A Session with Devin

         The youth trembled before her crying in agony. She reached out, touching the teenager gently on the arm, “I wish I could take away your pain, honey, but I can’t. If I thought holding you would do it, I would hold you. I’d say damn the policy and everything I’ve learned, but I can’t. But I can tell you that someday it won’t hurt so bad. I don’t know when, but someday, and I hope for your sake that it’s soon. I’m sorry you have to feel this…”
         The therapist had experienced this scenario with this client three times so far in the course of treatment. She’d been working with this young man for about three months and she felt they were making a great amount of progress. When she first met Devin, he barely talked to her. It wasn’t a matter of his social skills; she knew he was a leader, well-liked, friendly, and charismatic. She’d seen him interact with the other boys on the unit as well as staff, teachers, and his family. She liked the way he interacted with his sister the most. She had observed a visit between them when she drove up to see him his first week at the facility. Devin loved her with all his heart; it was evident in the way he lit up when he saw her. He had bright golden eyes, but when Callisto walked into the room, there was an amazing light that suddenly glowed deep within that gold. Callisto was a little over two years older than Devin.
         Sunday Bowman had been a therapist for almost ten years working with teenagers in an RTF called Glade Run. An RTF, or Residential Treatment Facility, works toward putting children and teenagers back into their homes as functioning members of society. The goal of the RTF is to help them recognize their negative behaviors and patterns, and change those problems whether they’re due to mental health disorders, drugs and alcohol, and/or school and judicial problems.
         “Devin, if I gave you a hug right now, what would it do for you?” Sunday asked quietly. She’d made a decision: If Devin could tell her what was so therapeutic about the physical contact in a hug or someone holding him, then maybe she would grant that one desire of his. If he could tell her why he needed so much, and the reason were appropriate for her to act upon, then she would make an exception to the program’s policy and hug this 16 year old boy, who at heart was still a child.
         Devin still shook pathetically curled up in his chair across from Sunday crying like a child. He was 16 acting as if he was less than half his age. He was suddenly angry with himself. He prided himself upon being calm, mature, and strong, and yet here he was hugging his knees, burying his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. He had been sobbing uncontrollably for at least ten minutes. What a sight he must be: a 16 year old boy curled up crying like a baby.
         Yet, maybe if he told Sunday what a hug would do for him, she would see the truth and sincerity in his eyes, and maybe, just maybe, she would show she understood his need for this physical contact by giving him a hug. But how would he put it into words?
         “When someone tells me that it’s going to be okay or that they care about me, it’s like… They don’t…it’s like they don’t mean it. When someone-an adult-hugs me, I don’t know how to say it. I can just feel it…” Devin trailed off, gazing at the floor with his tear streaked face.
         Sunday inquired, “You can feel what?
Devin looked up at her for a moment narrowing his eyes before looking down at the floor again.
         Shaking his head, he replied in a distant, yet fascinated demeanor, “I don’t know how to describe it…it’s like-it’s like faith. You believe-no-you know that everything will be okay. Even though everything inside-emotionally and physically-hurts like hell, it will be okay. The person holding you isn’t going to hurt you-you can trust them. Even if they only hold you for 2 or 3 seconds, it feels like they care about you-you know they care about you-and it’s like they’ll never let you go. The world stops and those 2 or 3 seconds are like…It’s like you’re in the eye of a hurricane; Everything around you can be falling apart, but right there in that center there’s not so much as a breeze…All the coldness you feel towards those who are pushing you too much melts away. The inferno of anger you feel for being such a child is extinguished. You just crumble in their arms,” a tear escaped his eye as he continued to stare at the same spot on the floor. “You’re safe. You can…You know you can finally let down those brick walls that took years to build. You…you can breathe again because…”
         The tears began to stream again as the lump reformed in his throat. His breathing became shallow and he couldn’t speak. Sunday’s heart broke as she watched the little boy inside Devin reemerge. It took everything in her not to wrap her arms around him and tell him it would be okay. She wanted so badly for him to not have to feel so much pain. Being a teenager was difficult enough without the confusion of whether you’re  a scared 6 year old or a confident 16 year old.
