you didn't leave me, Em. We're sisters. Family, right?"

She was right. We sometimes squabbled like siblings, but we were as close as siblings too; or had been. Family was the right word. Why had I let that lapse in the last two years? Just one brief weekend, earlier in this year. Another before she left for SFC the year before. Only two weekends out of nearly one hundred that had passed. Was I maybe trying to prove to myself that I was independent? That's messed up. Then I'd done much more messed up things.

I reached up and traced Amy's face with a finger-tip.

"I'm still crazy about you, Ames. It's not you. I'm just a little... broken."

The tears returned and Amy cradled me. She didn't hurry me and, in a while, I was more myself, and ready to talk.

I didn't recap ancient history. Amy had been there, she knew. I talked about now. What had happened. What I felt. How it linked to past events. I knew she understood, understood like no one else.

I'd covered some of this with the therapist, but we'd only had a hour and there was no need to explain or expand with Amy. It felt good to get everything out; cleansing maybe. Amy just listened. Stroking me. Cuddling me. Telling me it would be OK when the sobbing got too much. I'm not sure how long I talked, but the room began to take on the hues of the sunset before I stopped.

"Sis, I love you dearly. I'm so sorry about what has happened to you. I want to help and I'm going to help. I'll stay as long as you need me. But, I'm just me. You need to talk to a professional. You get that? It's not just me pushing you into it, is it?"

Reluctantly, I admitted she was right. Part of me had believed that Amy would be a universal panacea, but that was too much to ask of any friend. She had patched me up before. But I recognized that the cracks in me needed to be healed, not papered over. I couldn't bury my feelings like I had before. That had manifestly not worked.

"So Em, I can tell you about my time in SFC, or we can watch one of your cloying k dramas. You chose."

"Would you hate me if I said k drama? I'd like to hear about your West Coast adventures, but I'm not sure how closely I'd listen right now."

"Whatever you want, sis. It's OK. I'll even put up with Far Eastern melodrama for you."

A thought crossed her mind.

"Let's order food now and then we can just stay on the couch as long as you like."

Suddenly she broke out in a smile.

"And, if we are going to be reading subtitles, I need alcohol. Agreed?"

I agreed this was an excellent plan; adding that there was more wine than food in the kitchen. Sometimes I got my priorities right.

I made the mistake of watching a show from where I left off. Which meant constant pausing for me to explain the previous plot to Amy. But it guess it was kinda fun. Despite her earlier pejoratives, Amy seemed interested; no one can resist k dramas, once they give them a chance. We watched two episodes. We shared a bottle of red. And then we went to bed. Kissing and cuddling before we settled.

Two hours later, I was lying on my back, looking at the ceiling fan spin. There was no real need for one, I had central air. But I liked listening to the sound as I fell to sleep. It reminded me of my room growing up, where a fan had been my only relief on warm Summer nights. It was dark outside, but I had taken to leaving a night light on. Another call back to childhood maybe.

This was one of my problems. Exhausted during the day, unable to sleep at night. I'd been given some pills, but I didn't really like taking anything that messed with my brain. Aside from alcohol, I guess. I had this feeling of lying on a lofty peak, with precipitous drops on every side. A slight move would send me tumbling into the void. And a slight move was inevitable. It was only a matter of time. I could feel my heart racing. Each beat thudded through my body.

My chest tightened. I picked up my inhaler and took just one puff. I'd been hitting it hard and I knew asthma wasn't really the root of my problems.

I looked sideways. Amy was on her side, facing me. Her lower arm hooked under her pillow, her upper curled, the palm turned, with her face resting on it. Dark hair flowed across her pillow. Her lovely face was a picture of serenity. I was glad she was with me. I wanted desperately to wake her, for her to hold me. She'd even said to tell her if I couldn't sleep. But it seemed unfair.

