Seeking Asylum

It's Time to Tell

The next morning, Aurelia gets to the cafeteria first. She waves to me from the table while I get my tray of food. I sit across from her. She gasps.

"You have a black eye," she looks concerned.

"Yeah, I'm clumsy," I mumble.

"Oh stop, my mother used to say the same thing when my father hit her. What happened? Who did this to you?" She moved my face to the side so she could see.

"You have to promise not to say anything. It'll probably happen again if you say anything."

"By the way you're acting, it'll probably happen again regardless if I say something or not. Now, tell me!" She says.

"It was Dr. Ridgeway," I can't help but start to choke up. She sees the tears forming in my eyes.

"Something more happened, didn't it?" She saw right through me.

Again, I couldn't force myself to speak. So, I just nodded.

"I know I said I wouldn't ask, but I think you should tell me why you're here," she seems ashamed that she asked.

"Let's make a deal," I suggest. "We both tell each other the reason why we're here."

"I don't know if I want to talk about it," she scratches her head.

"That's not fair. If we both tell each other why we're here, then maybe we can help each other get out of here," I'm desperate for her to agree.

She thinks it over for a while, "Fine. I don't want to find out for myself what treatment is like here."

"After your first week, you have to start treatment. That's the rule, Aurelia. Whatever you do, don't act on the reason that brought you here. It will make your stay so much more difficult."

"Is there somewhere private we could talk?" She asks.

"The couch we sat on yesterday in the common area is pretty secluded. We'll just have to keep it down," I go to throw my food away to go to the common area with the other patients. Aurelia follows.

•

"Alright, I'll tell you first since I'm used to people finding out by now," I say. I take a deep breath in. "I have an addiction to masturbating. Dr. Ridgeway thinks I have a sex addiction."

"That's not that bad," she says. Her response shocks me. Everyone I've met has called it "self abuse".

"Really?"

"Yeah, there are worse things out there," she smiles.

"I don't think you understand. I can't stop. I know it's wrong, but I'll just start doing it in public. Nearly every day I've gotten caught doing it here. Back at home, I would slip a hand under the table during dinner. I would sneak my hand under my dress during tea in the garden. I can't stop my body from just doing it," It feels disgusting admitting this, but it also feels freeing.

"Oh, so it's a very serious problem. I don't think you need to stop completely. Just work on doing it only in private," she suggests.

"I wish it was that easy. I don't think it's about sex at all, though. It's like a compulsion to just do something," we both sit in silence, searching for an answer. "Anyway, you tell me why you're here."

She looks around to make sure no one else hears. She leans in to whisper, "I'm a homosexual."

"How on Earth did that land you here?" I asked.

"Most people think I'm a witch or just sick in the head. My father thinks I worship Satan or something. He caught me kissing another girl and made me explain everything; that's how I ended up here."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. You love who you love. That's what a lot of people are missing," I try to comfort her.

"Thank you, Caroline. You're the first person I've met that doesn't think I'm crazy or evil," she hugs me.

"I just understand what it's like to be treated that way," I hug her back.