"What exactly do you do here?" she asks.
"There are really five different types of therapy that I work with,” I say as I walk into one of the stalls, and she stays outside. "Horseback riding helps with posture and muscle tone as well as coordination." I talk to her about the different types of therapy, and she listens to every single word, walking from one stall to the next as the horses come to the door. "You can touch them if you want,” I say.
"What type of therapy would you recommend for someone like me?" She turns to me. “Someone who was mentally and physically abused and left for dead,” she says, and I stop breathing. “Someone who begged every single day to die so their suffering would stop." She doesn’t look at me as she walks to the next stall, and her voice remains even. “Someone who went twelve days without eating because I refused to forge a bank paper to get my money early so they could spend it." I was wrong before. This right here is the hardest thing I will ever have to hear. “Someone who couldn’t even tell her birth mother what her fears were because she would help him and make them come true." My whole body goes rigid. “Someone who couldn’t admit when they were cold or hungry or thirsty because it would mean I would get none of those things. Someone who would have to shower in a gas station bathroom sink and not a nice bathroom either. I’m talking about the ones where people shoot up heroin and leave their needles behind. Someone who would sleep with toilet paper in her ears for fear that cockroaches would crawl inside them. Someone who is woken up in the middle of the night and told that we are going and the only thing you can pack is two pairs of jeans and a T-shirt, which is why I always have a bag packed. Someone who doesn’t even know what lemonade tastes like because all she could get is water. Someone who can’t even admit to this day that there are good people out there, especially when it’s right in front of my face." She turns, and I see the tears streaming down her face. I just look at her, unable to answer because of the lump in my throat the size of a fucking soccer ball. "What type of therapy would you give that person?"
I stare at her when I say the next words, knowing maybe she isn’t ready for it, but knowing that there is no better time. “Everything."
Chapter 22
Willow
I didn’t want to tell him any of what I just told him. I didn’t want him to know what I went through. Even if he saw me beaten almost to death, he didn’t need to know the other parts of it. He didn’t need to know the hell I lived in. That was my burden to carry and mine alone.
But with him here in the barn, looking at all the people who he helped, I wondered. Was I broken to the point where I couldn’t be fixed?
I didn’t even try to hide the tears, not after everything I just told him. His expression wasn’t that of pity, it was one of almost rage and sadness but not pity. I walk to the next stall to see the horse when his words stop me from taking another step.
"Everything." I look over at him. “You deserve everything,” he says, his own tear running down his cheek. "There is no one who deserves it more." His voice trails off at the end.
I smile at him shyly and walk all the way to the end of the stall, stopping right in front of Hope. "Hi," I whisper to her as she turns her head and looks at me. Her eyes almost matching mine, she nuzzles my hand, and I smile at her. “Good morning to you, too,” I say while her tail moves side to side.
"You can open the top of the gate,” Quinn says. "On the side is a latch." He points at the silver latch. There are two latches, one for the top and one for the bottom.
"Will it scare her?" I ask, not wanting to bother her, and he just shakes his head. I look back at Hope, who looks at me through the gated door. She is sizing me up just as I size everyone up around me.
"Just talk to her," he tells me. “As long as she can sense that you’re calm, she isn’t going to go crazy on you."
I unlock the latch and then look at her. “I won’t hurt you,” I say softly. The same words I’ve wanted said to me at least once. “It’s okay." I hold out my hand to her, and she takes a step forward but then goes back. "It’s going to be sunny today,” I say, not moving my hand as she moves her neck a bit closer. "You are such a pretty girl,” I say, and she sniffles or grunts. I’m not sure which one because I’ve never met an actual horse. I take a tiny step forward to rub her neck. “I won’t hurt you," I whisper. “I promise." She doesn’t move, but she does let me rub her neck. “What’s your story, Hope?" I ask. “What’s your story, pretty girl?" I look into her eyes, and I can swear she understands everything I say to her.
"She was left for dead,” Quinn says. "She couldn’t breed, so her owner just dumped her off at an abandoned farm." I look back at the beautiful girl in front of me. Her tail moves side to side. “She was skin and bones when we found her. She had one foot infected from an untreated cut. She had a scar on the side I’m sure she got from when they used to ride her and probably whipped her to go faster or whipped her to breed. No one will ever know."
"Oh my God,” I say, putting my hand to my heart. She comes forward, and her muzzle smells the arm in the sling. She bends her head and hits the hand with her forehead.
"She likes you,” Quinn says.
"Really?" I say, happy that she likes me. “How can you tell?"
"She’s making you touch her,” he says, coming next to me. “She is very picky about who she lets touch her.”
"Does she let you?" I ask, and he nods.
"Only because I feed her,” he says. “Do you want to ride her?"
I look at him, and I try not to show how much I want to ride her, but the smile on my face speaks volumes. “I don’t want to push her and make her do something she isn’t comfortable doing,” I say, and he smiles.
"We haven’t gotten anyone to ride her," Quinn says, turning and walking into the closet at the end of the hallway.
“It’s okay if you don’t want me to ride you,” I say, stepping closer to her and rubbing her neck. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” I say, and her brown eyes meet mine. "Promise."
"Let’s get the saddle on her,” Quinn says, and I move aside as he steps into the stall and talks softly to her.
"You going to let Willow take a ride?" he asks, his voice calm and reassuring. "She isn’t going to hurt you," he tells her. “And I’ll be right there." He ties the bottom of the saddle under her belly.
"Will that hurt her?" I ask. He shakes his head, grabbing the reins and walking out of the stall with her. "Let’s see if she is going to let you walk her out."
"What do I do?" I ask, and he smiles at me.
"Just walk out the door." He points at the open door at the end of the hall where we walked in from.
I hold the reins as I take a step forward, and she walks slowly beside me. Her eyes roam the room exactly as mine do when I walk into a new space. "Are you looking for a way out?" I whisper. “I do that, too,” I say as we take steps forward. When we get out of the barn, she looks around.