Repercussions

Hello again, dear readers. This week, I wrote a modern version of The King and the Ju Ju Tree, which we looked at last time. This is a heavy one, readers. I wrote it taking place after the traumatic events of the fairy tale, from the point of view of the daughter. There is a panic attack in this story, so if that will upset you, maybe skip this one.

It sucks feeling that scared.

"Congratulations on your new job! We'll take you out to diner tonight to celebrate." Mom was smiling so wide. I was pretty excited to get an office job too. I'd have regular hours, and I'd actually be working full time now. The pay raise didn't hurt either. Soon, I'd be out of my parents' house and into my own apartment.

"That sounds great," I told her with a smile.

"We're so proud of you," Dad added on.

"Thanks." I turned away and pulled out my phone. Dad looked at me for a moment, started to say something, and then dropped it. I started looking at nearby restaurants to see if there was anything that called out to me.

I ended up picking a Mexican restaurant. We all piled in the car and headed over. We sat down and looked at the menus. But after we ordered, all we had left to do was talk. There was only so much conversation you could dodge by eating chips and salsa.

"I think I found a good apartment complex," I announced, pulling out my phone. "I don't have first and last month's rent yet, but I'm getting close."

I handed my phone to my mom and she started flipping through the pictures. "It does look like a starter apartment," she said guardedly.

"I know it's not great, but crime is pretty low around there, so it should be all right."

"Are you sure you don't want to save up a bit more before you move out?" Dad asked. "You could start off somewhere a bit nicer."

"No," I replied flatly. "This will let me move out sooner. And I won't have to worry as much about paying my bills each month." I'd been tracking how much I spent on groceries and how much internet cost and all of the things I needed. If I wanted to move out, and stay on my own, I needed to have a good budget. I was also pretty sure Mom would quiz me on that before I left anyway.

"That is a good thing to keep in mind," Mom allowed. "This apartment is a little far, though. Is it close to your new job?"

"Pretty close." It was definitely closer to my new job than to my parents' house.

"It might be harder to come back and visit," Dad said. "Not that you need to be home all the time but..."

"I think I'm ready for a little freedom." I stared him down as I said it.

Dad sighed. "Emily, I've apologized and I feel terrible. What else can I do to make it up to you?"

"What else can you do?" I repeated, anger already bubbling inside.

Mom looked between us, knowing what was coming.

"You traded me away to some man so he could make you better. I spent two years chained up in his house, wondering when he was going to eat me. It's only because of luck that I got away and he didn't follow me!" I hadn't realized my voice had been getting louder until I realized I was standing and everyone in the restaurant was looking at me. I forged ahead. "Can you blame me for wanting to move out?"

"Emily, I'm so sorry. I'd been in terrible pain for a week and I wasn't thinking. I know it's not a great reason-"

"It's an excuse! You wanted your pain to end, fine, but you shouldn't have been willing to trade away your daughter for it! Do you know how hard it is for me to get in a car with someone else driving? How scared I get when someone closes a door? There's only so much therapy can do, Dad. It's not just a quick fix and I'm magically better! I'm sick and you made me that way!" I was screaming now, tears starting to flow down my cheeks.

"Emily..." Dad started.

I stormed away from the table and into the bathroom. I shut myself inside one of the stalls and started shaking and crying. I tried to muffle it so no one else would hear. I heard the door open, but that didn't matter. I could barely focus on anything around me, just my heart hammering in my chest and the feeling that I needed to run. Now! Anywhere! I wrapped my arms around myself and shook.

"Emily?" Mom asked. "Can I come in?"

I couldn't speak, but I left the stall door shut, shaking and crying.

"Remember some of your coping strategies?" Mom asked, like we were having a normal conversation. "Open your eyes, sweetie. What can you see? Can you tell me?"

I gulped down air. "A toilet, Toilet paper. My shoes. The stall door. The ceiling. Those seat cover things."

"That's great, honey. What can you hear?" She sounded supportive, but like there wasn't much special going on. Like I wasn't freaking out in a public bathroom.

I breathed in and out a few times before responding. "The water running in the men's room. People talking in the restaurant. My own voice. My breathing."

"Good. What can you touch or feel?"

"My arms. The wall of the stall behind me. The floor under my feet. My shirt bunched up on my back." I was so glad my mom had come to a therapy session with me. Grounding myself like this was one of my best strategies, but it was so hard to think through the panic.

"Ok, sweetie. What can you smell?"

I wrinkled my nose. "It's not too bad for a bathroom. Cleaning supplies. The food coming in from out there. With just a bit of gross bathroom smell."

My mom chuckled. "That's fair. What can you taste?"

"My soda that I drank at the table." I breathed a bit slower. Deep breaths in and out. It would be awhile before I felt calm again, but the panic was less insistent. Less demanding. I took a few more slow, deep breaths, imagining that I was releasing tension out of my body with every exhale. After a little bit, I opened the stall door.

"Do you want a hug?" Mom asked.

Mutely, I shook my head no.

"Ok, sweetie. You're doing great with your breathing and your grounding."

I nodded, still shaking. "I just...I know it wasn't his fault. I know he couldn't think for the pain. But it's so hard to forgive him for..." I stopped talking as panic surged through me again.I pressed my back against the wall and gripped my arms tight. Hugging myself.

"Sometimes, forgiveness takes a long time," Mom said gently. "I'm not sure I've forgiven him yet either. I still love him, but it's hard to forgive something like that, even when you know why he did it."

I nodded, trying to stop shaking.

"I think moving out might help you," Mom said, "but I also hope you get a good roommate. I worry about you living alone right now."

That hadn't occurred to me. I nodded. "Maybe I could afford to live somewhere nicer then," I said, cracking half a smile.

Mom chuckled. "Probably so. Do you think any of your friends might be looking for a roommate?"

I shrugged. "I'll ask them." I took a deep, cleansing breath, let it out slowly, and did it again. "Mom, thank you."

"Of course, sweetheart," she said. "I love you, and I'll always be here for you. I know you had to stay strong for so long and now that you're safe, it's hard to relax."

I snorted, feeling the tears and snot all over my face. "I don't feel strong. All I did was survive."

"You never gave up," Mom said. "And you're not giving up now. I know you have your bad days, but you're doing your exercises and taking your medication. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Emily."

I nodded, and started crying again. "Thanks, Mom. Can I have a hug now?"

"Of course."

I hugged her tight and cried on her shoulder. Maybe I couldn't believe I was strong right now. And maybe I had trouble with things others thought were no big deal. But my mom thought I was strong. And that could be enough for now. Everything else would come later. And, for that moment at least, I believed it.