Victim of sexual abuse…forceful anal penetration resulting in rectal bleeding…fondling of the genitals…occurring from age 11 to age 12.
Maddie tore her eyes away from the records with a horrified gasp. Putting a hand to her racing heart, she tried to calm her frenzied breathing.
Dear God, no! It had to be wrong. Not Sam. Please, not Sam.
She downed her wine in a couple of gulps and put the file on the couch to fetch another glass, her thoughts racing.
She returned with a very full wine glass, her body shaking as she sat down again. As a physician, Maddie had seen plenty of rape and molestation cases. Every one of them was horrifying, but she just couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the fact that Sam had suffered in that way.
Sometimes, I just don’t like to be…touched.
Maddie shuddered, remembering his deep baritone saying those words, the brief look of fear in his eyes as he said them. She had known something was wrong, that it was an instinctive reaction. Somewhere deep in her mind alarm bells had sounded even then, knowing it was the reaction of a man who had somehow been hurt.
“Shit. I wouldn’t want to be touched there either if someone had violated me,” she whispered to herself.
Setting her wine on the coffee table, she lifted the file again. He had started therapy and stayed with it for three years. Skipping the account of all of the graphic incidents, she read the psychologist’s notes that had started three years after her relationship with Sam and that had continued for three years after the first date of therapy. Tears poured from her eyes as she read, an occasional sob escaping as she read the accounts of how Sam had struggled to deal with the problems arising from the molestation. He had been so damn brave, probably much braver than she would have been in his situation. Sam had initiated the therapy himself, wanting to get over some of the symptoms he was having which were similar to PTSD. And he had healed. There were some things that would always take work and patience, but he had tried to heal much of the trauma.
Maybe she should feel guilty for reading his history, but she didn’t. Sam still had a few things he needed to work on, and she couldn’t help him if he didn’t talk to her. No doubt he wanted to leave it in the past, but there were some things that apparently still haunted him, things that would only be overcome by learning to trust.
Maddie knew Sam hadn’t meant for her to see these records. He had obviously asked somebody for his medical records and they had provided them. Everything. Including his visits for therapy.
Wiping her saturated face with the sleeve of her pajamas, she finished her glass of wine and flipped to the beginning of the psychological evaluation, not ready to read about the actual incidents, but compelled to do so. She tried to look at it clinically, as a medical doctor reading a patient history, but it didn’t work. She sobbed as she read, her heart tearing to pieces with every incident, unable to picture anything but her beloved Sam, as an eleven year old boy, being hurt by men that got off by torturing him.
She had barely finished reading when the overwhelming nausea struck, making her run to the bathroom, still keening for Sam’s pain. As a physician, Dr. Madeline Reynolds had a will of steel and a cast iron stomach. But as a woman, Maddie heaved until she was lightheaded and dizzy, totally forgetting she was a physician, reacting only as a woman who loved.
**
The next evening, Maddie stopped at the clinic after work, and felt completely out of sorts. The fill-in young male physician, Dr. Turner, seemed to have everything under control with the help of a young, blonde nurse who seemed to idolize the handsome doctor. Feeling bereft and bored, she headed for the restaurant where she had agreed to meet Max Hamilton. She had two days off, and nothing planned.
She sighed, unused to not being busy every minute of every day. It felt good to actually have some free time, but the days were lonely when she had nothing to occupy herself. Her only plans were dinner this evening and probably two days of cleaning her house, a job that she only did sporadically when she had the time. It could use a heavy cleaning and she had nothing else planned.
She let out a deep breath as she turned into the restaurant, acknowledging that she missed Sam. But she would let him contact her when he was ready. Strangely, she had no doubt that he would.
The restaurant was a nice one, a place known for steak and seafood. She’d never been here, but she glad she had worn a dress and heels. The weather was miserable, windy and stormy, the temperatures below normal. She put her hands in her pockets as she hustled to the door, shivering as she went through the entrance.
“Dr. Reynolds?” The hostess greeted her immediately.
Surprised, and grateful for the warmth of the interior, she answered, “Yes?”