Cherry Locked Ch. 16-20

"Just...the last time I saw him."

"Why did he do it?"

"He said he gets mad when he's jealous."

"FUCK THAT EXCUSE!" Lil puffs out. "What's his address?" Her deadly calmness frightens me.

"Don't."

"What do you mean, don't?!!"

"Please?"

Lil flops back hard onto the sofa. "I just want to have some words with him. That's all." The calculated threat is still present in her tone. Her tan eyes cease to blink; they're dead focused.

Jessica returns. "The room is ready."

"Sit with her. I'm gonna put on cookies."

The two swap places. Jess surveys us both with utter alarm. "Tell me what's going on!" She scoots closer to hold my hands.

Can I say it again? Is this good for me? Saying it aloud can't be as damaging as keeping it bottled up. My mom mentioned recovery... Jace suggested therapy. Isn't talking it out the same as those? "Brad tried to take advantage of me...he wouldn't stop."

Her eyes double in size. "He what?!"

I cringe again, forcing out the same sentence. "He tried to rape me..."

She covers her mouth. "No!"

"Jess, come here," Lil calls from the kitchen. She doesn't sound mad, but does have a strange undertone.

"Umm...I'll be back." She breathes unevenly. Jess leaves.

I'm alone on the couch. I strain my ears to listen. But the two are in the back of the house. Their words are inaudible. I have to get up to hear. I get off the couch to eavesdrop. I tiptoe to the sidewall of the hall. "She has to give me his address," Lil speaks in an intense tone. "Try asking her."

"Baby, no...that's the last thing she needs."

"I won't kill him, relax..."

"Maddy doesn't need any more drama, okay?"

"Brad needs to answer for this! Don't worry, I won't break the bat."

"Maddy needs to speak to someone; we need to get her help. Honestly, she should've been in therapy after the...." A floorboard beneath my feet creaks. The two fall silent. I sneak back to the couch and press the power button on the remote. The channel is on a jewelry infomercial. I hear the oven pound shut. They're using hushed tones. Words are exchanged. I'm not sure what's being said. Footsteps sound down the hall. "Maddy?" Jess comes back to sit beside me. "I think you should try out this app called BetterHelp. You need to talk to a professional. Could you try it?"

"I'll think about it," I mumble.

"Good...that's a start."

"I'm not sure about talking face-to-face with a stranger."

"There's a chat option, or you could do a call. You need help."

"I know..."

"You can't do this alone..."

I grimace wearily. "I know."

Jess pats my back and gives an encouraging grin. My phone buzzes from my pocket. "Just keep an open mind about therapy." She suggests before getting up to give me the room.

I watch her stroll down the hall, overwhelmed by her empathy. My mom is calling. I prepare myself by clearing my throat and wiping my eyes. "Hey, mom."

"Oh, you're okay." She breathes a sigh of relief. "Forgive my PTSD. Are you on the way home?"

"No, I'm at Jessica's place. I'm spending the night." A raspy note disturbs my voice.

"You sound sad..."

"Mom...do you think I should try therapy?"

There's a brief pause before she says, "if that's what you feel you should do, yes. Do you want to try it?"

"I do."

"The sessions will help... you've been through so much. What made you consider this?"

"Jess did." I omit the part about Jace actually being the one who persuaded me to steer clear of exciting her.

"We just want to see you get better. Don't you?"

"I do." I sniffle.

"Then set up the appointment and start working on yourself."

"Okay."

"And get some sleep; you sound exhausted."

"I will, mom."

"Goodnight, my princess."

"Goodnight. Let dad know I'm alright."

Lil brings the cookies to me once they're done. I down ten, followed by milk. She baked tons of them and added loads of chocolate chips. The plate holds sixty hot sweets. I guess she stress cooks when she's vengeful. We watch The Power Puff Girls, it's the most suitable thing on. It doesn't involve romance. My girls sandwich me between their bodies as if I'm a child. I end up dozing off like a baby.

I don't remember being brought to bed. I wake in a cream room. My wild hair all over my head. I get up to stare out of golden curtains, which ripple in the summer wind. My nose detects the smell of heated concrete and freshly cut grass. I swipe the curtain to the side. Lil mows the lawn under the high sun. She seethes as she pushes the growling machine. My bestie is still peeved from yesterday's news.

I tie my hair back on my way downstairs. Jess is in the kitchen toasting strudel. "Morning."

"Hey, morning."

"Your phone is in the third drawer." She points to the right. "Lil tried to get Brad's address."

"I told her no."

"I did, too; she won't ease up. She might beat him to death." She serves me hot, creamy bread. "Did you tell your mom?"

