Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(27)

Liberty just shook her head.

"I can imagine what Dad will say if I got a divorce," I muttered. "Starting with a big, fat 'I told you so.'"

"No," Liberty said earnestly. "Really. I've talked with Churchill more than once about the way he behaved. He's sorry about having been such a hard-ass."

I wasn't buying that. "Dad lives to be a hard-ass."

Liberty shrugged. "Whatever Churchill says or thinks is not important right now. The point is what you want."

I was about to tell her it might take a long time to figure that out. But as I lowered myself next to the baby's warm body and snuggled close, a few things had become very clear. I wanted to never be hit or yelled at again. I wanted to be called by my own name. I wanted my body to belong to me. I wanted all the things that anyone deserved by virtue of being human. Including love.

And I knew deep down it wasn't love when one person had all the power and the other person was completely dependent. Real love was not possible in a hierarchy.

I nuzzled Matthew's scalp. Nothing in the world smelled as good as a clean baby. How innocent and trusting he was in sleep. How would Nick treat a helpless creature like this?

"I want to talk to the lawyer," I said sleepily. "Because I don't want to be the woman in the Astrodome."

Liberty draped a throw blanket gently over the two of us. "Okay," she whispered. "You're in charge, Haven."

CHAPTER FIVE

In Texas there is an obligatory sixty-day waiting period after you file a petition for divorce. At some point someone in the state legislature had decided that a legally mandated cooling-off period was a good idea for people who wanted a divorce. I'd rather they had left it up to me to decide whether I needed cooling off or not. Once the decision had been made, I wanted to get it over with quickly.On the other hand, I made pretty good use of those two months. I healed outwardly, the bruises fading, and I started going twice a week to a therapist. Having never been to a therapist before, I expected I was going to have to lie back on a sofa and talk while some impersonal white-coated professional took notes.

Instead I was welcomed into a small, cozy office with a sofa upholstered in flowered yellow twill, by a therapist who didn't seem all that much older than me. Her name was Susan Byrnes, and she was dark-haired and bright-eyed and sociable. It was a relief beyond description to unburden myself to her. She was understanding and smart, and as I described things I had felt and gone through, it seemed she had the power to unlock the mysteries of the universe.

Susan said Nick's behavior fit the pattern of someone with narcissistic personality disorder, which was common for abusive husbands. As she told me about the disorder, it felt as if she were describing my life as it had been for the past year. A person with NPD was domineering, blaming, self-absorbed, intolerant of others' needs . . . and they used rage as a control tactic. They didn't respect anyone else's boundaries, which meant they felt entitled to bully and criticize until their victims were an absolute mess.

Having a personality disorder was different from being crazy, as Susan explained, because unlike a crazy person, a narcissist could control when and where he lost his temper. He'd never beat up his boss at work, for example, because that would be against his own interests. Instead he would go home and beat up his wife and kick the dog. And he would never feel guilty about it, because he would justify it and make excuses for himself. No one's pain but his own meant anything to him.

"So you're saying Nick's not crazy, he's a sociopath?" I asked Susan.

"Well . . . basically, yes. Bearing in mind that most sociopaths are not killers, they're just non-empathetic and highly manipulative."

"Can he ever be fixed?"

She shook her head immediately. "It's sad to think about what kind of abuse or neglect might have made him that way. But the end result is that Nick is who he is. Narcissists are notoriously resistant to therapy. Because of their sense of grandiosity, they don't ever see the need to change." Susan had smiled darkly, as if at some unpleasant memory. "Believe me, no therapist wants a narcissist to walk in the door. It only results in massive frustration and a waste of time."

"What about me?" I brought myself to ask "Can I be fixed?" At that point my eyes stung and I had to blow my nose, so Susan had to repeat her answer.

"Of course you can, Haven. We'll work on it. We'll do it."

At first I was afraid I was going to have to work on forgiving Nick. It was an indescribable relief to hear Susan say no, I didn't need to stay trapped in the cycle of abuse and forgiveness. Victims of abuse were often burdened with the so-called responsibility of forgiving, even rehabilitating, their tormentors. That wasn't my job, Susan said. Later we could find some level of resolution so the poison of my relationship with Nick wouldn't spill into other areas of my life. But right now there were other things to concentrate on.

I discovered I was a person with weak boundaries. I had been taught by my parents, especially my mother, that being a good daughter meant having no boundaries at all. I had been raised to let Mother criticize and have her way all the time, and make decisions for me that she had no business making.

"But my brothers didn't have that kind of relationship with her," I told Susan. "They had boundaries. They didn't let her mess with their personal lives."