I closed my eyes and tried to think of us. Of running in to her unexpectedly far from college. Of kissing her for the first time in a darkened parking lot. Of the revelation of her naked body in her apartment. Of laughter. Of closeness. Of shared intimacy. Of exploration and pushing limits. I managed half a smile when I thought of her Hitachi.

I became dimly aware that my hand was between my legs. I hadn't, not even that, not since... I stopped myself. Other memories came flooding. Amy holding me so tight, then tending to my injuries, wiping away the blood. Taking me to the cops. Trying to make them listen; before they took me away from her.

And later. When I had recovered, or so I thought. Taking me in after the worst night of my life. The biggest mistake of my life. Not judging my stupidity. Never once, I begged you not to. Just enfolding me in love. Trying to make me safe. Trying to piece together a girl who had broken herself into a thousand pieces.

My pillow was wet. The tears flowed. But I didn't sob, I didn't shudder. Maybe I had no energy left. I put my hand back between my legs and started to rub. I looked at Amy's face and I masturbated. I cried and I masturbated. No tender thoughts. No rising emotion. Just cold physicality. You rub X and Y happens, the laws of Physics and Anatomy. Fixated on her delicate features, I was an automata. But an effective one. I came. The most sterile, mechanical, unfeeling orgasm ever. But something. And I felt I could sleep now.

I rolled over and kissed Amy's cheek. As softly as I could. Her nose twitched, but she didn't stir. I knew I had used her. But I also knew I had needed to.

I normally wake early, but it was past ten on Sunday when I opened my eyes. Light was filtering through the blinds. Amy had turned in her sleep. An alabaster shoulder, adorned by glossy chestnut locks, was all that was visible.

Generally, I slept in panties and a tank or T. But, with Amy, it seemed normal to be naked. It had been nice to wake, seeing her there. But now an all too familiar wall of anxiety hit me. I knew it was in my damaged brain. There was no real threat here. I sat up, elbows on knees, head bowed, breathing deeply. Trying to calm myself. I managed it better than many mornings. The thought of doing something positive even crossed my mind.

Getting up quietly, I grabbed some panties, shorts and the first T I found in the dresser. A stupid fangirl T. In brown and with a faded image and text. Amy would hate it. I slipped it on.

I tried to not make too much noise in the kitchen, but maybe I was less than successful. Amy appeared while I was in the middle of mixing pancake batter. She looked disheveled, well as much as she ever did. Her hair was a mess and she was wearing just panties and a beach shirt; carelessly buttoned, the two sides misaligned. It was impossible not to kiss her. And I did, slipping a hand inside her shirt to caress her stomach.

"Good morning, sis. You seem a bit better. Did you sleep?"

With a slight feeling of guilt, I said that it had taken me a while to fall asleep, but then it had been a more peaceful rest than often.

"Great. How about a trip? I want to see the sea. I miss that about San Francisco. The nearest water to me is Erie, and that doesn't really count. How long to get to The Shore?"

Most of my trips to the ocean had been longer ones. It would take too much time to get to South Jersey, and the traffic would be awful.

"Quickest? And to somewhere OK? Belmar, maybe. Should take an hour. Less with how you drive."

"So let's do it? Some sun will do you good."

I finished making pancakes. Amy got her things together. We ate quickly, and then I changed and grabbed my beach bag and hat. I transferred my umbrella and beach mat from my car to Amy's, and we were on the road and heading eastwards in under forty minutes.

It took more than an hour. The further we drove, the busier the roads got. But at least it was past peak beach season. As we neared the boardwalk, a car left its space and we grabbed it. We had lucked out. We bought some water and then a short walk, and we felt sand under our feet.

It was nice. It was really nice. Te beach was crowded, but could absorb a lot of people. We found a strip of sand not too close to others. A couple were the nearest other people. And they were young women, very much together. That felt welcoming. We smiled as we walked past and they smiled back.

