Therapy

Much has been made of the importance of touch. When you consider the significance religions place on laying on with hands, or even the act of dubbing a new made Sir with a sword, touch is vital.

Hugs and handshakes, pats on the back and the soothing brushing out of a child's hair all harken the importance. Until you have experienced the harshness of touch. Once you have trusted hands to hold you, the shock and weariness that abuse brings from a partner changes everything you come to believe.

It isn't a topic that flows off the pen, but it is a necessity for an artist who can't seem to look at it and deal any other way. The same way that we write and draw our horrors in order to deem them real, writing about abuse brings me a catharsis especially introducing you to Andrea.

We had met about 5 months after I got my restraining order from my ex. It was on a singles Facebook group which I was part of, though there was no evidence that I was in any way ready to date. I was lonely. That's all I knew and somehow still idealized relationships as a bastion of safety despite being consistently smacked and strangled. I chalked it up to ignorance or naivete as to why I was there searching for love. Stubbornness is closer to the mark. I think it was a hope that I had passed through abuse and something positive must be out there.

Chatting was always easy for me but it was hard to connect with some women. The forums quickly turn into a pissing match between guys who fall back on that base machismo in order to attract a mate. Little excuses to throw manly shade at a fellow man quickly make me slide away from confrontation.

Andrea was a new member of our male heavy group and from a sweet profile picture consisting of her thick blonde French braid resting near a stethoscope around her neck with big blue eyes smiling by themselves to the camera, she became the flavor of the day.

We chatted in some posts but the alpha makes always seemed to overtake the conversation and I knew it wouldn't be long until I saw one ask for permission to message her and I'd be out of luck. One post was about red flags and I stated that I would never abide being struck or hit in any way. This garnered one response "why, you can't handle a feisty woman?" and still another "what, you can't fight back?"

Andrea was the only one to respond with any measure of care, a heart emoji and "can I message you?"

I had seen various people on the site apologize for their fellow singles ignorance regarding abuse and figured this would be a benign and courteous exchange. Andrea seemed a sweet person, if one picture can be used for such judgement, but so had my ex. I had yet to distinguish a "tell" regarding awful human beings.

"How long has it been since you've been no contact?" was her surprising DM.

I was taken aback at the knowing language of her message. How had she been able to read all that within a few lines? "It's been 5 months. How did you know?"

Andrea's "dot dot dot" went on as she wrote and intrigued me. "I can always tell. Have you been with anyone since?"

"no, I haven't." There was a lot more to say, I could explain the fear of being touched again or the hesitancy to let my guard down.

"it's hard, to actually let someone in, I totally get it." she had certainly read my mind.

"most people want to hook up and I get it, I'm fine with that. I just don't know if I can. I have to take things slower."

We chatted back and forth for a while. She mentioned she was a travel nurse and at 40 she knew she didn't want anything serious but being sex positive she was always on these groups and found the entire banter interesting.

But not just the obnoxious guys who constantly tossed dick pics at her but actual human connection.

When she found out that I lived in the next town over. She messaged "how about we try something. I come over and we order takeout. No pressure, no expectations."

I was curious and terrified at the idea. But said I would like that.

A thousand emotions flew through my head as I waited the hour for Andrea to arrive. Truth be told, I knew I wasn't ready to actually hook up and I was nervous to let her down. And I was wondering if this posturing to care about someone being abused wasn't a form of narcissism akin to my exes' own diabolical nature.

When she came over I was surprised she was taller than she had looked. Full figured, the picture clearly taken from a high angle. She was a good 6'0 with large breasts hidden by a sweater. But it was her kindness that struck me. Her eyes, her whole face was bright and cheery, much like a nurse ought to look, I thought.

Andrea came in and sat down, going back and forth about being a travel nurse and how cold it was in Massachusetts. All the time I was aware of how easy it was to be around her.

The subject went to the group and we looked on each other's phones at the obnoxious and ignorant posts and messages. Her voice was alto, soothing and lulling but her laugh was bright and sort of goofy. It was amazing to hear.

Jim the dick Pic man, Hayden the perv, the list of nicknames went on till I asked what she had called me.

"Drew, the guy that needs Andrea therapy" she laughed. "it's totally free therapy so that's why I offer it." i wondered if this was the start of a multilevel marketing ploy or insurance sale. Had I fallen in to some sales pitch?

"therapy is good, I mean. Anyone could use that."

She tossed her braid and smiled. "I know you probably think dating or hooking up is what you need but... I dated a few guys who had been abused. I know that's not really what someone needs to heal."

There was a moment that passed where I swallowed hard and bit my lip and couldn't quite talk. I thought she was here because she needed to get a release. That's usually how a singles site worked. It all felt backwards.

" I mean, I usually like to be the giver. You know. In bed. In life. Just make sure the other person is satisfied."

She smiled "I'm glad I found you before those other women! That's the opposite of what you need."

We were close on the couch she got closer and asked "is it OK, if I hug you?" the asking of the question took me by surprise. It seemed like the same backwards comment from before.

"of course." I leaned over to hug and expected a kiss. Her warm cozy body held me more than my arms held her. And time stood still. No kiss followed. My head was lost in her braid and her arms rubbed my shoulder and hair. She wasn't a giant compared to me but the feeling was that I was a child, drawn close to her for comfort. She took off her sweater and had on a soft cotton blouse which couldn't hide her deep cleavage. Andrea proceeded to lay on the couch, bringing my head to rest between her breasts.

I melted into her, feeling my breathing slow, smelling her warmth. Feeling the beating of her heart and realized I was crying. Safe and nurtured, but inexplicably bawling my eyes out. I reached for a tissue but Andrea was already prepared. I smiled and sniffed, big ugly tears wetting her shirt.

"I'm sorry, your shirt..."

Andrea stroked my head and pushed my face between her breasts again "no need to apologize love." I expected her to shift or move, being sick of the sticky tears or wet shirt but she looked comfortable. I started talking about everything that had happened. Every ER trip. Every bruise, cup of coffee or water thrown in my face, every scratch or broken pair of glasses. Every awful thing she said about me. Every time I had let her back in without getting an apology.

Andrea listened and only gave soft encouragement. She didn't judge or counter or interject. She just held me closer. And after a while simply said "you know none of that was your fault, right?"

I didn't answer. I opened my mouth and she held me closer. A million justifications came through my mind. But I didn't make the usual jokes or excuses.

"it wasn't your fault, love."

I closed my eyes and squeezed her whole body. "no, I know it wasn't."

"it was her, just her."

"I know. I really do know."

"you deserve to be held and loved". "

This was hard, I hesitated but after feeling her breath and warmth." I know. I do know that."

I was exhausted from crying and the night was passing to midnight. She ordered some pizzas with me still plastered to her body, only getting up to use the bathroom and eat. It was amazing how close I felt to her. No one had ever just wanted to hold me. And to get nothing out of it.

Afterwards she lay down on my bed and I became her little spoon. And fell asleep with a soft, caring arms rubbing my back and keeping me safe through the night.