After finishing Where Life Takes You, the original idea had been to write it from both POV’s. However after sending the first draft to my editor and my beta reader, we concluded that it was best to write it only from Dan’s. However here is one of the scene’s from Becca’s POV, while she’s away:
Crouched into a little human ball, I remain in the corner of the floor inside my ten by ten foot new room rocking back and forth. The cozy bed remains undone, covers on the floor and I shiver from the nightmare I just had. The picture of Dan and I siting on the night stand stares at me. Ty’s family watches me from the small desk. For me, for them, for a better future, I repeat to myself while steading my breaths. My progress in the last three months is outstanding according to the doctors. I called it bull shit and they insisted for me to tone down my voice and use a more appropriate vocabulary.
No matter how much I cuss at them, they assure me that my treatment should be able to continue at home sooner than I imagine. I’m getting so much better.
“Look at me now,” I scream inside the sound proof room. “Of course you can’t because you professional shrinks can go home to your families—unlike me.”
“Take it down a notch or two, Becca,” I remind myself about my lady like manners and that of course my lungs could pierce and my throat explode before anyone hears my screaming. The isolation method is my choice, no one forced me. I did it because I’m stupid.
Mathematically speaking, counting weekends—we had sessions seven days a week—they swore in forty three days I’d be up and running. Ready to face the world. That totaled about thirty to forty hypnotherapies and a shrink session afterward to talk about my feelings or help me work through the episode. Forty three exposure therapies, because reliving everything a third or fourth time during the day should heal me faster.
Each session inside this facility unleashes a different monster—or memory. They want me to battle forty three of them simultaneously and come out alive. Just today I’m literally on the floor waiting for the day to defeat the night and take away my fears. These fears go back in time and leave me vulnerable, as if it had happen only seconds ago.
At the end of a sessions where my thoughts had been all over the place, the therapist takes me back to that same day … any day. She helps talk to that little girl and convince her that she’s safe, no one would ever put her back into a closet or call her names that no one deserved to be called. I promise her everything will be fine.
“This is a long process, one you decided to accelerate by coming to our center,” she repeats it as a mantra. “However, we’ll go at your own pace.” Everyone here tends to echo the same thing as if this is my first rodeo. “We’re here to help you find yourself and heal those wounds that bring you so much pain.” It never gets old. “Learn to love yourself again.”
I’m not sure about the growth, but the wounds are wide open. Sadly Dan isn’t running inside my room, telling me that the dream is gone and he’s here. Nor will his soothing voice will help me fall asleep again. His arms are miles away from here and won’t wrap me and protect me from the world.
No matter how much I cuss at them, they assure me that my treatment should be able to continue at home sooner than I imagine. I’m getting so much better.
“Look at me now,” I scream inside the sound proof room. “Of course you can’t because you professional shrinks can go home to your families—unlike me.”
“Take it down a notch or two, Becca,” I remind myself about my lady like manners and that of course my lungs could pierce and my throat explode before anyone hears my screaming. The isolation method is my choice, no one forced me. I did it because I’m stupid.
Mathematically speaking, counting weekends—we had sessions seven days a week—they swore in forty three days I’d be up and running. Ready to face the world. That totaled about thirty to forty hypnotherapies and a shrink session afterward to talk about my feelings or help me work through the episode. Forty three exposure therapies, because reliving everything a third or fourth time during the day should heal me faster.
Each session inside this facility unleashes a different monster—or memory. They want me to battle forty three of them simultaneously and come out alive. Just today I’m literally on the floor waiting for the day to defeat the night and take away my fears. These fears go back in time and leave me vulnerable, as if it had happen only seconds ago.
At the end of a sessions where my thoughts had been all over the place, the therapist takes me back to that same day … any day. She helps talk to that little girl and convince her that she’s safe, no one would ever put her back into a closet or call her names that no one deserved to be called. I promise her everything will be fine.
“This is a long process, one you decided to accelerate by coming to our center,” she repeats it as a mantra. “However, we’ll go at your own pace.” Everyone here tends to echo the same thing as if this is my first rodeo. “We’re here to help you find yourself and heal those wounds that bring you so much pain.” It never gets old. “Learn to love yourself again.”
I’m not sure about the growth, but the wounds are wide open. Sadly Dan isn’t running inside my room, telling me that the dream is gone and he’s here. Nor will his soothing voice will help me fall asleep again. His arms are miles away from here and won’t wrap me and protect me from the world.
This guest post was provided by Claudia Y. Burgoa through Xpresso Book Tours as part of the book blitz for NEXT TO YOU. NEXT TO YOU is the sequel to WHERE LIFE TAKES YOU. For more information about the book and the author, click the banner below to go to the book blitz post.
