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It was a waste of time, really.
They’d called it a formality - a necessary step in the process of preparing oneself to get married, but one that wasn’t expected to dredge anything up along the way. If they’d gotten this far, she figured, there wasn’t anything that a new intrusion from a shrink would unearth, anyway.
At least, Abigail told herself that as her fingers, interlaced with her fiance’s, tremored slightly. She tried to dig through all of the veritable arguments they’d gotten in over the decade they’d known one another, all of the strains - some about financials, others around ambitions, but nothing irreconcilable. Each and every couple they knew fought about something from time to time; why should they be any different?
Hell, if her college roommates were able to get past the whole punching-Mom-in-the-face scandal before they tied the knot - what could this session bring to light that the two of them couldn’t get through?
Nothing. Probably.
Abigail turned her glance toward Cara, who flipped through her phone somewhat carelessly; eyes glazed over, otherwise inattentive. She hadn’t shared Abigail’s own fears and worries about subjecting themselves to a psychological picking-over a mere three months before they set things in stone. She’d said the same thing as all the others - it was a formality, that everyone did it, that they’d leave happy and, if needed, grab a drink afterward to decompress. It wasn’t like they had much of a choice, either;
Still, she couldn’t shake the bug in the back of her head that this would be anything but.
Abigail was, if anything, overprotective - of her time and energy, as well as her partner’s. Her last year of law school had proven to be something of a pain in the ass; an ever-present stressor that saw no signs of slowing down, something that could’ve eaten every last bit of focus if she allowed it to. In her worst times, she’d noticed the way she curled in on herself, the way she pulled away from Cara and her friends, the way that she’d “lock in” and work over the same assignment, again and again, in the interest of getting it perfect. It was, she imagined, irritating to anyone on the outside; she’d spent entire dinners focused entirely on her phone, nights where they’d hosted guests dipping into her office to reword papers, vacations burrowed in textbooks. Cara was patient, and never said anything, but Abigail’s overt perception told her exactly what she needed to know - she felt neglected.
She tried to make up for it whenever she could - with nice jewelry and fancy dinners and spa treatments, depleting a bank account that was smaller than she’d wished it to be on account of most of her work coming part-time - but for some reason, the simplest things like movie nights and shared time lounging around were the hardest for her to grasp.
She’d rationalized that there’d be plenty of time for those things once she was done with school, and once they’d gotten married - they could take the loss in the meantime.
However, she hadn’t envisioned confronting it.
She fidgeted, again, and felt Cara’s grip tighten - pulling her on, through the elevator door, toward an office down a long hallway. Abigail blinked.
“Didn’t realize we’d gotten here already.”
”Yeah, I figured; you’ve seemed a bit preoccupied.” Cara clicked her tongue. “What assignment is it this time?”
“It’s not.” Abigail shot back, terse. “It’s just…I’m nervous about this.”
“Why?” Cara blinked. “S’just a formality.”
”But what if it isn’t? What if you think of something you hate about me, and, I don’t know, we can’t get past it?”
Cara stopped, turning to stare at her lover, and she sighed. “S’gonna be fine. I’m gonna be honest, of course, but I’m not gonna, like, abandon you over it. Anything that would’ve been crushing or a dealbreaker, I’d have mentioned to you already.” She cracked half a smile. “Besides, if we aren’t able to make it past the small potatoes here, probably shouldn’t be getting married in the first place, right?”
Something dropped in Abigail’s stomach, but she held it together. “Right.”
A brief knock earned them an invitation, and as they entered they were immediately greeted by a calming, earth-toned space. The scent of lavender flooded Abigail’s nose, and a low-light floor lamp projected a gentle ambiance over the space. Various, inoffensive bits of artwork dressed the walls - and along with them, indicators of the space’s clientele; self-help books, abuse aids, a child’s drawing table in the corner surrounded by stuffed animals of varying shapes and sizes.
