garage, Monet set the security alarm. The couple didnât have an alarm installed before the attack, and when Monet asked if they could get one, Marcus was more than happy to comply.
Monetâs eyes zoomed around the garage before she got into her new midnight blue Toyota Solaris. After her car was recovered three weeks after it was stolen and processed by the police department for evidence, Marcus sold the car. Monet turned on the ignition and pressed the remote control to open the garage door.
Thirty minutes later, she pulled into a space in the parking garage in Hyde Park. When she got to the doctorâs office, she signed the appointment sheet, took a seat, and picked up the latest copy of O Magazine .
After a short time, a nurse walked into the waiting area and said, âMonet Caldwell.â
Monet stood up and followed the nurse to examination room number three. The nurse took her blood pressure reading and temperature. After that, she told Monet to remove her clothing and gave her a gown to change into. After she entered notations into the computer, the nurse announced the doctor would be with her shortly, and then she left.
Monet removed her clothing and sat in the chilly, sterile room reading the magazine sheâd brought into the room with her. Ten minutes later, Dr. Washington walked into the examination room.
âHow are you feeling, Monet?â she asked, smiling. Her white coat looked pristine, like sheâd just started her day. Her reading glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.
âNot bad,â Monet replied as she nervously folded her hands on her lap.
Dr. Washington listened to Monetâs heart rate and examined her face. âThe bruises are fading; thatâs good.â She sat at the small table in the room and keyed data into the tablet PC. âHow have you been feeling from an emotional standpoint? Have the dreams abated?â
âSomewhat.â Monet averted her eyes from the doctor.
âWould you like me to prescribe medication to help you sleep?â
âNo, not really. I hate taking medicine,â Monet said airily.
âWeâll see how youâre doing a month from now. If you arenât sleeping any better by then, Iâll prescribe something for you, maybe Ambien CR, okay?â
âYes,â Monet said. She felt cold and briskly rubbed her forearms.
âHave you given any further thought to counseling?â Dr. Washington pressed save on the keyboard and returned her attention to Monet.
âActually, my minister suggested I do a few sessions with her, and Iâm going to start that on Friday,â Monet informed the doctor.
âThatâs good. It probably wouldnât hurt to participate in a rape crisis group too. I can recommend a few in the area affiliated with the University of Chicago Hospital.â
âI donât know if I can talk about what happened to me with strangers. Itâs too personal.â Monet shook her head.
âThatâs exactly who you should talk about it to, other women who have been in the same predicament as you. They will understand where youâre coming from. I certainly canât force you to do so, but Iâve conducted some of the sessions myself, and I know first-hand that they do help,â Dr. Washington told Monet kindly.
âI canât make any promises, but Iâll think about it,â she said evasively.
âHow are you and Marcus doing, from an intimacy standpoint?â Dr. Washington probed.
âI . . . I . . . I . . . not yet,â Monet confessed. âI feel so bad about not being able to be intimate with Marcus. I know he didnât rape me, but I freeze up when he tries to touch me.â She dropped her head and rubbed her eyes.
âThat, my dear, is why you need counseling. In most cases, women canât come to terms with the ordeal alone. They need help to work through the issue,â Dr. Washington said
Monetâs eyes zoomed around the garage before she got into her new midnight blue Toyota Solaris. After her car was recovered three weeks after it was stolen and processed by the police department for evidence, Marcus sold the car. Monet turned on the ignition and pressed the remote control to open the garage door.
Thirty minutes later, she pulled into a space in the parking garage in Hyde Park. When she got to the doctorâs office, she signed the appointment sheet, took a seat, and picked up the latest copy of O Magazine .
After a short time, a nurse walked into the waiting area and said, âMonet Caldwell.â
Monet stood up and followed the nurse to examination room number three. The nurse took her blood pressure reading and temperature. After that, she told Monet to remove her clothing and gave her a gown to change into. After she entered notations into the computer, the nurse announced the doctor would be with her shortly, and then she left.
Monet removed her clothing and sat in the chilly, sterile room reading the magazine sheâd brought into the room with her. Ten minutes later, Dr. Washington walked into the examination room.
âHow are you feeling, Monet?â she asked, smiling. Her white coat looked pristine, like sheâd just started her day. Her reading glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.
âNot bad,â Monet replied as she nervously folded her hands on her lap.
Dr. Washington listened to Monetâs heart rate and examined her face. âThe bruises are fading; thatâs good.â She sat at the small table in the room and keyed data into the tablet PC. âHow have you been feeling from an emotional standpoint? Have the dreams abated?â
âSomewhat.â Monet averted her eyes from the doctor.
âWould you like me to prescribe medication to help you sleep?â
âNo, not really. I hate taking medicine,â Monet said airily.
âWeâll see how youâre doing a month from now. If you arenât sleeping any better by then, Iâll prescribe something for you, maybe Ambien CR, okay?â
âYes,â Monet said. She felt cold and briskly rubbed her forearms.
âHave you given any further thought to counseling?â Dr. Washington pressed save on the keyboard and returned her attention to Monet.
âActually, my minister suggested I do a few sessions with her, and Iâm going to start that on Friday,â Monet informed the doctor.
âThatâs good. It probably wouldnât hurt to participate in a rape crisis group too. I can recommend a few in the area affiliated with the University of Chicago Hospital.â
âI donât know if I can talk about what happened to me with strangers. Itâs too personal.â Monet shook her head.
âThatâs exactly who you should talk about it to, other women who have been in the same predicament as you. They will understand where youâre coming from. I certainly canât force you to do so, but Iâve conducted some of the sessions myself, and I know first-hand that they do help,â Dr. Washington told Monet kindly.
âI canât make any promises, but Iâll think about it,â she said evasively.
âHow are you and Marcus doing, from an intimacy standpoint?â Dr. Washington probed.
âI . . . I . . . I . . . not yet,â Monet confessed. âI feel so bad about not being able to be intimate with Marcus. I know he didnât rape me, but I freeze up when he tries to touch me.â She dropped her head and rubbed her eyes.
âThat, my dear, is why you need counseling. In most cases, women canât come to terms with the ordeal alone. They need help to work through the issue,â Dr. Washington said
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