"No...I'm working up to it." I bite into the gooey pastry. "It's easier telling you two."

"I get it; parents amplify shit. It's their over-protectiveness...your dad will hunt him down."

I laugh. "A killer lumberjack."

"Netflix's next big hit." Jess winks, then nibbles into a strudel.

The back door is thudded inward. It's Lil. She wipes sweat from her forehead. "Hey."

"Hey." I smile.

"I'm done trying to be a murderer...for now."

"I love that you're taking up a vigilante lifestyle for me."

"I'm Batman." She mocks the dismal character.

"And Batman needs to eat." Jess tosses a strudel her way.

Lil catches it. "You'll never defeat me, hot woman. Try as you might!" Her deepened voice almost makes me choke on my breakfast. "You poisoned the sweets! Robin, noooo! I'll save you!" She sprints to hit at my back.

"I love you." Jess beams. "Batman."

"I have my sight set on another, robin; come away with me. To the Batmobile!"

"Staaappp!" I hold my stomach and snort breathlessly.

Lil chuckles and ends the act. "Feeling better?"

"Loads."

"Jess is right about therapy."

"I'm going to sign up today."

"Yay!" Jess happy dances.

"You know..." Lil summons the Batman voice again. "I should have seen a quack...after my parents died. I'm a monster, a bad guy, a rich fucker. On top of that, I may possibly be...the joker."

"You need to stop!" I double over in laughter.

She grins widely. "But, seriously, that's a huge step! Let's invite your folks over. The more, the merrier."

"Let's."

"Now, let me get back to lawn work." She devours the strudel.

Jess angles her head to the side. "Isn't Batman rich? Why are you cutting your lawn?"

"My secret identity is that...I'm poor." Lil mimics a cape motion, then runs to the door and out.

"I'm glad Batman saved her from killing." I snicker.

Jess goes to close the door. "I want to ask you something."

I notice her critical tone. "Sure, what is it?"

"I hope it's not weird for you."

"Why would it be?" She sits at a table and pats the bench. I follow her request and sit beside her. "Jess?"

"I can't get a read on Lil, so I have to ask you."

"Huh?"

Her pale eyes, which contrast with her jet black hair, scan the back door. I admire how the sun gives her an otherworldly makeover. After a few seconds of surveilling it, she asks, "how does she feel about marriage? I can stop if this is too touchy."

"No, I can talk about it."

"Do you know?"

"Honestly...I've always been the one to mention it, not her. I'm guessing she's not vocal about it. I'm sure she's thought about it, though."

"You think?"

"Yeah...I can ask to be sure."

"Cool, that'll work."

"Aww, you two will be hot brides." I cheese.

"Burning." She snaps her finger. "Try not to ask her in an obvious way."

"I'll be casual about it."

"Perfect."

My parents come over later; we have hot wings and macaroni. I download the BetterHelp app. It claims to have over 20k professionals. It's ranked number 1 in health and fitness.

Although the tv is on a rowdy football game, I feel as if I'm the room's focal point. The quick glances for my team are poorly executed. My dad's eyes linger too long. My mom's gaze is a readable caution book. My girls are better at timing their peeping.

The welcome screen reads: BetterHelp. You deserve to be happy. What type of therapy are you looking for? I select individual (for myself). Personal questions follow. Gender, age, orientation, etc. I'm transparent about my reason for downloading the app.

I choose depression, trauma, self-confidence, and can't find a purpose in life. The last selection surprises me. I halt my tapping when the communication options arrive. Should I speak over the phone or chat?

The third choice: not sure yet, is what I hit. The price is $65 a week...$58 with a promo code. Oh...I thought it'd be cheaper. Whatever, I want to join. I purchase and go to schedule a chat. There's one available at 10 pm, which is ten minutes away. That's the last slot before the company closes. It'll be a short session. I'd like a longer chat.

I book for tomorrow, Tuesday, at the earliest time. "I did it!" I announce. "My meeting is tomorrow at 11am." The rumble of claps and whistles from my crew swells my heart. For the next 4 days, I converse with a specialist. Our chats are pretty personal. I guess I trust the woman on the other side because of her degree. I read all of our messages on the way to work.

Session with Haesue Jo:

Hello, thank you for joining BetterHelp and reaching out for accomplishment 🥳. My name is Haesue Jo. Please introduce yourself and state your reason for becoming a member 😊 There is no judgment, no invasion of privacy. All chats are confidential. You're in good hands.

Hello, my name is Madison Hart. This is my first time seeking help. I'm here because for two reasons. I was in a horrible car accident. You may have heard of me on the news—the Uber accident. I'd like help for the trauma that caused as well as trauma for attempted rape.