At the center of the room, a woman - the counselor, Abigail assumed - sat in an armchair, legs crossed, dressed professionally; a blazer over a sweater, fine slacks, well-polished work shoes, the whole nine. Her hair, a side-swept thing with an undercut, was entirely black with a platinum streak, and she wore a knowing smile on her face. Across from her sat a couch that matched the armchair; unoccupied, waiting for patients.
”This is the couple to be, isn’t it?” She beamed. “The…Veronas?”
“That we are!” Cara chirped, pulling Abigail along to settle themselves on the aforementioned couch. “I’m Cara, and this is my fiance, Abigail.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Abigail forced out.
“Likewise!” The therapist bubbled. “I’m Dr. Cruces, but you may call me Elle.” She smiled with perfect teeth, before continuing. “I understand we’re here for some rudimentary couple’s counselling before we tie the knot; common as it comes, really, and one of my favorite sessions to have. I do enjoy peeling back the layers of a relationship and…” She let out a little titter of a laugh. “Seeing how partners compliment one another.”
Cara nodded, returning the therapist’s laugh herself. “I guess we picked well, then! Maybe this’ll be fun.”
“Yeah.” Abigail huffed. “Maybe.”
Elle tilted her head toward Abigail, but didn’t pry further - instead, heading for her first line of questioning. “How long have you two known one another?”
“A decade.” Cara smiled. “Since high school, really; we used to joke that we came out and immediately settled in one another’s arms.”
“Oh, how romantic.” Elle chirped. “And you’ve been together since?”
“We have.” Abigail nodded, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Followed one another to college and onward; it’s been a lot of work, a lot of sacrifice, but we’ve made it happen.”
“Well,” Cara mused. “Sacrifice for one of us, at least.”
Abigail blinked. “What’s that supposed to-“
”Abigail,” Elle warned, gently, still wearing that bubbly, perfect smile. “I’d caution against speaking over your lover. It’s important that this is a safe space to express thoughts, no matter how they come forth.”
Abigail clamped her jaw, and Cara spoke up. “I’ve had fairly…simple ambitions, since we started off. I wanted to be an elementary school teacher, which gave me a wide reach of options for college. Abigail wanted to go into law, which was still wide, but…she had to make some more selective decisions. I followed her, because I didn’t want to be apart - got my degree, although I think I could’ve been…better prepared? Better positioned? If I went to my first choice program.”
“Mmhmm…” Elle nodded. “And why didn’t you?”
Cara turned toward Abigail, and prompted her with a poke to the ribs, to which Abigail sighed. “I asked Cara to come with me, because I didn’t want to be alone.”
“And what if she hadn’t?” Elle blinked.
”I’d have broken up with her.” Abigail stated, firmly. An eerie quiet fell over the room, and Abigail felt sweat bead up on the back of her neck; her worst fear coming to fruition before her. She added, “It was only fair, really; If she wasn’t going to come with me, then what was the point in even trying to pretend it was going to work?”
“So you asked her to…” Elle hummed. “…sabotage her chances in her career to continue being with you?”
Abigail opened her mouth first, but Cara chimed in. “Something like that, yes. I had a full ride, and ended up taking on loans to follow her - which wasn’t, like, my first choice.”
“Cara-“ Abigail spat, but again, Elle’s tongue clicked; drawing attention back toward herself.
“Abigail, please don’t make me warn you again, darling. I’d hate to have to take this session in a direction beyond formality.” She looked at Cara, and smiled once again. “Continue, please.”
“So I had to take out loans, and just…I didn’t struggle to find a job, but by the time I did I felt like things could’ve been easier, had I not been pressured.” Cara shrugged. “What’s done is done, though. I’m happy.”
“Are you happy?” Elle asked, and Cara opened her mouth to respond, but Abigail found she could hold herself back no longer.
