Deeper Illusions (17 page)

“You don't understand. You don't understand. You don't understand,” I said through tears.

He took a long breath, and rubbed my hand thoughtfully. “I know what happened to you.”

“How do you know?”

He stared at me, his beautiful eyes sorrowful. “The doctors examined you,” he said quietly. “They noticed that you had dried blood on your legs.”

Then I turned my head again. I could feel myself shaking.

“Beautiful, you can talk to me when you're ready
. I need to know who did it.”

I shook my head, the tears now coming fast and furious. I started sobbing uncontrollably, and he climbed into the bed with me, holding me and stroking my hair. I felt like I would never, ever stop crying uncontrollably. I was finally accessing the emotions of what happened to me with Andrew raping me. I was re-living it all. The tightening of the belt, the searing pain, the humiliation, the feeling of extreme violation. And it coming so closely on the heels of Rochelle's attack.

It was too much, too much.

I was sobbing so hard that I was hiccuping. I needed something, I needed a fix, I needed something to push this awful pain out of my head. The emotional pain was excruciating.

Ryan just sat there in the bed with me, stroking my hair and my back. He kissed me on the forehead. “I'm going to lie here with you. I'm here, and I will never leave you again.”

I cried for the rest of the night. At first my face and body was turned away from Ryan. Then, at some point, I buried my face in his chest and cried and cried and cried.

Chapter Twenty-Five

After I stabilized, Ryan checked me out
of the hospital, and informed me that he was taking me to Los Angeles, to the rehab facility where he stayed. “That place is world class, beautiful. You'll get what you need there.”

I sighed. I was starting to get a little bit better, but the emotional issues were still like a 1,000 pound elephant sitting on my chest. “Ok,” I simply said. There was no arguing with him, I knew, so I didn't even try. Plus, I was feeling the familiar feeling of exhaustion and depression. I remembered this feeling from after
the Rochelle attack, only now it was 1,000 times worse than that. I realized that I never mentally recovered from the Rochelle attack, at least not to the extent that I would be strong enough to survive something even more devastating.

“Really? You aren't going to fight me on this?”

“Ryan, no offense, but I feel that I have no fight left in me.”

So, we took his plane out to Beverly Hills. I stood there, on the tarmac
, waiting for the plane in the cold, feeling resentful and pissed-off. Ryan had his arms around me, but I felt like screaming. Christmas was coming, and I was going to be in this place. Nobody knew where I was going – I told my family and friends that Ryan and I were going to Jamaica for the holidays.

Well, I was going someplace warm, but a sunny beach on Jamaica wasn't it.

At the same time, I felt badly for Ryan. He, too, was going to be spending the holidays away from his mother and best friend. Sarah even invited us to spend Christmas with her.

On the plane, Ryan was trying his best to make small talk, but I politely ignored him. I wasn't in the mood for his chipper observations. Plus, I was feeling extremely nauseated, and had been for awhile. Ryan told me that was normal with the drugs – my body was getting rid of the nasty poisons, so feeling sick was a good sign that my body was doing what it was supposed to.

Still, Ryan talked “So, I've been thinking beautiful, about us. I know that what you want to do most in the world is to have an animal sanctuary. When you get better, I'd like to take you to some property I found just out of town. It's perfect – lots of trees and tall grass. I've also been in contact with some people who can help me in setting that up. I have to have a team of veterinarians working there, of course, and I'm in the process of finding out what else it entails. That will be an exciting project for us to work together.”

I just huddled beneath a
blanket and said nothing. There was a movie playing on the big screen television, and I pretended to be watching it. I didn't want him to talk to me anymore. But I really couldn't think about the television, either. I found that I had to have my mind a perfect blank, because if I started to think anything at all, I could only think of...him. Andrew. He was in my thoughts obsessively. So, I simply willed all thought away, and found that to be better. I watched the screen with a blank stare and tuned out Ryan and everything else.

I wanted that plane ride to be over. I wanted some peace and quiet, and some alone time.

We arrived at LAX, then took a limo straight to the facility, where he checked me in.

Betty, the woman who was there the last time, when Ryan was here, was sitting at the receptionist area again. She gave me a warm smile, but I didn't smile back. Ryan, did, however. “I called ahead of time. My wife needs to be checked in.”

