Tara knocks on Jonathan's door. They've decided to do therapy once a fortnight, rather than once a week, because it's really very emotionally draining for Tara and takes, zomg, so long to play out. The advantage - or perhaps the disadvantage - of that, is that she gets a chance to build her mental walls back up again, make sure her memories are locked firmly behind that iron door in her mind.
Jonathan opens the door only enough to poke his head through with a tentative smile for Tara.
"I'm letting you know right now, that I fully expect you to hate me today... okay?" he says to her, before opening the door fully. SHe can now clearly see the posters on every single inch of space in the room, "If it progresses to physical violence though, I'd appreciate if you went with hits to my body, as my glasses break almost as easily as my face.
The way her eyes widen, the pallor of her skin... she's a textbook reaction. Perfect.
"It's a lot. We're flooding you and that's kind of the point. But I have some things for you," he tells her, moving to the coffee table and picking up something. It's a pink sleep mask, softy padded and with a blue band, "This is for later, when we do the audio stimulation. I think it would be to much for you to have to see all this," and he waves his hand at the room, "while listening as well."
"This," he tells her bringing out a huge stuffed bear, "is for you as well. You're a very tactile person and I thought you might want something to hold onto. Squeeze, fiddle with. It has more substance than your scarf and... I'm never going to use it so I thought we could use it in your sessions. If you want.
Also, I want you to know that at any point in this you don't want to anymore just say so and the session ends. Okay?"
"Okay," Tara whispers. She reaches out for the bear, cradling it to her chest, her fingers burrowing into the soft fur. "Okay."
She sounds almost as though she's trying to talk herself into it, not at all disturbed by Jonathan blindfolding her, because they really don't have that sort of relationship, and takes a hesitent step over the threshhold.
They're everywhere, everywhere she looks, and for a moment the line between depiction and reality fuzzes over. "Oh, god," she whimpers, and her eyes focus on Jonathan's face, her breathing shallow and rapid. Just look at him, don't look at the guns, they're just pictures, they're not real.
He holds out his hand, touching her shoulder, "Just breathe Tara, it's okay. None of this is going to hurt you. You're okay, I won't let anything hurt you.
"Are we okay? Is this okay? I can take some of them down if would make it easier."
"I just... Jonathan, I don't know where to look, there are so many of them..."
Tiny insects, crawling all of her skin, sharp prickling that goes beyond tingling, and she feels like she wants to scrub off the top layer.
Eyes still fixed on Jonathan's face, those almost surreal blue eyes, and she can do this. "Just... just tell me what to do. Where to look. Don't leave me."
"Okay, lets sit together on the couch okay?" he says, leading her towards the couch, "You have to look at them. You have to see them, but I'm right here."
He holds onto her hand, insinuating it between her and the bear.
"I'm here and you can close your eyes at any time. You have to see them for it to work but you can close your eyes to take a break if it's to much. I'm here though okay. I'm right here.
I'm going to ask you some questions about what happened to you. I'd like for you answer them, so we can talk, talk like we always do, every time we do therapy. Nothing is different. The posters can't hurt you. Okay?"
He looks at her, rubbing his thumb over her hand, concern clear in his face. Conflict written there, "I don't want to hurt you... okay?"
She can see how hard this is for him, how much her fear is hurting him, and she nods, letting out a shaky breath. "I know," she whispers.
Gripping his hand tightly, her eyes finally leave her face, looking around the room, taking it in. The posters in the corners of her vision are the worst, her brain not quite processing enough of it to recognise that it's not real.
But Jonathan's here, this is his place, he would never hurt her. Never. He's scaring her, but she knew this would happen, and he wouldn't have gone this far if she wasn't ready. If he had any doubt, any, he would have waited.
So she must be ready.
"What did you... um, what did you want to talk about?" Her voice quavers, but she doesn't stutter, and she's obscurely proud of herself for that.
"I wanted to ask about the day you were shot. What you did, what you said. Just... talk, about that day and tell me everything that happened before you were shot," he explains, he keeps his tone soft, softer than he usually is in therapy. It's a special circumstance though, so he doesn't even try to move away from her, to establish some distance.
He can feel her heartbeat, thundering wildly, through the hand he holds in his own. This close he can see tiny drops of sweat on the back of her neck. The fear... it's almost palpable. Something thick and sweet on his tongue. Oh Tara...
"Okay," she replies, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly before she begins. "I, um... Willow and I, we'd... we'd broken up. So I shouldn't have been there in the first place, and I know it's illogical, but I can't help but think it's my fault. That this happened to me, I mean. Because if I'd done the right thing, if I'd been just a little stronger, if I hadn't needed her so much... I'd still be alive."
She looks down, burying her face for a moment in the soft fur of the bear.
"We'd... we'd spent all day in bed. Making up, you know?"