”What kind of question is that? I thought we weren’t supposed to ask leading questions in therapy.” She growled, and Elle, seemingly taken aback for a half-second, remembered herself and stared through Abigail. Abigail, herself, felt small, felt as though she’d been shorn to nothing with but a simple glare; like she was a child in the face of a grown, real woman.
“I apologize for this, Cara, but I think we might need to take things in a different path, here.” Elle ran her fingers through her hair as she sighed, fishing through the underside of a coffee table that sat between the two bits of seating in the space. She emerged moments later with a metronome in one hand, and an innocuous stuffed bear in the other. She set the metronome down, and started the rhythm; it was louder than Abigail had expected it to be, dominating the space with each resultant CLICK.
She took the bear, sitting it on her palm and holding it out toward both women. “This is a Talkabout Teddy. I usually save him for children, but since one of you can’t seem to respect the other’s space, we’ll be using it here.” She pressed the bear over toward Cara, who held it in her arms, slowly sinking more into it; Abigail watched as she seemed to note something emanating from it - perfume, maybe, given the way her nose wrinkled - before it vanished. “Cara, continue. Are you happy?”
“I…maybe?” Cara shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been in this for ten years, I just…figured it was too much time sunk in to…do anything different. When you’re with someone for long enough, it feels pointless to get into something new.”
Elle nodded, slowly. “I can fathom. It’s a lot of work to waste a decade on one person and anticipate that there’s nothing left out there for you.” She took the bear from Cara, and passed it to Abigail. Immediately, the scent of lavender flooded her nostrils; more intense than it had been in the space, likely coming from the bear - the thing likely had to be soaked with essential oils to smell this strongly. She stifled a cough as Elle continued. “How about you, Abigail? Are you happy?”
Abigail felt her words called forth from her mouth without even really getting any input. “No. I’m not happy. I don’t think I’m cut out for this relationship, because all of my time gets siphoned away into my future, and I can’t figure out how to make it stop. Ambition’s going to be the death of me - and, really, the death of us.”
“Fascinating.” Elle nodded, and passed the bear back to Cara. “Do you feel the same way, Cara? Like Abigail’s going to cut your relationship to ribbons for her career, eventually?”
“I…uhm…” Cara’s words came out slower, now, like she was addled; Abigail would’ve called attention to it, were she not feeling just as sluggish. “….mmaybe? I ffeel like it’s kinda…a waste of mmy time….bbut like…what am I gonna do?”
“That’s a good question, indeed. Why don’t you focus on the metronome for a bit?” Elle collected the bear from Cara, who gently - slowly - slumped forward, toward the metronome; her eyes seemingly glazed over, entirely lost. Abigail wanted to grab her, to check if she was alright - but the bear was pressed back into her hands, and became the only thing she could put focus toward. Elle let out a gentle sigh, and said, “Lean back, Abbie.”
“My name’s not-“ Abigail started, but another stare from Elle cut her off mid-sentence; she shouldn’t be pushing back against the person of authority in the room, clearly. Abbie leaned back in her spot on the couch, the bear moving closer to her chest. “O-of course, Elle.”
”I think we have a lot more to talk about than just our initial couple’s session.” Elle clicked her tongue. “It’s good the two of you came to me, of course, as I’m actually equipped to handle this, rather than just giving you both a pass and letting you fumble through a pointless year of marriage before you divorce.”
Abbie’s eyes filled with tears almost immediately. “D-divorce?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, my dear. It seems as though you’re too in your own head about your future, and Cara’s not able to verbalize how much she dislikes that. You’re not the first to have this issue, of course, so don’t beat yourself up over it too heavily - rather, let’s work on fixing it.” Elle moved one leg over the other, tilting her head forward. “Tell me more about yourself - what are your best traits?”
“My…ambition. My diligence. My hard working attitude.” The words left Abbie’s mouth with ease, she didn’t really even have to think about them. It felt like reading off a script, in a way, although any thought oppositional to the course set for her felt like wading through molasses. “I’m in law school, you know.”