“Of course,” she said. “Mrs. Gallagher?”

I nodded and said nothing.

I got a room that was similar to where he stayed. Meaning that it was cozy and beautiful, and even had a little meditation area.

I lay down on the bed, and Ryan lay
next to me. “Beautiful, I want you to tell me your needs. I want to hold you, and touch you, but you need to tell me if you feel uncomfortable at all.”

I looked at him quizzically. My mind was slow to process his words. “I don't understand,” I simply said.

“You seem to flinch when I touch you. You don't say it bothers you, but I see the face you make.”

I nodded. “I'm sorry about that. I really don't want to be touched right now,” I said, then turned my back on him and attempted to sleep. We were both on top of the covers, fully clothed. Then, I turned back to him and said “Actually, I hope you don't mind. I really need to be alone.”

He looked briefly stricken, then his face was completely composed. “Of course, beautiful. I'll be staying at the Wilshire while you're here. I hope that I can come and visit you tomorrow during visitor hours.”

“I'll call you and let you know,” I simply said, turning my back away from him again. I was fully clothed, including my shoes. I heard him leaving, then I sat up in bed and wondered what I would do until I was able to see somebody.

It turned out that I didn't have to wait long. A Dr. Bassey, a blonde woman about 45, with a very compassionate demeanor, came into my room.

“Mrs. Gallagher, I need to go over your treatment plan with you.”

“Yes, thanks,” I said. I was an automaton.

“Now, I understand that you had
already gone through detox before you arrived here.”

“Right.”

“Our program is a holistic program. You will see a psychiatrist every day for two hours, and be a part of group therapy every day for four hours. We also have outlined a diet and exercise program that we would like for you to follow while you are here.”

“Ok.”

“We have also worked with your husband to design a unique alternative medicine approach that you will take, in conjunction with the other steps. It will include acupuncture, yoga, massage, meditation, and equine therapy.”

“Equine therapy? You mean, I get to play with horses?” I finally felt that I was coming to life. Just the thought of being around those gentle animals was giving me a sense of peace.

“Yes. Your husband thought that this would be the part you would love the most. We have a horse for you. Her name is Polly. You will work with her for as many hours as you like, but a minimum of an hour a day. You'll be grooming her, feeding her, leading her, riding her, and haltering her.”

I felt a smile creep on
my face, the first smile I had felt in awhile.

Inwardly, I also felt an overwhelming sense of love for my husband. Leave it to him to know exactly what I would need in this place.

But, I couldn't get past the other feeling. The feeling that, if Ryan weren’t so damned stubborn about getting me a bodyguard, none of this would've happened. Well, maybe Rochelle would've gotten me, and finished me off, but even that would be better than what actually did happen.

“Thanks, Dr. Bassey,” I said. Then felt nauseated. “Excuse me,” I said, running to the bathroom to throw up. I came back in. “How long do I have to put up with puking my guts out every five minutes?”

“It should be easing up any day now,” she said.

“Thanks. When do I get to meet Polly?”

Dr. Bassey laughed. “This evening, I can take you out there. Tomorrow, you begin your routine. It's very structured. You have to make your bed every day at 7, then you have breakfast. Your husband has given us a list of healthy foods that you like, so the meals that we offer you will be based upon that. According to your husband, you can tolerate most vegetables, and you like tomatoes, asparagus, broccoli, squash, zucchini, pumpkin, spinach, kale, and carrots. You don't care for white onions that aren't cooked, and you love artichoke hearts. Is this correct?”

“Yes, that sounds like a pretty exhaustive list. What else did Ryan tell you?”

“He gave us a list of dishes that you like to eat as well. We have a chef here that will prepare your meals according to what you like. We have prepared a sample menu for you as well.”

At that, she gave me the sample menu. Everything on the menu was organic, including the meat, and the meals seemed very well-rounded
. I had to admit that I was looking forward to eating here.

“I hate to ask this, but how much is this place costing?”

“It's $80,000 a month, and you are scheduled to be here for two months.”

I nodded my head. In my former life, one month here would be
equivalent to two year's earnings. Now, it's just a drop in the bucket.

Still weird.

