Cora gripped the steering wheel of her car. She couldn’t understand why all these things were hitting her so hard. She was plagued and couldn’t escape it. No matter how far away from the abuse she had run, no matter how hard she tried, it still came knocking at the door of her heart and mind. It hurt her that all she could do was keep running. Even when she didn’t want to; it forced her to. She was still scared; still afraid; and completely overwhelmed.
            Marissa was at home, probably praying for her. That’s what Marissa did, she prayed. Marissa was the safest place Cora could think of and, still, the abuse that was soaked into her bones wouldn’t let her trust an ounce of her. She craved the affection, the emptiness that filled her to the dregs of her childhood years still needing attention; but the decades of betrayal gripped her far harder than her need and it choked her of her ability to accept the love she craved so deeply.
            It made her scream. And that’s all she could do right now. She got in the car, went for a drive, and screamed. Cried. Ugly cried. Tried to stay on the road between the writhing bites of her lungs inside her ribs.
            She didn’t know how much farther she could run. She thought Marissa would be the end of it. That she had outrun her past and outrun her abuse. And even though it didn’t dare knock at her door anymore, it still wormed its way into every crevice of her being.
            Marissa said it was because she finally felt the freedom to acknowledge it, address it, and feel it. She said it wouldn’t last forever and everything would be okay. And she believed it when Marissa said it. But the acid in her bones didn’t. The acid in her bones ate the words and turned them sour in her heart; made her mind bitter.
            Assurance wasn’t a luxury that she could afford to hold onto.
Even though her best friend was good at helping her understand why this was happening to her, it confused her nonetheless, it hurt her nonetheless; it affected her nonetheless. She hated that everything she didn’t ask for followed her, that the life she never chose always hunted her down. And she hated that these feelings got worse after she did find the safe place she’d craved.
            “Why would it have gotten worse!!” She screamed at the green light; at the birds; at the trees, at thin air.
            She knew her running and avoidance and sometimes curt remarks hurt Marissa, and that’s what made this worse. She was safe, but now she was the mean one. And they are the ones that did this to her. The abuse seemed to change the makeup of her being. Everything she used to be, everything she thought she was, she wasn’t. Not anymore. And she hated that, because she couldn’t tell when it was that she had changed. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t go back to the girl she was before.
            When she was… three, I guess. She cried again. Three? That was the last time I was myself? Who even was I? How do I know? And she remembered that Marissa always said, “Well, who do you want to be? Crave to be, try to be? That’s who you are. And that’s who you’ll grow into. You didn’t get to do that all your life, so it’ll take some journeying and discovering now. But it’s okay. Now you have the time. You have the space, and you have you back. Just as a somewhat blank slate. I know you don’t see it, but I see a lot of who you are. She’s just afraid to lay down her armor. But it’s not hopeless. It’s really not. I see her there. I see you, Cora. You’re not gone.”
            And it made her cry. Hopeful tears. Burning tears; the ones that tell you you’ve been done wrong, but hope isn’t lost.
            What else is it that Marissa always says? Cora dug in her mind, dodging the ghosts of her past and the loud, discouraging voices, she sought to find the peace of the gentle and loving words that she was training herself to try to believe. “I deserve to believe good and beautiful things.” She said out loud to herself, in more of a whisper, but enough to instruct her body and not just her intangible self.
            She found the memory tucked in a special treasure chest in her mind, “He is within. He meets you there, inside. You don’t even have to yell to find him. He hears you before you speak. He doesn’t ignore you like all the people in your past have. He’s in even all the quiet moments within. You don’t have to go anywhere to find him. You can find him right here,” Marissa pointed to her chest, “Because he always sits in your heart, so that he’s with you wherever you go.” And she was talking about Jesus. She was talking about the Spirit of God.
            Cora closed her eyes at a stop sign and put her hand on her heart to try and be present, to feel him there, where she didn’t even have to reach to find him. And she felt a little well of peace. He really was there, wasn’t he?
            A small beep behind her woke her up and she found herself apologizing before continuing through the small backroad intersection. But she heard the still, small voice, I’m still here. Just because your attention was moved from sitting with me, doesn’t mean I’ve left. I’m still here.”
            And the peace washed over her. Maybe she would be okay.
            Maybe I will be.
            She felt free. A new kind of freedom. And she knew that she would have to train herself to find this day after day, but she would.

Alyssa McClure is a creative fiction and nonfiction writer who has authored a children’s book, a poetry book, and a novel trilogy. Other creative endeavors she enjoys include sewing, photography, and blogging.