Dirty Secrets

Part 2

Every day, from two o'clock until four in the afternoon group therapy was in session. Patients dreaded it but attendance was mandatory.

Lyla and her roommates, Shaniece, and Clover slumped in a semi-circle of chairs, with AJ, a girl with short-cropped hair, and Natalie, a large girl in hospital scrubs. Four adolescent girls who Lyla didn't know also struggled to stay awake.

The counselor, Matthew, spoke in the calming voice that they must teach at therapy school. Though he was nearly bald at the crown of his scalp, his wavy cinnamon-colored hair bunched behind his ears and draped down his neck, resting atop his shirt collar.

Lyla almost felt sorry for Matthew. He did everything but get down on his knees and beg the girls to engage in conversation. But it was futile.

"So what were we talking about yesterday?" he asked.

He seemed like a nice guy but he reminded Lyla of her English Lit teacher. One of those dudes, probably in his late thirties, who tried too hard to connect with young people. She had to give him credit for persistence.

"I remember." He made eye contact with each patient. "We were talking about..."

He paused for dramatic effect before adding, "...abusive relationships."

No. YOU were talking about abusive relationships.

He slid his butt to the edge of his chair and leaned in.

"So what are some signs of an abusive relationship?"

Most eyes that weren't closed remained focused on the floor. Natalie picked incessantly at her fingernails.

"How about isolation?" he prodded, hoping to spark conversation.

Dead air.

"He doesn't want you to spend time with your friends. Right?" He stroked his neatly-groomed beard.

No one even nodded or made eye contact.

"What about verbal abuse? Calling you names. Belittling you. Making you feel bad about yourself."

Still nothing.

"What are some other signs? Come on."

No volunteers.

"Clover."

"What?" She anxiously rubbed her tattooed arms.

"What are some other signs of an abusive relationship?"

"I don't know. He beats your ass and forces you to do stuff you don't want."

A few girls chuckled at Clover's remark.

"Do you know anyone in an abusive relationship?"

"Yeah, probably."

"And?" Matthew tried to draw her out.

"People don't like to talk about that shit," she said chewing her thumbnail.

"That's right. And that's one of the biggest problems with trying to get out of an abusive relationship. People don't like to talk about it. They keep it a secret."

Lyla felt like he was directing the conversation at her.

Matthew continued, "An author once wrote, "You are only as sick as your secrets."

"That a Shakespeare quote?" AJ asked.

"No," Matthew grinned. "So people who are trapped in an abusive relationship. Why don't they want to talk about it?"

Silence.

"Lyla?"

"Cuz it's embarrassing. I guess."

"What's embarrassing about it?"

"Literally everything."

Matthew rose from his chair and paced slowly in front of the seated girls.

"And that's just what the abuser wants. He wants to keep it a secret. The only way to get out of an abusive relationship is to talk to someone who can help."

Although the girls weren't engaging in conversation, it was clear that Mathew had them thinking about it.

"It's about power. It's about him having all the control. Like you put the collar around your own neck and handed him the leash, isn't it?"

Natalie stopped picking her nails for a moment to offer a sarcastic, "Wow, Matthew. So poetic."

Shaniece cracked up.

Lyla didn't laugh. She was triggered and was transported back to a neighborhood street a few months ago. Maybe longer. She angrily stomped down the sidewalk as Keenan cruised beside her in his car. She could feel her flushed cheeks burning and the rubber soles of her sneakers slapping against the pavement.

"Stop being such a stuck-up bitch!" he shouted. "Get in this car."

She ignored him and continued her journey looking straight ahead.

"Don't make me drag your ass into this car, Lyla. You'll be sorry."

She was startled by the blare of a car horn. The driver in the car following Keenan's hollered out the window.

"Come on! Move it!"

In one violent motion, Keenan stomped the brakes, threw the car into park, and flung open the car door. He stood in the street, his chest heaving. He was an intimidating figure with his shaved head and the prominent blue serpent tattooed on his neck.

"You got something to say?" He raged. "Say it now, asshole!"

The driver steered around Keenan and accelerated. Keenan kicked a wicked dent in the car door as the car flew past.

Lyla took the opportunity to escape. She ran down the street, her heart hammering in her chest.