Dr. Bassey went on. “You will have a personal trainer, and you are scheduled to exercise with your trainer every day for one hour.”

I started to panic a little. “A personal trainer? Could I please have a woman?”

Dr. Bassey nodded. “Of course. That is a given, considering your situation.”

I relaxed some. “The group therapy, what does that entail?”

“It is four hours a day, six days a week. Sundays are the only day that you do not have therapy scheduled. But you are still expected to make your bed and keep your room tidy,” she said, looking at her chart. “The group is led by a trained professional, and everybody is encouraged to talk openly.”

I felt that I wouldn't care for the group therapy. I had a hard time talking to anybody, even Ryan, about what happened to me. And I was expected just to talk to perfect strangers?

“Individual counseling is two hours a day,” she continued. “And your husband has requested the possibility of couple's counseling as well.”

“How often are we to have couple's counseling?”

“He asked for that to be one hour per day, Monday through Friday. But this is only if you agree to this. It is strictly optional, of course.”

I nodded. “That would probably be a good thing, actually,” I said, realizing that I was feeling extremely resentful and hateful towards my wonderful, patient husband. I hoped that a therapist could help me get past these feelings.

Dr. Bassey continued. “You are expected to keep a journal, as well. You may structure your journal however you wish,” she said, handing me a journal with a Matisse painting on the front. “You can write in there whatever comes to mind. But your therapist will give you a topic to write about every day as well.”

“Thanks,” I said. “When can I meet Polly?”

“I'll call your equine trainer to see if she can take you right now,” she said. Then she called somebody “Ms. Watts? This is Dr. Bassey. We have a client here who would like to meet her horse this evening. Are you free?”

I was relieved that the equine trainer was also a woman. I
wasn't quite ready to be alone with a strange man just yet.

“She will be here in a half hour,” Dr. Bassey said.

We chatted until the trainer showed up. Ms. Watts, first name Jamie, was a tall and lanky  brunette who wore her hair in a long braid down her back. She was dressed in riding crops and high riding boots, with a plain white shirt that fit tightly around her non-existent chest. She had chiseled cheekbones and flashing dark eyes. She held out her hand “Hello, I'm Jamie Watts.”

“Iris Snowe, uh, Gallagher,” I said, taking her hand.

We walked to a golf cart, and Jamie drove the cart to the stables. There, in one of the stables, was my horse, Polly. Polly was an enormous dappled horse, with sad brown eyes and a black mane. I looked into those eyes, and immediately saw a kindred soul. Jamie gave me an apple to give to her, and Polly eagerly took it, snorting her approval. Her head was bobbing to and fro, back and forth. She whinnied softly.

I pet her nose while she chomped the apple. Then I looked at Jamie. “Polly. Where did you find her?”

“She's a rescue horse. All of our horses are rescue horses. We got Polly from a farm in Kentucky. She was neglected and starving. The owner lost the farm, and left the animals there. She was also abused.”

I nodded. I knew that I had met a kindred soul in kind Polly.

Jamie just confirmed this for me.

“How much do I get to see Polly?” I asked.

“As Dr. Bassey said, a minimum of an hour a day, with me. But you can come out here whenever you like. You just need to call for a golf cart driver to bring you out here, whenever you need to come.”

“And what are you going to have me do?”

“Groom her, bridle her, lead her, and ride her. It's pretty structured when you are with me, but if you come out to visit her on your own, you can do whatever you like.”

“I take it that this evening is not actually a therapy session?”

“Right. This is just a get-acquainted session.”

I stroked Polly while I talked to Jamie. “How much do you know about me?”

“I've been briefed about your situation.”

“Then you know that I lived in a drug house for a couple of weeks?”

She nodded and said nothing.

“Do you also know that I abandoned our animals in our house?” This was one of the things that shamed me the absolute most. More than anything else, I couldn't live with myself for doing that.
After all the times I rescued dogs from that type of situation, and after all the traumatization I saw in those animals after being abandoned, how could I do that to my own animals? They would’ve died if Nick didn’t come when he did. If they would’ve died because of my stupidity, then I didn’t think that I would’ve survived.

Jamie looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “Iris, people do things when trauma happens to them. Everybody reacts differently.”