The car thermometer had said eighty when we parked. Hot for the time of year. The waves were not as big here as further south and soon we were splashing out to sea. Amy dove, seal-like, at the first opportunity. She had been on her High School team. I walked out until the water met my breasts and then let myself drop into it. It was chillier than in July, but provided a welcome respite from the heat.

A surge of water and Amy surfaced right next to me, shrieking and splashing. We had a water fight, then collapsed laughing into each others arm. Feet planted on the sand, our bodies touched and then our lips. A little self-conscious, I looked around, but no one seemed to care much. No children nearby to frighten or corrupt. Mostly other couples. I saw our friends from the beach not so far off.

Amy went out further, for what she called, "a proper swim." I lay back and floated. The Atlantic drowning some of my fears and worries, at least for now. Twenty minutes later, Amy was back. We walked back to the sand, toweled off and lay drying. Drying and holding hands.

After an hour of revitalizing sun, we walked back to find a restaurant and a late lunch. The crabs legs were good, though we both were a mess from them. We took selfies with arthropod appendages as fake mustaches. We enjoyed each other's company. Then back to the beach to lie and digest. A second dip before the sun got too low. And then walking along the seashore. Holding hands, exchanging brief kisses.

It had been good to have a change of scene. To forget. Though, as that word flitted across my brain, my chest tightened and my stomach felt a void. But maybe, just maybe, slightly less. And perhaps it passed sooner. I hugged Amy as we headed back to the car. My insurance was for any vehicle and so I drove. Amy dozed next to me. We got back home around seven and lazily ordered a pizza.

Sitting on the couch, my legs in her lap, Amy told me about her time in San Francisco. I updated her on my promotion at work. And my lack of a sex life. Of course she never had such problems. I talked about loneliness and about watching porn. About reading porn. She massaged my feet as I talked.

"Poor little sis. Maybe you should have come to San Fran with me after all."

"Maybe. Want a glass of something?"

Amy nodded. I returned with two glasses and the bottle in a cooler.

"You OK about tomorrow, Em?"

I paused.

"Yes. At least I think so. I need something. And you won't always be here."

At that thought a tear rolled down my cheek. I was suddenly angry. Angry at my constantly crying self. Angry that I couldn't cope better. Even angry at Amy with her perfect body and her perfect life. It made no real sense, but the feelings overwhelmed me.

"I'm just so sick of being me, Amy."

She moved over and embraced me. The angry tears became sad ones.

"Listen, sis. I don't know what happened to us. I guess we both had things we didn't say to each other. I'm not sure why we let ourselves drift apart."

"I don't know either, Ames. Maybe I felt a bit in your shadow. Maybe I wanted to show you I could make it on my own. I don't know. I buried the shit I went through, but it never went away. Maybe it never will."

Amy hugged me tighter.

"You're right, I can't stay forever. But I can stay a good long while. And I promise you something. We'll be proper sisters again. We'll message. We'll FaceTime. I'll come visit. You can too. It's not like I'm on the West Coast anymore. I missed you, Emily. I don't want to be out of your life again."

"Me neither. Sisters?"

"Forever."

We raised a glass to our pact. It helped, it really did. As much as I loved having Amy around, I had begun to dread the thought of her leaving. This felt like leaving wouldn't be leaving, not really.

Maybe it was the sea air, or the swimming, or the wine. But I woke at two in the morning, realizing we had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV still on. I shook Amy gently and we blearily relocated to the bedroom. Thankfully my appointment wasn't until ten in the morning. Apart from this, I slept soundly for once.

The next day, I was a ball of nervous energy. Sitting in Amy's car, I clasped and unclasped my hands. I pushed down on the balls of my feet, jiggling my knees. Part of me wanted to throw open the door and run. Amy reached across and placed a calming hand on my thigh. Eyes still ahead on the road, surveying it through sunglasses.

"I'll be there. Right outside. And you've seen her before. You said she was nice."

I stared out of the side window, chewing on a knuckle. Thoughts of escape still filling my brain. When Amy parked, I found I couldn't move. She walked round to my side, opened the door and half pulled me out of my seat. The morning was bright and I squinted. Then I felt her arms round me, her voice soft in my ear.