“Very impressive.” Elle chided, the same way one would compliment a child’s crayon drawing. “I’ve had many lawyers come through my door, and very few leave this session satisfied - they’re incurable, the lot of them. You, however, are not so set in your ways.” She scrawled a few notes. “What do you think Cara would say your best traits were?”
“I…” Abbie’s mind dredged itself for answers, but found nothing. “…don’t know. I guess I never…really asked her.”
“Mm…” Elle nodded, again. “And you’ve been together for ten years? It sounds like a significant shortcoming in terms of communication, you know. Not being able to name even one thing your partner might like about you tells me exactly how….unfocused you are. It’s disappointing, really.”
Disappointing. Each detractory word that left Elle’s mouth hit Abbie like a sack of bricks, a concussive force smashing against her psyche and knocking her train of thought off path. All she could manage was trying not to shrink into utter oblivion under the onslaught of the woman before her - something that, in and of itself, seemed like a tall order. “I-I’m ssorry?”
“I’m not the one to apologize to, but Cara’s a little preoccupied right now.” Elle huffed, a light smile manifesting at the corner of her mouth. Abbie nodded; that made sense to her. “We can work on some techniques, you know; you and I can shape you into something that best fits your wife, and if not…we can approach some alternative methods. Does that sound good?”
“Y-yes, I think so.” Abbie nodded, but Elle’s face reflected displeasure once again. She shrank. “Uhm-“
”Yes, what?”
“Yes, miss.” Abbie mumbled, and Elle smiled, much in the same way you’d acknowledge a dull child. “I’m ready to start.”
“Good girl. Now, there’s a method I’d like to try called boxing; it’s fairly common practice, albeit this time around it’ll have a bit of a twist. Patients envision their concerns and problems ‘boxed away’ and ‘stored’ somewhere in that head of theirs, for access at a later date. For you, my darling, we’re going to be boxing away some of those troublesome traits - and we’re going to gift a new you to Cara, in the end. You’ll be the perfect Abbie for her, you understand?”
“Yes, miss.” Abbie nodded, a bit of concern still remaining on her lips. Elle noticed that, of course, and gave her another small smile.
”You should take a deep inhale from your Teddy - it might help level you out a bit, honey.”
Abbie did as she was asked, taking a deep breath as she drew closer to the lavender-scented plushie - and immediately, a wave of endless calm washed over her; simple and docile, ready to receive. ”I-I ffeel….better?”
“I’m sure you do.” Elle looked down to her notes, seemingly uncaring, once again. “Ambition. What does this word mean to you, Abbie? However you’d like to describe it.”
Abbie blinked; at this moment, it meant excruciatingly little. She dug her fingers through the basin of her mind, seeking an answer, finding one. “T-to, uhm…succeed. I want to…reach my dreams, and be good at my work. When I set my mind on a goal, I want to hit it. No matter what.”
Elle nodded, again, clicking her tongue. “But such a thing’s caused you some trouble already, hasn’t it? Ambition’s kept you up late, kept you away from social gatherings and wherever you should’ve been. You’re always grinding the axe, but never taking a step back to admire the work you’ve done, to admire the life around you.” Each word wore Abbie down further - twirled the edge of her focus back toward her and pressed inward. “Cara, I’m sure, has busted her ass to make sure that the two of you have a comfortable time while you’re infinitely away at school - all in service to your ambition.” She glanced up from her notes. “Is that right?”
Abbie felt, somehow, infinitely smaller. “That’s right.”
“Then maybe we’ve got too much of it - I mean, truly, maybe any ambition at all is too much. You’re clearly very driven, even…without it.” Elle waved her hand off. “Let’s box that away, hm? Say it for me.”
“Say what?” Abbie blinked.
”Say, ‘I’d like to box away my ambition.’ You need to believe it when you do it.” Elle leaned forward.