Sweet memory tainted by the wrongness of it, the recognition now that her forgiveness of Willow, in its own roundabout way, killed her.
She hadn't known it was going to be the last time they were together. They were saying hello, not saying goodbye.
"Do you ever blame Willow? When you look back, do you ever blame her for what happened. For breaking you down to the point where you felt you needed her that much?" he asks.
He's still holding her hand, his thumb running over the pulse point of her wrist. If he lets go, he knows she won't be able to handle the posters, but he prefers the long, drawn out process of her fear. Even if it does feel like betrayal, helping her overcome her fear. A slap in the face after everything the lovely emotion has given him.
Tara shakes her head. "She didn't break me down. I was already broken. She..." It's hard to explain, and she looks around the room for a moment, casting for words, only to be met by a hundred gun barrels staring her in the face.
Which doesn't help, as her pulse quickens under Jon's thumb, tiny beads of sweat appearing on her upper lip.
"She, um... She brought me into the light. She saw me, when I was hiding, and she brought me out. But I never learned to stand alone. That was my fault, not hers."
Or was it? What if she had managed to stand alone, and Willow had just erased that memory, wanting to keep her dependent? How many memories? The thought brings a tear to her eye, slowly trickling down her cheek, leaving behind it a silvery path.
"At least, um... I think I didn't. She... she took some memories. I don't remember if I told you..."
And then the thought hits her. It never has before, even as she wondered why she came back to Willow so suddenly, why even knowing that she was rushing things and this was wrong she couldn't stay
( ... )
Jonathan nods, watching her face closely, he's almost certain he knows what she's thinking. He can feel it in the jump of her pulse, hear it in the way her eyes widen when thinking about Willow, "You did tell me about that, yes. She made you forget arguements you'd had. And possibly other things.
Have you ever wondered... not that I know if she'd been better by that point but, it seems as if your change of heart was rather sudden. Given all that's happened to you in your life, it doesn't really follow the pattern that you'd go back after she did that.
You never went back to your father after the way he violated you after all. You left the situation with your friends, Marie and Angela and Truth. It just seems... odd, that you'd decide to go back. Don't you think so?"
She can't breathe. She can't breathe. Her fingers leave Jon's hand, scrabbling at her scarf, at the neck of her jacket, trying to get some space, some air. The bear is knocked to the ground, forgotten, and she tangles herself in her scarf as she tries to unwind it, hopelessly lost and shaking.
That's black magic. Dark, a violation of her free will, but so was reaching into her brain and plucking out memories, and she knows Willow did that. And he's right, she never went back to her father, she never went back to Angela... once she left someone, she didn't go back. But she had with Willow. Always knew she would, on some level, and was that because she loved Willow, or because Willow had bound her in some way?
"No," she moans, the scarf tightening at the back of her neck, digging into the skin as she fights to free herself. "No, no, nonononononono." She has no air with which to speak, her throat closed off, and the word comes out only as a breathy whimper.
Sometimes, Tara was the most beautiful women in the whole world. And right now? With eyes so wide and her mouth forming the word no, no, no, over and over, the way she's casting about, looking for something, anything to save her.
She's radiant. Pefect in her fear. She'd just stand there, gasping, and possibly even die, no fight at all. Amazing. Wonderful, his girl.
"Tara, Tara," he calls to her, standing and crossing to where she is, "please let me help you with that, it's tangled, you're hurting yourself."
He reaches out with one hand to the back of her neck, to remove the scarf, "I'm right here Tara, you know I'd never hurt you, please let me help, please."
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"I'm letting you know right now, that I fully expect you to hate me today... okay?" he says to her, before opening the door fully. SHe can now clearly see the posters on every single inch of space in the room, "If it progresses to physical violence though, I'd appreciate if you went with hits to my body, as my glasses break almost as easily as my face.
This is phase two of your therapy. Is it okay?"
Reply
Everywhere. Everywhere she looks, but she can't close her eyes.
She wouldn't hit Jonathan, she trusts him implicitly, but this... so much.
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"It's a lot. We're flooding you and that's kind of the point. But I have some things for you," he tells her, moving to the coffee table and picking up something. It's a pink sleep mask, softy padded and with a blue band, "This is for later, when we do the audio stimulation. I think it would be to much for you to have to see all this," and he waves his hand at the room, "while listening as well."
"This," he tells her bringing out a huge stuffed bear, "is for you as well. You're a very tactile person and I thought you might want something to hold onto. Squeeze, fiddle with. It has more substance than your scarf and... I'm never going to use it so I thought we could use it in your sessions. If you want.
Also, I want you to know that at any point in this you don't want to anymore just say so and the session ends. Okay?"
Reply
She sounds almost as though she's trying to talk herself into it, not at all disturbed by Jonathan blindfolding her, because they really don't have that sort of relationship, and takes a hesitent step over the threshhold.