         Sunday asked, “Devin, what are you thinking right now?”
Devin continued to cry uncontrollably. He tried to speak, but every time he attempted to say something that made any sense, the words were buried by a fresh wave of tears and fear. Things flew through his head faster than his mind could process. The loss of control over communicating and controlling his mind and thoughts terrified him more than words could describe. All that he could do was clutch his now throbbing head, and cry, “No! No! Please! No!”
         It all hurt so bad and he was powerless to control it. Images of when he’d been abused as a boy weaved in and out of the ongoing tidal waves of horrible memories racing through his head: Fights between his parents; times he sliced his arms open as if he were merely shredding ribbon; times his abusers threatened to hit him with a baseball bat if he didn’t do what he was told; times his body betrayed him, telling him the unwanted touching felt good, that what was happening was okay; times when they tried to kiss him and he said no, but then they kissed him anyway. He could still feel the hot breath on his neck.
He screamed again and again, “No! Don’t! Get off me! Get off-get off!” He cried, “Please! No!” With his head between his knees, he grabbed the hair on the back of his head and just squeezed-anything to hold onto the here and now.
         “Devin! Devin! What do you see?” Sunday asked, attempting to get him to open up. He shook in his chair trying to breathe.
         He tried to push them off, but they just held his arms down and pinned his legs to the ground. He thought about screaming, but it’s like they read his mind-“You scream and you die, baby boy.”
He just laid there quietly sobbing as the older girl began to slowly pull off his pants. The other continued to hold him down. The one holding him down began to kiss him-on the lips, on the neck, and anywhere else he pleased. He tried to turn away, and the older boy mocked him before kissing his neck and using more strength to hold down the young boy. Devin struggled against them using all the strength he could muster, but it just wasn’t enough. There were two of them, twice his size, and one six year old boy was no match for the hell they were about to put him through.
He somehow managed to take a deep breathe and climb off his chair still hearing his two older cousins laughing in his head as they tortured him even more. He crawled over to Sunday and hugged her calves as he laid his head on her knees.
         Taken aback, Sunday froze. She had never experienced this before with any client. Devin squeezed harder, trembling with fear. He gasped, “Please, please. Don’t let him hurt me. Please, please, please. Don’t let him-don’t let him…”
         He desperately gripped the ankles of her pant legs trying to hold on, trying not to be sucked into the terrifying past. Sunday fought to hold back the tears threatening to tumble down her cheeks. She awkwardly pat Devin on the shoulder, “Devin…it-it's okay. He can’t hurt you. He’s not here.”
         The little boy, Devin, still begged, whispering, “No, no…please…please…don’t let him hurt me. Please don’t let him!”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Devin. He’s not going to hurt you,” Sunday reassured him. She somehow felt like something was missing. Then she realized: Devin wasn’t 16 years old asking her to break the rules for him and give him a hug-he was 6 years old begging her to protect him from the person who hurt him nearly a decade before. He needed her to bring him back to the present by making him a promise…
         Hugging him, she firmly told him, “Devin, listen to me. I promise you, he can’t hurt you-I won’t let him. I promise. He’s gone. You’re going to be okay. You’re safe here. You’re safe now. It’s over; it’s all over…”
         Slowly, Sunday’s words registered in Devin’s 6 year old mind and fought their way into the intellect of the 16 year old, Devin Delgato. Sunday slowly stroked his hair reinforcing the tangible proof that Devin needed to confirm that he was here in the present-not there with his abusers. His breathing began to slow, along with his tears, but he continued to hold on to Sunday, afraid that letting go would result in….he didn’t know what, but he know that he couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let go until he was grounded in reality, until he realized that the person who hurt him was, in fact, not here with him. He was safe…it really was over. He could finally breathe safely because it was all over…