Confession of a counsellor

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Cara Maria
USS Ronin
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This is likely to be said sometime aboard the Wallace to someone, I don't know who yet though. Anyway, A little part of Cara Maria 's background that appeared while I was making her character. This happened 237605.06.

This piece of writing contains violence and attempted rape. If you do not wish to read please do not continue.

Property of User:Estantia.

Confession of a Counsellor.

Ok, I’m going to start with some background you probably know first, if I talk about that first it means that telling the hard bit is easier. My name is Cara, Cara Maria, and yes, my first name is Cara and my second Maria, I’m Spanish, having Maria as a second name isn’t too strange where I come from, despite the fact it’s my mother’s first rather than last, my father refused to let her betazoid surname be used.

In fact I was going to be called Cara Maria-Mil, but I disowned my dad’s surname, he was the one that had the idea of calling me Cara, it means ‘expensive’ in spanish, ‘mille’ means thousand in the same language, and after what happened I was quite glad to be given a chance to ditch the pun he forced on me.

You want to know what happened? Well... ok, but please don’t stop me talking, I don’t know whether I’ll be able to start again.

The woman walked over to the window and looked at the glimmering stars speeding by the ship then sighed, trying to avoid starting to remember, to re-feel those events just a few months before she took the academy’s entrance test. As she talked her mind drifted and her voice changed with it, lost in the memories.

As I said I was born and raised in Spain, a city called Zaragoza not very far from Madrid, the capital. All the people live in these huge blocks of flats on hills, it was beautiful in a way I guess, there was less graffiti in the entire neighbourhood than on one wall of the school, but that’s irrelevant, well... mostly. The city culture is where I grew up, people are encouraged to be those they aren’t, men have to be macho and women must be the height of fashion.

You look surprised at that, probably because you know I’m nothing like that, and you’re right, I was one of the strange ones at school, I’d be the one quietly in her small group of friends, reading, doing my homework and dancing. Everyone knows I love to dance. Pity it wasn’t ‘popular’ dancing, otherwise that might have spared me some ridicule I got about my mother, but I was quite happy in my group of friends.

Well, I was happy, but you’ve got to understand, I feel emotions, there was no way I could escape the scorn of my fellow students whenever my friends and I passed a group of ‘normal’ kids, even the happiness a teacher felt as I answered a question had the feelings of resentment from the other students underneath it.

Of course you know why I was ridiculed, having a Betazoid as a mother doesn’t exactly improve your social status even when it gives you the exotic look, you know, the dark coiling hair, golden skin and dark eyes, the ones that most Spaniards already have naturally. They didn’t know much about Betazoids, so they were suspicious, almost a blessing they didn’t know about my empathy really, otherwise I’d really have been for it.

I really loved my mother, soft, gentle, beautiful, exactly the sort of person most girls would dream of becoming, the perfect mother.

If only her pretty skin hadn’t been adorned with bruises so often.

My mother was betrothed to him you see, a written agreement between parents, so she felt she had to marry him and put up with it. She didn’t know quite how much there was to put up with. He was aggressive when drunk, and when he lost his job a few years before I entered the academy he was drunk very often, and my mother had to go out to work, leaving only one available target.

I still have some of the scars you know, the large one on my back was the last one he ever gave me, you know, the one you saw which prompted me telling you all of this.

That’s besides the point, he beat me and my mother, most days. Mostly it was just his fists, the bruises healed easily enough, though once my mother’s rib cracked and that had to go to a doctor, said it happened at work. Mostly it wasn’t too bad, but, but, sometimes it was.

When I told him I wanted to join Starfleet he flipped, he completely flipped. I was nervous enough at telling him anyway, shy as I am, and that... I completely lost control of my abilities for a week afterwards and had to go to a counsellor, that’s what made me want to be one you know, because they were so kind to me.

I’m dancing around it aren’t I? I’m trying to avoid saying what happened, I’m sorry, I’ll get to the point now.

So he came home and I was nervous, not shaking, but nervous. I had got home from school hours before he did from the pub, he smelt of beer and wine and the muzziness I got off him didn’t feel too angry. I could usually tell when he was going to beat us because of that anger, and so I’ve associated anger with it ever since, please try and remember that, it could help later.

So I felt a little more confident and said straight out, “Dad?” Ok, so maybe I wasn’t that much more confident. When he grunted I took it as permission to continue in a rush, “I’m going to join Starfleet Dad, the exams are...” But I felt the surge of anger and tried to explain further as he roared, but it was impossible for him to hear me through it and his suffocating anger so I just tried to run to my room.

He’s never liked aliens you see, even though he was married to one, that society remember? Anyone who doesn’t fit is trash. Like his wife, like his despicable half-breed daughter who didn’t even have the decency to act like a normal kid.

I did make it to my room and locked it though, and tried to shout other things through the door, the fact it wouldn’t be for a few weeks and I may not get in first time. Are you surprised that he didn’t listen? No, instead he did what I never thought he would do, I underestimated the brute strength that his intense anger gave him. Why he was so angry about it I don’t know, maybe because he wouldn’t have anyone to take his rages out on.

I was hopeful, he’d been quiet for a few, tense minutes, I thought he’d gone out again, or at least calmed down enough to listen, but I felt the anger again, hotter than before as he came outside my door. There was a thump and the room shuddered, I felt my panicking fear rise sharply as he did that, and again.

