Fake It 'Till You Make It
Time is a funny thing. After the therapy session, Sam had come over bringing brownies and ice cream to eat with my lasagna and slipped me a note saying that he had told the boys what I had told him. Sam and I met each day for two hours for five days. Today, however, Sam said that we were going to do something different. Thus, I am meeting him out on the lawn in front of the castle.
“Ah, Kara, there you are,” Sam says smiling as I approach him.
“Yes, Sam, here I am,” I reply, wondering why I am meeting him here.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. I know you are curious as to why.”
“I am, but I also trust you.”
“Thank you for that. I know our sessions have been focussing on your life after the kidnapping but I have noticed that you tend to put yourself down when you refer to yourself and focus on the mistakes you make. So I want us to sit out here in the sunlight and I want you to tell me exactly what you think about yourself.”
My mind blanks. Why does he want to know what I think about myself? He wants to know how my scars mean I will never be beautiful, how the words of my people bounce around in my head, how I can never look at my calloused hands and say that they are worthy of holding someone else’s, how despite the words on my skin I do not believe I can be loved?
“No.” I say finally breaking the silence. It is the first time I have ever refused to tell Sam anything.
“Why not?” He asks his eyes staring into mine as if looking into my soul.
“I did not ask for your help in going through my confidence. I asked for your help in putting my mind at rights again. Confidence has nothing to do with that.” I reply silently pleading to any god that would listen to let him leave it alone, knowing that as soon as he presses I’ll tell him everything. I would never recover from that.
“I know, but confidence will help with putting your mind at rights again. So, what do you think about yourself?” He asks again. Somehow I know he will not ask again and will get it out of me somehow.
Sighing, I look down and I begin, “I don’t think of myself all that often. I never had time to as a child, I had to be focused on survival instead. I had no parents to guide me, no friends to support me, I had nothing but myself. I survived. As I got older, however, I learned how to survive easier and started to have more downtime. That meant more time to think. It meant more time to look at my scars from surviving and hunting and fighting off men, it meant more time to watch the other girls in the village pretty themselves up to walk around town attracting men to their sides for their every whim, it meant more time wondering why I hadn’t ever been considered pretty. I was sixteen the first time I looked in a mirror. I was sixteen the first time I saw the scars marring my face from the wolf I had to fight at ten years old. I was sixteen the first time I looked at my self and found that I was underfed and that it showed. I knew I was always hungry, but I didn’t think anyone else could tell. I thought that if they could see surly they would have helped me. I was wrong. I was sixteen when I learned that It didn’t matter what I thought the world was like I was wrong. People are not kind, they are not nice. I was sixteen when I realized that I had been forced to fight off men's advances not because I was beautiful, but because they saw me as an easy target. I was sixteen when I learned to hate myself. I was sixteen when I gave up on trying to live but rather just survive. I was sixteen when I stopped fighting the men off and just let them take what they wanted. I was sixteen when I stopped caring about what happened to me. I was sixteen when I started eating half of what I had been. I was sixteen when I resigned myself to die, alone, uncared for, unwanted, and unloved. I was sixteen when I learned that a blade to skin felt good. I was sixteen when I realized that death would be the only way out. I was sixteen when I tried to die for the first time. I was seventeen when I realized I was numb and even pain didn’t make me feel anything. I was eighteen when the only thing I fought was being owned, they could use my body if they could find me, but I would not let myself be tied to one person. I was nineteen when I let myself get mauled by a wolf again, just to feel something. I was twenty when I was stolen and brought here and forced to feel again. I don’t like it, I want to go back to hating myself and wanting to die. Instead, I’m worried about the Dumbbutts and what they would do if I tried again. I just want to die and let this all be over.”
I didn’t realize I was crying until Sam’s hand came up and wiped the tears away. I finally look up at him and see no pity in his eyes, but rather respect and pride.
“I am sorry that you had to go through that, however, I am so proud of you for surviving everything you have been through. I know that you may not believe me, or anyone when they say you are beautiful, but you really are. It may not be in the traditional sense or aesthetically, but your spirit, the one that made you keep surviving even though you wanted death. That is beautiful. That is what anyone who is around you can see. Your spirit is bright and infectious. You are beautiful. Now you have people who love and support you. You have me, and Nat, and Shuri, and hopefully soon Steve and Bucky. We are here for you.” He says quietly.
“Sure, the two “soul mates” who won’t look at me, won’t face me and run away when I am coming to their direction. They obviously want me so much.” The sarcasm drips from my voice as I spit out the words. “Those two hate me. They can’t even look at me. I know I am ugly with my scars and my protruding ribs, but they cannot even be in the same vicinity as me.”
“I’m trying to get them to speak with you.”
“Well, stop. If they don’t want me that’s fine. I understand. I don’t want me either. Just, stop trying. I’m done waiting. I want to go home. I want to go to my little hut on the outskirts of town and sit for hours after hunting just staring at the walls because I have nothing better to do. I want to just get away from being around people all the time. At home, I was alone al the time, unless I had things to trade. I am not used to people. I may have been here for a good month, but I need time to just be alone, to just be me again and not what you all want me to be. I want to have to fight for food, to gather what I need. To fill my days with training to stave off the boredom. I need my sense of normalcy back, Sam. I am going crazy.”
Sam looks at me and nods. “Come on, let’s get you moved out of the lab and see if we can’t get you a home out by the lake somewhere.”
“Really?” I ask incredulously.
“Really.”
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Soon Sam is leading me past the castle walls and down to a clearing by the lake. There are only two huts here. I am lead to the barren one, made of packed earth and tall grasses. The fenced area attached to the hut holds two large grey wolves. I name them Fenrir and Garmr after the wolves in my people’s myths. Fenrir is the largest, with deep grey fur and bright blue eyes. He is the first to approach me, sniffing around before licking right up my face. Garmr, after Fenrir’s welcome, comes close enough to touch his light grey fur and see his soft green eyes. He too licks me. I know now that Fenrir is the Alpha.
“They were injured at an early age and refused to go back into the wild. Shuri and I thought you would need some companionship out here so they are yours now. Both have been trained as protectors.” Sam says watching me.
I turn to him. “Thank you, they are perfect,” I say. I cannot stop smiling, the wolves in front of me are just too precious.
“I’ll let you get settled in,” Sam says. He drops off the bundles of my things inside and heads back to the castle. For once in my short time here, I am finally alone.
It does not last long.
Just near nightfall, I hear two voices walking towards the huts. Grabbing a spear I made earlier while watching the wolves I make my way to the opening in my hut. Peeking out I see the Dumbbutts headed to the other hut. Slowly I step outside.