Scars of the Past by Kay Gordon

a semi-circle on auditorium chairs.
    I took a seat between a girl who looked younger than me, and a woman who looked like she was in her mid to late forties. I glanced around at some of the other participants and a few, like me, looked nervous, but for the most part the women looked comfortable here. I took another peek at the younger girl next to me and I saw she had a brilliant black eye with a swollen top lip. She caught me staring and gave me a sad smile.
    “Sometimes I wish he’d knock some sense into me so I’d stop going back.”
    I didn’t return her smile, but I couldn’t look away. Instead, I reached over and grabbed her hand in mine. She stared at our joined hands for a moment and then gave me a real smile.
    “I’m Bridget.”
    I returned her smile. “Maddie.”
    A woman cleared her throat and I squeezed Bridget’s hand before I dropped it so I could sit up straight.
    At the open spot of the chairs a professional looking woman stood, her pale pink blouse tucked into her black slacks. She was glancing around the room giving a soft smile.
    “Hello everyone. Most of you have done this before, but I just want to give a short introduction for those who are here for the first time.” Her eyes touched on me and a couple of other people.
    “My name is Sarah, and I’m a professional counselor by trade, but I run these support groups for people who feel more comfortable in the group setting. I want you to know that everything you say here stays here. You don’t have to give your full name if you don’t want to, although we’d like at least something to go by. You don’t have to tell your story; you’re more than welcome to listen. However, sometimes telling your story is the best form of therapy. Just know that no matter what- you are not alone.”
    She sat in the chair and pulled a notebook into her lap. “I will be taking notes, but these notes will be secure in between group sessions, and only used during that time. Please don’t feel apprehensive because of this. Who would like to start? Angela?”
    A brunette who looked fairly comfortable sat to the right of Sarah, and she shrugged at her suggestion.
    “Okay. Hi, I’m Angela. I’m 29-years-old, and three years ago I was slipped a roofie at my company Christmas party. I woke up the next day in a janitor’s closet with no recollection of my rape. They eventually caught him.” She cringed. “And it turned out to be a co-worker that I had called a friend. He is still in jail, but due to be released in the next year. “
    Sarah nodded, her pencil scribbling in her notebook. “Are you worried about him being released?”
    Angela made a non-committed shrug. “Yes, but no. I met my husband last year and he makes me feel safe.”
    A girl sitting on the other side of the half-circle spoke up. “Was it hard to be with your husband sexually after what had happened?”
    Angela thought about it for a moment. “A little, but not as hard as I thought it would be. I mean, I was unconscious for most of my attack so maybe that’s why it wasn’t so hard. But I also trust my husband entirely, and that made a huge difference.”
    Several off the girls nodded and Sarah seemed satisfied.
    We went down the circle, and most everyone told a story. There were several people in here that had physically abusive partners, but it seemed the sexual abuse outweighed the physical. Eventually we made it to the girl next to me, and she put on a fake smile.
    “Hi, I’m Bridget. My husband and I have been married for a year now, and he first hit me about nine months ago. It used to be only when he had been drinking, but now it seems to happen all the time.”
    Sarah stopped writing in her notebook and looked up at Bridget. “Bridget, can you tell the group why you stay?”
    “Because I love him, and when he’s not hitting me he is the most amazing man ever.” She spoke as if the reason was obvious.
    A couple of people murmured to each other, Sarah held up a finger and it