I have assisted over a thousand clients who faced PTSD, trauma, neglect, loss of family, sexual abuse, domestic violence, etc. I want you to know that trauma is worldwide, and there is a way to combat it. I have heard of that terrible assault. I hope you are well now.

I'm doing my best.

Any effort is progress. Please tell me what obstacles you're facing?

I believe my body is forever bruised even though my wounds are healed.

Why do you feel so?

I never saw a grotesque body...other than in a horror movie. I've never been patched up head to toe, either. These images never leave me...I have nightmares about them.

Does your body frighten you?

Yes. I don't show any skin because I feel it's offensive. I pat makeup over the parts I can't cover up.

How bad are the marks?

There's discoloration. I'm using a cream.

Is the cream satisfying your mind? Or is it another way to hide?

I don't know.

We'll figure that out in time. I want you to begin repetitive affirmations starting today. Affirmations are repeated positive statements which inspire optimistic results. Repeating a phrase influences and triggers your subconscious mind to encourage belief. What's bothering you the most at the moment?

My ex...he tried to rape me.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I've aided many victims and am equipped to help you. Today, I want you to recite the phrase: it isn't my fault. I will overcome their evil act. Meditate these words ten times and report back in the morning.

The phrase for my car phobia is: the driver can't hurt me anymore. I am in a safe space. There is no harm.

The one for my skin dilemma is: yes, I have flaws and always will; they represent survival and strength. I am one with them, and so is my mind.

My new assignment is to repeat all three for an hour while meditating to high-frequency trance music. It honestly sounds like witchcraft.

At sunset, I clean the entire bar; each station is shiny when I'm done. The tables are mostly empty; only a few pairs sit at them. Others are on the grounds chucking golf balls high into the sky. I listen to trance music on my break and quietly chant the phrases. There's less burden on my mind this time around. I'm optimistic about dealing with my issues.

I fall asleep doing the same; I even believe I spoke the words in my dreams. My dreams are airy...airy and cloudy. I think I'm flying or gliding in the sky. Whatever I'm doing, it's feeding my adrenaline and my joy.

Come Sunday, day 6, I hum at work and am a lot more preppy than before. I'm back in my boss bitch groove and am cocky with my craft. Lil smiles proudly and thumbs me up from afar. I roll up my sleeves to test my newfound limit. For a short period, I'm able to withstand exposed my skin. I cower and cover it with haste when it's out for too long. I fear the air of the room brushing it.

It's so strange. Maybe that was too soon. I'll give it another try in a few days. I miss fashion. I miss my skin breathing in air. It's been trapped for so long. I miss dresses. Miss my skin baking in the sun. Hopefully, I'll get that back—one step at a time.

My posse throws a party on week 2, complete with a cake and candles. "We're so proud of you; keep going, princess!" Dad praises.

"We got you some club outfits; we're dancing tomorrow." Jess hands me a wrapped box.

"What kind?"

"Think sexy emo in the winter." She smiles. "It fits your current taste."

Lil jiggles her present, a tiny box. I'm reminded of a wedding ring. I accept it from her and wiggle it to my ear. "Friendship bracelet!" She flashes her wrist to reveal a charm with the letters BF engraved. "You can switch the letters around if you want."

"Lily, be a good girl!" My mom hackles at the risqué joke.

"Eww...how do you know what that means?!" I ask, appalled.

"What does it mean?" Dad looks between us.

"Nothing, dear. It's our turn." Mom gives me a long box. I eye dad for an answer. "No, don't ask him what it is. It's a surprise; open it." I unwrap the gift with untested eagerness; my fingers nearly claw the box apart. When unfolded, I peer inside.

There's a picture board. My tiny baby self in a bubble bath. Cake face photos, Onesie photoshoots. 6-year-old me on a training wheel bike. My kid years. The awkward phase. The bang phase. High school selfies. Graduation cap and gown pics. I'm speechless. The vital moments of my life are overpowering. The compassion and devotion that went into the gift make my eyes gush.

Lil does a countdown from 3. "Happy 2 weeks recovery to you." They all sing the birthday tune, cramming the long title in fast to fit the flow. "Happy 2 weeks recovery to you. Happy 2 weeks, happy 2 weeks, Happy 2 weeks recovery to you!!"

"Blow out the candles," Jess's voice has a racy sting.

"Keep your tongue in."

"You girls, be good!" Mom disciplines.

"Be sure to make a wish." Dad beams. I close my eyes, knowing my wish without having to think about it. The air from my mouth smothers the tiny fires.