Abbie nodded; the inner layers of her mind were too dulled to even fathom the alarm bells ringing, and so she said, “I’d like to box away my ambition.”
Like that, it was gone; she’d expected some maneuver from Elle, some psychological overanalyzation, but instead she received a void somewhere in her personality; a hollow spot of which she was constantly aware. She tried to blink and move beyond it, tried to open her mouth to voice her growing concern.
Instead, Elle said, “Let’s continue.”
And so they did.
”Your diligence, your attention to detail, your work ethic - all incredibly important, but they’ve been wasted focusing entirely on your schooling. You could have greater diligence toward the more important things in your life, could consider the fact that your intensive effort toward your work and your work alone is eating up space that could - and should - have been split between that and your partner, but I think we’re beyond that now.” Elle let out a gentle hum as she continued. “I think you’re a series of poisoned wells, Abbie, wherein we need to start cutting out whole chunks - things that are important, no doubt, but things that you’ll be able to get back once you’ve proven you can handle them. Does that sound fair?”
It didn’t, of course, but Abbie was so deep in the lavender-scented thrall of the counselor at this point in time that any idea of resistance was a far-off dream. “I-I think so, miss.”
“Good. Then box it away - all your diligence, your hard work, your intensive focus on your academia. Say it, as you did before.”
Again, those warning bells; again, that hollow in her mind.
Again, she repeated.
”I box away my diligence. I box away my hard work. I box away…m-my focus on school.” Each item left a gaping hole as it dissipated; each trait took away a bit more than just itself when it departed. With her psyche already so soft and pliable, it was improbable that Abbie, herself, could manage to disentangle the threads of her life tied to those traits - they’d simply have to be collateral damage.
Such a thing was necessary - if Elle was to be believed.
Abbie blinked at the therapist, who gave her a cloying smile, cooing. “There we go - isn’t that much better?”
“I…” Abbie shook her head. “I don’t…know. I’m…I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Missing something? Well, surely, but maybe the things we’re missing are good things to lose. You want to be a perfect wife, right? You want to be a good girl for Cara?”
It was a good question - one that she wasn’t sure of the answer to. She wanted to be better for Cara, wanted to be as caring as she possibly could, wanted to be a good wife - but something buried under a layer of lavender fog told her that this path was dangerous, something in her brain screamed at her to turn away.
Instead, instinct took over, and she said, “Of course I do.”
“There we go.” Elle purred, her voice thick with something that Abbie couldn’t quite perceive. “I think we might need to keep pruning, though; there’s still a lot getting in the way of that performance, isn’t there? We can’t stop now, you might backslide - and then, well, we know where that’ll end up.”
“Where?” Abbie asked, stupid and hollow.
“Alone. Without Cara, without anything. You might manage to finish that program of yours, but what does that mean, anymore?” Elle tilted her head, and Abbie felt a wave of anxiety and dread wash across her - what did finishing law school even mean? All of the wasted hours spent slaving away at her assignments, reaching for perfection - why? If she was left alone, it’d all be for nothing - and something about that thought made her want to shift gears, made her want to pull herself out of school entirely, made her want to give up.
She swallowed, and nodded. “I w-want to keep going, p-please.”
“Please, what?”
Abbie knew the answer, this time. “Please, miss.”
“There we go - we’re learning.” Elle clicked her tongue. “I think this next bit of pruning is going to be much harder, but I think we’ll be able to get it done together - you, me, and that Teddy in your arms. Why don’t you take one more deep breath near him?”
Abbie was long past questioning what Elle told her to do; rather, she leaned in close and huffed the bear, one more time. Lavender flooded her senses, and she felt woozy; so much so that she could barely keep herself upright. She leaned back against the couch; tongue lolling, slumped in place, trying to muster the strength to mumble even a single word - while Elle shifted in her chair, starting to speak.
