As soon as I close my eyes, I feel like I’m falling into a vacuous, dark space inside myself. Jennifer is speaking, but I can’t hear her. It suddenly comes rushing back—the ten-year-old memory I keep trying to bury. He smelled like whiskey. Cockroaches crawling around the bed. The TV blaring in the background. I pray like my mother told me—“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name”—but God doesn’t come save me. I search for a place to hide, at the bottom of his clothes hamper, but he finds me. It takes two weeks for anyone to figure out what happened. Then the hospital room. They can’t find a gown small enough for me. I cry for my mother, who is nowhere to be found. Where is she? Does she not love me enough to be here? I shouldn’t have been a bad little girl.

My eyes fling open, glazed with sadness. Jennifer observes and doesn’t speak. I grab my jacket and race toward the door.

“Wait!” she says suddenly. “Will you come back for another session? I feel confident I can help you.”

“I don’t know,” I say, escaping into the freedom of the outside world where I can forget again in peace.

The first glass of wine takes me by storm. I chug it all in one gulp. I’ve never finished a glass of alcohol in my life, but tonight I’m determined to get drunk. The Defiance, who have been banging on the windows trying to get through to me, shout angrily: This is not the way, you feel me? Bitch, put that glass down. Baby girl, hah, don’t do this. I raise my glass, my third, and tell them they can’t stop me tonight. I swallow the dark red liquid in one breath. A jolt of electricity courses through me, causing a headache, but I keep going. “Throw the damn tea into the harbor where it belongs!” I shout with a mock British accent, referencing the Boston Tea Party, which no one at the table is discussing.

Professor Alexander-Grant has invited me to a special dinner with an award-winning New York Times journalist. This is definitely not the right place to be wasted, but I don’t care. I’m still trying to rebury what rose up in therapy today. “Don’t you remember we talked about the tea taxes earlier today in class?” I say to Professor Alexander-Grant. She smiles uncomfortably before continuing her side conversation with another student.