The third time I saw the wood around the lock start to splinter in minute detail, the next time he rammed it the lock flew off and broke the window. I didn’t notice that at the time, I was more preoccupied with what he was holding. I felt my blood run cold as I stared at that wrestling belt, the one that always hung above the sofa in the lounge, I always felt intimidated by it. Naturally I shrank even further back into the corner I was wedged in. Yes, stupid I know, I had no escape.

But I did notice the broken window at that point, I could escape out of there. As I darted towards it I knew I hadn’t a hope though, his hand closed almost immediately on my shoulder and squeezed hard, five fresh bruises before he shoved me backwards onto the bed, away from any means of escape.

I don’t know what I was thinking at that point, I don’t think I was, just a wide-eyed animal panic from the anger that was coming in stronger waves as I curled up in fear, his daughter was a coward.

“Look at me,” was what he said next, his voice was terrifyingly calm for someone as angry as he was, “I said look at me!” Call me a fool, I did look, bloodshot eyes, hard breathing... and the incoming hand.

I turned my face so his hand went past with only a light cuff to the ear. I knew this was a mistake straightaway as I felt the anger swell again. Without a sound I curled tighter to try and protect myself, to make a shell.

The belt landed on my hand first, I quickly withdrew my arms into the middle of my ball, nursing my hand as the skin reddened, this left my legs free to aim at, but I knew from experience that though it hurt, it hurt less than the arm unless he just caught the edge of my calf, like the next blow for instance.

I won’t describe to you every pain he inflicted on me then, we’d be here for hours and I’d be in tears. The buckle caught my shoulder lots of times, in the same place, it drew blood, a red flower on a white shirt, my face was reddened by a punch, my calf a kick, and all the time the anger. I wonder if he felt the fear roll off me, and whether it made him all the angrier.

I don’t know how long I laid there, time had gone to bother someone else and left me in this nightmare but by the time he paused I had cried all the silent tears I had, though I didn’t scream, the only thing I was holding onto was that I wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing me scream. I just laid there, surviving and trying not to make a sound. Then the anger subsided a little and was replaced by something else that scared me even more, lust.

Yes, lust, for his own daughter, he obviously liked women in pain. He paid his attention to my back, my poor exposed back, trying to make me uncurl. I wasn’t human at this point, not thinking at all, throat locked, a mouse.

He ripped off the back of my shirt. Actually ripped. That had never, ever happened before. Then there was nothing even to protect it a little, thin as it was. He punched it and I flinched a little. Then he readied himself and the belt lanced down with a crack.

I felt it draw a line of fire along my back and arched with a ear-splitting scream, throat unlocked all at once as hotness seeped over my back, burning. As soon as I uncurled he grabbed my shoulder, the bloodied one, and threw me onto my back on the bed.

Now I fought back, my legs kicked out and hit him in the stomach, he bent over before standing back up, so angry that it was even off my scale as our eyes locked. He jumped and pinned my legs down, but out of reach of my arms as he tore off the front of the shirt, well mostly, the blood had stuck it to that shoulder. My arms immediately covered myself, leaving me defenceless, but protected, even a little.

It was then my empathic abilities went wild, emotions spewed everywhere as I struggled, anger, fear, surprise, resistance, stubbornness, lust... I couldn’t control them, I didn’t know what was happening from one moment to the next, my mind clouded by sudden surges of thoughts and feelings. But then it faded into the background as our eyes met again.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to raise the belt again, the light caught the gold and the jewels glittered in the light, some shining with blood as it moved higher. I couldn’t move my gaze from his eyes, bloodshot, crazed. I could only watch as it started its inevitable fall.

A hand appeared from no-where and fastened itself to his wrist. Time sped up again as people crowded the room to try and pin him down to the floor. I was still in shock, I couldn’t control myself as I scrambled away to the corner, meeting the wall with a blaze of pain from my back and a crack as my skull hit it.

The last thing I remember was a mass of talking and someone catching me as I fell forwards into peaceful blackness.

As the woman finished her story she trailed off into silence, still staring unseeingly at the stars outside the window, a few tears trailing their way down her face. Her listener was silent, somehow knowing that the woman was only pausing. She continued to speak, though calmer this time.

He was arrested and imprisoned for assault with a weapon, assault without a weapon, repeated offenses of the above, attempted rape and a whole list of other things as my mum and I told people what had been happening to us for the last few years. The marriage was annulled as she had not wished it to occur. We moved to live near Marseilles and the Starfleet academy there

I still hadn’t regained control of my abilities or true sanity because of it a week later and they finally sent for a Vulcan counsellor to try to help me. They did the mind meld with me and they saw what had caused it, my emotional level was overloaded with my father's emotion as well as my own so high, usually people can block off that, but I hadn’t been trained at all, my father refused to acknowledge the need for it. So I learnt from them of their Vulcan training to suppress their emotions.

It helped so much it’s untrue, that tiny little meeting did so much for me. I can now control how much I feel of others emotions and how much of my own I can feel, I’ve never broken out like that again since. He’s the reason why I wanted to be a counsellor, I want to be able to help someone like they helped me.

But I am healing, I am slowly healing. The crew here are so kind and I fit here, I really do, I love this life. However that day still haunts me at times, and I know it will never fully leave me, but I can ignore it, I will ignore it.

Nothing will stop me living my life as I want to live it, nothing.