“Feeling better?” Each word crashed against Abbie like a breaking wave, washing over her, threatening to drag her into the void. She kept herself afloat, somehow, as the therapist continued speaking. “I think we need to hone in on all that you are, Abbie - all the bits that make you you. Your wants, your dreams, your hopes, your desires - everything you can fathom. I know it’s going to take some effort, but I trust you - you’re a smart girl. Can you do that?”
The little bit of praise acted as a liferaft; Abbie managed to surface, and visualized a pile in her mind of, well, everything; every dream, every fear, every promise, stacked one on top of the other. It was a volume of knowledge that she could barely contain in one space as it continued to gather - bit by bit, item by item, countless in number and sitting at the border of her mind’s eye. The limited processing power she had remaining was spent trying to bring it together, to visualize it. Then-
“Stop.”
Abbie did as she was asked; her eyes lolled in their sockets, drifting toward Elle, who gave her that same cloying smile. “I can see how hard you’re trying, Abbie, and I’m so appreciative - but there’s so much of it, isn’t there?”
“Yyyeessss, Miss….”
“Wouldn’t it be good to just…get rid of it? To take it all and put it somewhere else? To box it all away?”
“Yyyessss….Mmiss….”
“Good girl. Why don’t we do that? Why don’t we take each item that doesn’t relate to your dear Cara - and box it all away?”
Another concussive blow to Abbie’s psyche, a shotgun slug to her amygdala, ripping holes in the fabric of her mind. Each item that dropped from her mind’s eye left a gaping hole in its wake, ripping fibres from across the surface of her brain, tangles of woven material that she’d never get back. It was a destructive process that left Abbie with one thing, and one thing alone; an endless, feverish need for her partner, all consuming in its fury.
It was the only thing that had ever mattered, it was the only thing that would ever matter. New neural pathways wove themselves together; new routines developed, set themselves in stone. An all-consuming joy frothed in her chest - she was going to be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, the perfect object of Cara’s affections for as long as she’d want her to be.
Hopefully, forever.
“Doesn’t that feel better?”
Elle’s voice served as an anchor, bringing Abbie back into focus. She managed to turn herself toward the therapist, a placid look on her face. “Ffeels…wayyy better…”
“I’m sure.” Elle cooed. “It’s very good to box all of those things away, to put them somewhere special, somewhere safe. But I don’t think we can leave them quite like that, can we? Waiting to be found, waiting for prying eyes to uncover them?”
Abbie felt some level of confusion wash over her. “W-what d’you mean, Miss?”
“I mean…I know how little girls like you work. You go and pry, peeking for things you’re not supposed to find. I can’t trust you to keep your hands out of the cookie jar, can I?”
Despite a desire to resist, Abbie shook her head. “Y-you, uhmm….can’t.”
“You’re right, I can’t. So I think it’s time for you to forget where those boxes went. Hell, forget they exist at all.”
Abbie blinked, sobering for a moment. “What? Wait-”
“Say it. Say ‘I want to forget I ever had those things.’” Elle demanded.
Abbie was unable to resist. “I w-want to forget I ever had those things.”
The key turns in the lock, and thus, it is done; any memory of the overachieving woman that entered the room has vanished, replaced by a singular devotion to the woman beside her, a drive to be the best lover she could. Such thoughts couldn’t ever be fully destroyed, of course, but Abbie’s lack of knowledge around them meant they may as well have been. Her mind - ever-elastic, primed from previously existent years and years of intensive schooling - adapted quickly, attempting to fill the gaping voids therein.
While this occurred, Elle stood from her armchair, plucked the Teddy from Abbie’s arms and pushed the metronome into her line of sight. The tick-tock motion of it drew her focus, each resounding CLICK pulling all of the attention she could muster. Abbie felt a hand gently push her out of place - toward the other arm of the couch - and she slumped over, unbothered. The metronome’s magnetism locked her in place, there was little she could do to resist it - even if she wanted to try.
