I sat in a bright orange comfy chair across from the doctor, who was a tall dark-haired Mediterranean looking woman wearing a tight fitting shift dress. She perched, what looked like uncomfortably, on the edge of her chair. Her legs angled, knees pressed together with a notepad resting on her lap. My first impression was that she looked high maintenance.

The room was small but welcoming, decorated in warm autumnal colours. In between us was a coffee table, a glass dish of yellow boiled sweets and the obligatory box of tissues on top. I was determined not to use them.

‘Eve, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Doctor Almara.’ She leant forward and offered me her hand to shake. I grudgingly obliged.

‘How can I help?’

I shrugged like a sulky teenager and crossed my arms. She didn’t react, her smile remained fixed, waiting for me to answer until the silence became uncomfortable.

‘I don’t know,’ I said eventually.

‘Why don’t we start with why you visited the doctors? What preceded the referral to me?’ She must have known why. Doctors exchanged information, didn’t they?

‘I was struggling with anxiety, having trouble sleeping,’ I said, unable to meet her gaze.

‘Why do you think you were experiencing anxiety and problems sleeping?’ Maybe she didn’t know?

‘I was raped.’ It came out like a whisper and my eyes welled. I concentrated on my nails, picking at the skin surrounding them. Determined not to cry.

‘I’m very sorry to hear that, Eve. When did this happen?’

‘A few weeks ago.’

‘Okay, do you feel able to talk about the attack itself?’

I sniffed, blinking away my tears as the image of being forced over the bin flashed into my mind.

‘No.’ I coughed.

‘I understand. How have you been feeling since the attack?’ Did she really ask me that?

‘Terrified, revolted, unclean, I feel sick to my stomach when I think about what he did to me,’ I snapped. This was a waste of time.

‘It’s completely normal to have all of those feelings after such a violation. I see Doctor Sola prescribed you a low dose of diazepam, has that helped?’

‘Not really. I have mood swings. One day I think I’m fine, but then I feel so fucking angry all the time,’ I blurted.

‘Angry at whom?’

‘At him, at the police, at myself.’

‘Why at yourself?’

I could feel the flush creep up from my chest, my neck turning blotchy. Unable to hide my emotion.

‘Because I didn’t fight back. I was too scared, because he had a knife.’

‘It sounds like you were in self-preservation mode, Eve. You were assessing the situation and doing what you could to save your own life.’ I hadn’t thought of it like that. ‘Are you experiencing any other emotions?’

I didn’t want to talk about it, but I had to try. I needed to try for Ben.