Broken, Mended Things

While things will never be as they were, broken, mended things have their own special beauty.

Chapter 1 — Broken Things

The phone rings once, twice. Shiloh holds it tighter against her ear. Her eyes find the single sheet of paper with the handwritten note, unfolded and accusatory, lying on her kitchen table.

She thinks about what to say in her phone message, expecting the call to go to voicemail when someone answers.

"Praxis Behavioral Health, how can I help you?"

Shiloh swallows hard, searching for her voice.

"Hi. I'm one of Dr. Moore's patients. I have an appointment for Friday but is there any chance she has something sooner? I really need to see her."

"What's your name?"

"Shiloh Sinclair." She can hear keys tapping in the background.

"There you are," the operator says after a short pause. "Let me put you on hold for a moment while I check the schedule."

A sharp pain in Shiloh's finger distracts her from her rising panic. Blood runs in a thin line along her fingernail where she's bitten it too short. She studies it while she waits, thinking about how to manage the throbbing pain she knows is coming.

"Thank you for holding. Are you able to come today at four?"

Her stomach sinks. It’s much sooner than expected. She questions whether she can do this but knows she has to even though she’s terrified. "Yes, thank you."

As four approaches, her anxiety rises to an almost unbearable level. Backing out isn't an option since they got her in on the same day. There’s only a very short wait once she arrives at the office.

"Shiloh?"

She looks up at the receptionist.

"Dr. Moore will see you now."

Some of the tension eases as she enters her therapist's office. After almost a year of working together, she's come to trust her doctor. Her office has become one of Shiloh’s few safe spaces, and today, she's in desperate need of a safe space.

"Shiloh, how are you? Tell me why you're here today."

She stares at the opaque window instead of at her doctor while she collects her thoughts. "Another letter from my father came yesterday. I wish I'd never opened it. It's more delusional bullshit about how Brett was so amazing and taken from us too soon. According to Dad, he's achieved local hero status by being indoctrinated into his high school's football hall of fame."

The tears and the truth she's been holding back break free. She forces herself to keep talking.

"He hurt me. Brett hurt me for years, and no one stopped it. No one protected me. And, everyone still worships him. But they don't know."

The secret she's held inside for ten long years bursts to the surface in an unstoppable wave.

"He wasn't a hero. He was a monster."

The silence stretches out. Shiloh feels Dr. Moore's presence but it feels fuzzy and far away. The words flow faster, unstoppable now that the dam is broken.

"I was just a child. It started right after Dad and I moved in with them. At first, it was just words. Brett, he said horrible things to me.

"Ugly. Fat. Stupid. He repeated them over and over until the words lost their meaning. When he realised they no longer had the power to upset me, he switched to physical pain."

She grinds her palms into her eyes, fighting the emotions rising there.

"Pinching. Snapping rubber bands against my skin. Holding me down and tickling me without mercy until I cried from the pain. Hitting me in places where my dance classes could explain the cuts and bruises he inflicted on me. He hurt me as often as he could because he knew no one was looking."

She pauses to take a deep shuddering breath, unable to voice the full horror of her experiences.

"Take your time, Shiloh."

At the sound of Dr. Moore's voice, she snaps back from the dark tide of her memories.

"How? How do I move past the things Brett did to me? I've been seeing you for a year now and while I feel like I've worked through a lot of shit, I'm still too fucked up." Fat tears continue rolling down her cheeks. "I'll never have a normal relationship. It'll always be a repeat of what happened with Dane. I couldn't give him the things romantic partners give each other and we know how that turned out.

"No one's going to stick around for someone like me, someone who can't handle physical and emotional intimacy."

Another wave of crying washes through her.

"Shiloh?"

It takes a few more tries before she responds to her therapist calling her name. There’s so much more to tell but she keeps it to just Brett for now. He was the first, and by far, the worst, of her abusers.

"I had an abortion at thirteen." She says the words in a voice that's been washed flat and emotionless from crying. "No one believed me that it was Brett. They called me a liar, said I was making things up just because I didn't like him. Once he knew they wouldn't protect me, he did it to me every chance he got until he died. I hate him for what he did to me, what he's still doing to me."

Dr. Moore lets her cry until she's empty.

"I believe you, Shiloh. I believe that Brett did horrible things to you while your dad and his mother looked the other way. It's the worst form of betrayal a child can experience."

"It was so horrible. It hated it, hated him. Same with my father and his wife.

"When I told them what Brett was doing to me, my father denied it. He told me my legs were strong enough from dancing to fight him off and that if anything did happen, I must have allowed it."

It feels like her chest is going to explode. Breathing becomes a challenge. The years of shame and pain and humiliation course through her like an electrical current. When the worst passes, Dr. Moore offers her tissues and comfort.

"You've survived a very traumatic childhood, Shiloh. Being abused by your step-brother while everyone either looked the other way or blamed you is more than enough to cause a person to withdraw from intimacy. Your response to those situations is entirely expected and understandable."