She ignored the shifting feelings on the couch beside her - the obvious motion of two bodies entwining, the dulcet tones of Elle Cruces as she spoke to Abbie’s partner. Her mind could barely grasp the edges of the conversation just inches from her, swallowed up by the endless
CLICK
-wiping out her perception of a ‘don’t worry about her’-
CLICK
-or a ‘I’ll treat you better’-
CLICK
-or even a ‘you’re mine now, sweetheart’
CLICK
-and that wasn’t even mentioning the moans, the rocking of the furniture, the shifting of the space itself. The metronome continued to toll on - until it stopped, suddenly, paused in motion.
The illusion was shattered. The lavender fog left. Abigail blinked, and turned - and horror seized in her chest.
Beside her, down the far end of the couch, her partner sat in the therapist’s lap, hungrily lapping at the woman’s fingers. Elle looked flushed, cheeks red with lust, free hand buried within Cara’s jeans. Abigail’s brain tried to recalibrate around the image before her, but with the fresh hollows still persisting - the whole structure started to fall to pieces.
“Sorry, kiddo.” Elle sighed, working her fingers against Cara’s sex, each motion drawing a pleased whimper from the other woman’s mouth. “Guess we got you all fixed up a bit too late.”
“But-” Abigail whimpered, a searing fire starting in her mind. “But why?”
In response, Elle shrugged. “Because I wanted to? Because it’s fun? Because I hate to see a woman wasted on a little girl like you?” She snickered. “I mean - that’s all you are, right? No ambition, no dreams, no critical thought - that’s all gone to the wayside, and without it, and without her,” She bumped Cara up on her thigh, and she let a pleased squeal slip between her lips in response. “What even are you, anymore?”
Abigail blinked. It was a valid question, wasn’t it? One with a simple answer.
Without her talent and desire, she was Cara’s perfect partner.
Without Cara, she wasn’t anything at all.
Nothing.
nothing.
With the last pull of the thread, abbie’s mind collapsed upon itself; a singular, dreadful wave of destruction that wrought across her mind, polishing any sharpness that had previously existed therein to a dull, hollow nothingness. Any level of higher thought that had persisted previously was gone - in its wake, a borderline sub-sentience remained, something that could respond to stimuli, but only barely; something that could never be called independent, something that could never function on its own.
abbie didn’t cry, because she’d lost the capacity; instead, a sucking emptiness rippled through her brain, a total personality collapse from which she’d never recover.
If Elle cared, she didn’t show it; instead, she mused, “I don’t think little girls should get to watch something like this, abbie. Why don’t you take your teddy and go sit in the corner ‘til we’re done, hm?”
abbie nodded; she took the plush in her arms, left the couch, and plopped herself down amidst the other plush; a good doll, an empty toy, eyes averted from the furniture before her as it bucked, as moans and the scent of sex filled the space.
she was better off not knowing what they meant, anyway.
- - -
Putting abbie back together was a Herculean task, but it was one that Elle had taken with the delicate importance and hands-on approach that it required; that was to say, she wasn’t about to let all of her hard work be undone by a more consummate professional than herself. A total personality collapse like the one suffered by abbie needed to be handled with care - and as such, Elle had successfully petitioned for the girl to remain under her care.
A brief stint in a state institution eventually led to a transfer to Elle’s own home; a private environment that would aid in recovery to the benefit of the patient, a closed-off space that could be tweaked and modified as needed for her care, a perpetual panopticon that would ensure there was no progression that did not aid in the desired outcome. Elle desired a waifish, mousy thing in place of the strong, driven woman who had entered her practice not long prior; God willing, it was what she would get.
Elle worked with her ward slowly; she took pride and patience in the stifling of abbie’s individual growth, practiced measures to learn and ensconce her trauma triggers and responses, prevented with haste any newfound development of confidence or independence. She was, in a word, a perfect mother’s girl. An ideal specimen, so frozen by any decision she had to make on her own that she may as well have been incapable - so addled that executive dysfunction couldn’t even begin to describe it.