They're everywhere, everywhere she looks, and for a moment the line between depiction and reality fuzzes over. "Oh, god," she whimpers, and her eyes focus on Jonathan's face, her breathing shallow and rapid. Just look at him, don't look at the guns, they're just pictures, they're not real.
Reply
"Are we okay? Is this okay? I can take some of them down if would make it easier."
Reply
Tiny insects, crawling all of her skin, sharp prickling that goes beyond tingling, and she feels like she wants to scrub off the top layer.
Eyes still fixed on Jonathan's face, those almost surreal blue eyes, and she can do this. "Just... just tell me what to do. Where to look. Don't leave me."
Don't make me do this on my own!
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He holds onto her hand, insinuating it between her and the bear.
"I'm here and you can close your eyes at any time. You have to see them for it to work but you can close your eyes to take a break if it's to much. I'm here though okay. I'm right here.
I'm going to ask you some questions about what happened to you. I'd like for you answer them, so we can talk, talk like we always do, every time we do therapy. Nothing is different. The posters can't hurt you. Okay?"
He looks at her, rubbing his thumb over her hand, concern clear in his face. Conflict written there, "I don't want to hurt you... okay?"
Reply
Gripping his hand tightly, her eyes finally leave her face, looking around the room, taking it in. The posters in the corners of her vision are the worst, her brain not quite processing enough of it to recognise that it's not real.
But Jonathan's here, this is his place, he would never hurt her. Never. He's scaring her, but she knew this would happen, and he wouldn't have gone this far if she wasn't ready. If he had any doubt, any, he would have waited.
So she must be ready.
"What did you... um, what did you want to talk about?" Her voice quavers, but she doesn't stutter, and she's obscurely proud of herself for that.
Reply
He can feel her heartbeat, thundering wildly, through the hand he holds in his own. This close he can see tiny drops of sweat on the back of her neck. The fear... it's almost palpable. Something thick and sweet on his tongue. Oh Tara...
Reply
She looks down, burying her face for a moment in the soft fur of the bear.
"We'd... we'd spent all day in bed. Making up, you know?"
Sweet memory tainted by the wrongness of it, the recognition now that her forgiveness of Willow, in its own roundabout way, killed her.
She hadn't known it was going to be the last time they were together. They were saying hello, not saying goodbye.
Reply
He's still holding her hand, his thumb running over the pulse point of her wrist. If he lets go, he knows she won't be able to handle the posters, but he prefers the long, drawn out process of her fear. Even if it does feel like betrayal, helping her overcome her fear. A slap in the face after everything the lovely emotion has given him.
Reply
Which doesn't help, as her pulse quickens under Jon's thumb, tiny beads of sweat appearing on her upper lip.
"She, um... She brought me into the light. She saw me, when I was hiding, and she brought me out. But I never learned to stand alone. That was my fault, not hers."
Or was it? What if she had managed to stand alone, and Willow had just erased that memory, wanting to keep her dependent? How many memories? The thought brings a tear to her eye, slowly trickling down her cheek, leaving behind it a silvery path.
"At least, um... I think I didn't. She... she took some memories. I don't remember if I told you..."
And then the thought hits her. It never has before, even as she wondered why she came back to Willow so suddenly, why even knowing that she was rushing things and this was wrong she couldn't stay ( ... )
Reply
Have you ever wondered... not that I know if she'd been better by that point but, it seems as if your change of heart was rather sudden. Given all that's happened to you in your life, it doesn't really follow the pattern that you'd go back after she did that.
You never went back to your father after the way he violated you after all. You left the situation with your friends, Marie and Angela and Truth. It just seems... odd, that you'd decide to go back. Don't you think so?"
Reply
She can't breathe. She can't breathe. Her fingers leave Jon's hand, scrabbling at her scarf, at the neck of her jacket, trying to get some space, some air. The bear is knocked to the ground, forgotten, and she tangles herself in her scarf as she tries to unwind it, hopelessly lost and shaking.
That's black magic. Dark, a violation of her free will, but so was reaching into her brain and plucking out memories, and she knows Willow did that. And he's right, she never went back to her father, she never went back to Angela... once she left someone, she didn't go back. But she had with Willow. Always knew she would, on some level, and was that because she loved Willow, or because Willow had bound her in some way?
"No," she moans, the scarf tightening at the back of her neck, digging into the skin as she fights to free herself. "No, no, nonononononono." She has no air with which to speak, her throat closed off, and the word comes out only as a breathy whimper.
Reply
She's radiant. Pefect in her fear. She'd just stand there, gasping, and possibly even die, no fight at all. Amazing. Wonderful, his girl.
"Tara, Tara," he calls to her, standing and crossing to where she is, "please let me help you with that, it's tangled, you're hurting yourself."
He reaches out with one hand to the back of her neck, to remove the scarf, "I'm right here Tara, you know I'd never hurt you, please let me help, please."
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