While the weight of finally sharing some of what happened to her with someone she trusts is off her shoulders, the thought of having to relive it all by talking through details of the abuse makes her nauseous. There’s no way she thinks she'll ever get to a place where she can put into words the horrible, depraved things Brett made her do. Even if she does, it doesn't mean she'll be cured.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Dr. Moore, but I don't think talking about what happened is enough to fix what's wrong with me."

Her therapist gives her a small reassuring smile. It doesn't really help but Shiloh appreciates the effort.

"It's a fair assumption, especially at the beginning of a journey like this. I will say, there are certainly cases where people who have experienced this type of early childhood trauma are able to use a combination of talk and behavioural modification therapy to successfully overcome their aversions to physical and emotional intimacy.

"In the right environment, talking about childhood abuse is often the first step on the path to healing. There will always be scars but it is possible to overcome the trauma enough to engage in meaningful, intimate relationships with others."

Shiloh still doesn't see how it's possible. She's too broken and bent to be a willing participant in any of that.

"Including sex? Because that's where I'm most fucked up."

Her failed relationship with Dane underscores the severity of her problem. At this point, she can't imagine ever letting someone else touch her, sexually or otherwise. The breakup with Dane snuffed out the last little pilot light of desire flickering within. She's been cold and dark inside ever since despite her pathetic attempts to relight it.

"Yes, including intimacy and sex."

"I want to believe that talking about what happened and dealing with it all will change things but I just don't. I can't—" The words choke in her throat but she clears it, determined to keep going. "I can hardly bear to touch myself." She glances at Dr. Moore with teary eyes. "How will I ever learn to let someone else touch me if I can't even touch myself?"

"While I wholeheartedly believe it is possible that, for some, talk therapy is an effective treatment, it isn't for everyone. There is another alternative that I think could be worth exploring. For the sake of transparency, it is still considered controversial."

Against her better judgement, Shiloh lets hope spark in her chest. "What is it?"

"It's a newer form of trauma recovery called surrogate partner therapy. In a nutshell, it's just what it sounds like. The therapist acts as a surrogate partner, providing a safe space for the patient to explore and relearn how to be intimate."

Beneath her blouse, her heart hammers. "How does that work, exactly?"

"It's usually a combination of talk, emotional work, and physical intimacy."

It takes a moment to register but when it does, she's left in shock. "Are you saying the therapists have sex with their patients?"

"Surrogate partner therapy is about learning to give and receive intimacy. On rare occasions, yes, sex is included in the treatment plan."

Her thoughts go wild. "Is that something you do?" Shiloh isn't sure how she feels about any of this. It changes her perception of Dr. Moore. An awful pit opens in her stomach.

"It's a highly specialised field and one I don't offer."

The relief flowing through her makes her dizzy for a moment. If Dr. Moore had answered differently, it might have been grounds to find a new therapist. She's thankful she won't have to. It had taken long enough to find a good fit with Dr. Moore. Shiloh doesn't want to go through that again if she doesn't have to.

"As your therapist, I think this could be a really good option for you, Shiloh. If you want to try it, I can give you a referral to someone who offers it."

"Are you serious?"

"Very. I know it sounds outrageous. Everyone thinks so when they first hear about it. I suggest we take our time talking through what's involved before you make any decisions. I could arrange a brief in-person meeting with the therapist so you can ask questions and get a better sense of whether it might be an option for you."

Despite her misgivings, Shiloh finds herself intrigued, even if this isn’t for her. It can't hurt to learn more even if she'd never go through with something like that, right?

"Who's the therapist?"

"Dr. Aidan West. He's one of only twenty therapists in the US, and the only one on the West Coast, who specialise in SPT." Dr. Moore opens her little notebook and starts writing. "He's published a handful of well-received, if controversial, articles on his work and its success rate. I'll send you the links and encourage you to read them. Reconnecting the Body and Mind: Intimacy After Severe Childhood Trauma is considered one of the most groundbreaking works in psychotherapy of this decade. Its been nominated for psychology's highest award."

A therapist and a scholar. This guy must be ancient. Shiloh can't imagine engaging in anything intimate with anyone, much less a grey-haired, wizened old man. Still, if he has an active practice, it must mean his services are in demand. It's just a brief meeting. No harm in that.

"If I decide to consider it, how soon would I be able to meet him?"

"Did you cancel Friday's appointment when you made this one?"

"No. I felt like depending on today's session, I might need that one, too."

"We could do it Friday, if you want."

A rush of apprehension replaces the calm of moments ago. "So soon?"

"I think you can handle it. I'll be with you the entire time. We can keep it to ten minutes, if you want. Of course, once you meet him, if you need more time, we can do that, too. We'll plan to leave fifteen minutes at the end for just you and me to talk things through. You won't be expected to make any decisions on Friday. It's just exploratory."

It seems crazy but so does ruling out something she knows nothing about. What if it really could work for her? It seems impossible but then, only one short year ago, so did the idea of sitting in front of another person and admitting the horrors of what her step-brother put her through.

"Okay, I'll meet him."