She served her purpose to Elle, though; despite her perpetual immaturity and positionality as a child hiding behind her mother’s leg, Cara’s affinity toward her remained. Such a thing allowed Elle to worm her way into the other woman’s life, and cleared a path for her fingers to worm into her brain. From there, it was inertia; the forward progression of a stone that had started
They were engaged within six months, and set to marry within a year.
Cara’s family had issues with the impropriety of it all; it was wrong to even contemplate such an event with their former daughter-in-law to be so close at hand, but Elle had promised a sort of compromise. There would be a place of honor for her, despite how thoroughly her maturity had been gelded - a special role, all her own.
All that remained was to break the news to the poor girl herself.
Elle made her way through the sweeping halls of her home, passing the spare bedroom that abbie had learned to call home, an utterly inoffensive sanctuary of stuffed animals and softened edges. She pushed onward toward her home office, where she’d set the girl on a task nearly two hours ago - organizing patient files without any guidance or guidelines, something that would likely leave her feeling vulnerable and exposed, if not entirely paralyzed.
As anticipated, Elle found her on her ass; fingernails chewed to nubs, knees pulled against her chest within her oversized sweatshirt, a pair of velcro-fastened sneakers upon her feet making her look all the more juvenile. Her attention was entirely stolen by Elle in just a few footsteps, and the girl let out a whimper - holding herself back from leaping into the doctor’s arms as she did so.
“Oh, honey.” Elle sighed, and lowered herself to the girl’s level. “C’mere.”
abbie did as she’d anticipated - she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Elle, who rocked her back and forth in place, rubbing her back, trying to calm her down. Eventually, the shivering, whimpering wreck before her had settled - and Elle pushed her back onto her ass, kneeling to meet her.
“Let’s take a break from filing for a bit, hm? I’ve got some news for you that I think might get you excited.” Elle beamed at abbie, who looked up at her with largely empty eyes - waiting for whatever came next, eager to receive. She barely spoke anymore, a consequence of how thoroughly she’d been ruined, time and again, but that was likely for the best - Elle doubted she’d have much to say, anyway. “Do you remember Cara?”
abbie nodded, excited; somewhere therein, that old affinity remained. “And you remember how we’re getting married next year, right?” abbie nodded again, although this one was mildly less excited - for obvious reasons. “Well, Cara’s parents were very adamant that we included you in the ceremony - and I’d absolutely not tell them no. We thought about it, and, well…I think someone like you would make a perfect flower girl. Don’t you?”
It was fascinating to watch abbie think, to watch the entombed vestiges of her mind try to bubble to the surface - to brush up against the utter wrongness of the situation at hand and try to reckon with it. It never fully happened, of course; they were too far removed for that, lost entirely to a mind that forgot that it had them in the first place - but it was fun to humor the idea that one day, the girl would remember herself and mount an opposition against Elle.
Not that Elle ever entertained that fantasy for long.
After a prolonged period of thought, abbie let out a gentle whimper, and mumbled, “Won’t there be…a lot of people?”
“Oh, of course, honey. But I’m sure we can work together to get you ready for that.” Elle cooed, rubbing her back once again. “I mean…this might be your only chance to ever see a wedding, right?”
“...right.” abbie mumbled. Those things weren’t for her; Elle had been clear about that.
“That’s right.” Elle cooed. “We’ll get you there, I promise. Just like I’ve helped you get better, every step of the way. You can trust me, right?”
Again, abbie looked up at Elle. Those vestiges remained; pushing harder now than they had before - but, all the same, the light behind her eyes flickered out. Any fight died in the womb.
“Right.” abbie whispered. “Thank you, Miss.”
“Anytime, sweetpea.” Elle kissed abbie on the forehead, and held her close for a moment longer; hand on her back, coaxing her closer.
Her perpetual ward, her special little girl.
Forevermore.