"It's OK. You need this. If it gets too much, just ask to stop. I'll be here."

I squeezed her tight. Then pulled back to arms length, our eyes meeting. I nodded, trying to appear decided. Trying to appear something that I was not. Amy took my arm and led me into the building.

She did the formalities, spoke to the receptionist, gave my name. We were early and sat together. Our hands clasped.

Then the therapist appeared, smiling in a professional, but reassuring manner. Amy and her did introductions and then she shepherded me into her office. I forced myself to not look back.

Dr. Chen was middle aged. Taller than me and with streaks of gray in her black hair. She wore glasses. Her manner was quiet, collected. I remembered she had listened well, not saying too much, but giving off a sense of empathy. Looking after women in my situation was her specialism.

"So Miss Miller..."

"Emily is fine, Doctor, just like last time."

"Emily it is. And you can still call me Lei, if you prefer."

"OK, Lei it is as well."

"Good. Now I didn't want to go over things in too much detail. I took notes last time. What I do here is not so much revisit trauma as to try to help you to think differently. To shift your attitude to more positive ways of dealing with feelings. To give you coping strategies. Does that make sense?"

I nodded.

"OK. But I want to make sure we are starting from the right place. Can I take you through my notes? You can tell me what I have wrong and add anything you want. This should just be the first fifteen minutes. Is that OK for you?"

Again I nodded. Trying to keep it together.

She started. I had been fearful that her recounting things would be difficult. And it was. But it also struck me how much she had picked up from our first session. How many blanks in my story, in my feelings, she had filled in. I felt she saw me. A few times, I interrupted to change a detail or stress something differently. She listened patiently and took more notes. But it helped just to think she understood.

"I'm sorry, Doctor... Lei, I mean. I wanted to say that it means a lot what you just said. That you seem to get me. But I have to ask. In few places, you nailed what happened and what it did to me. But I'm pretty sure I didn't say all of those things."

"It's a sad thing to say, Emily. But your story is far from unique. Of course you are an individual and your experiences are yours alone. But aspects of them are shared by way too many other women. I have helped some of them and I really hope I can help you. Sometimes just a word from someone is enough to let me see things clearly; because I have seen it before. But I make mistakes, you have to correct me when that happens. To be honest, I wish I was much less experienced. But the World is the way it is."

"Thank you. That makes sense. I guess I have mixed feelings. It's awful that others have gone through what I have, and worse. But it maybe makes me feel less alone. Less different. Less like I am to blame."

My voice had been breaking up during the last few words and now I started sobbing. She let me cry, offering a box of tissues. When I had calmed myself, she continued.

"This is going to take time. And it's not going to be linear. But I hope you will start to see progress. Let me lay out what I think we should do. I'd like your thoughts on that. Then we'll start with just a few things that could help immediately. Does that sound OK?"

"Yes. Yes it does. Thank you. I'm sorry to be such a mess."

"Let me say something here, before I lay out the plan. Don't say sorry. How you are is a normal response. I would be more worried if you couldn't cry. There is no need to apologize. You haven't done anything. Things were done to you. We will work on that inner voice telling you that it's all your fault. Again that's a common thing. But, for now, it's OK to cry. It's OK to feel hurt. You have been hurt. From what you told me, you tried to ignore hurt done to you. That never works. When you feel like crying, cry. Tell yourself you have every reason to cry, that it's OK, that it's natural. Be kind to yourself. OK?"

"OK, I'll try."

"I know it's not as easy as that. But you strike me as someone who tries to be kind to others. Be kind to yourself."

She then spoke about some of what she wanted to do. How she thought it could help and some ways to track progress. She went out of her way to say that everything was flexible, but that most people wanted to get a sense of the direction of travel. I certainly did. We agreed the overall approach. Having a loose plan helped in and of itself.